mia 🤍

Johnny, for his part, just sat back in his chair with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He was always quieter than the rest, but the twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then the music shifted, and the door to the back room creaked open. You walked in like you owned the place, and a few of the Vandals let out long wolf whistles. “Goddamn,” one of them muttered, “they went all out.”

You moved to the center of the room where a single chair waited, and sitting in that chair was Johnny, still smoking his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around his face.

“Holy shit!” Brucie barked, nearly falling off his chair. “Now that’s how you throw a fuckin’ bachelor party!”

“Goddamn, Johnny,” Cal laughed, slapping the table, “she’s gonna make you forget all about your lady.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, show him what he’s missin’!” Zipco hollered, and the others erupted into more whistles.

You walked slowly, letting them drink it in, the sway of your hips exaggerated just enough to make them hungry for more. The short white babydoll clung to your curves, its delicate lace barely covering you, the hem flirting with the tops of your thighs. Every step was slow, letting the fabric brush your legs, the thin straps teasing your shoulders. The Vandals pounded the tables like a drumline, hollering, slapping wood, rattling the bottles in their hands.

The jukebox switched to a sultry blues number. You let the music guide you, rolling your hips, letting the fabric cling and pull at you with every movement, running your hands down your body, over the curve of your waist and hips, teasing the soft skin underneath. You leaned back slightly, letting your chest rise and fall, giving them just enough to imagine more.

The Vandals roared, voices echoing off the walls. “Fuckin’ hell, look at her! Don’t stop!” you heard one of them shout. Their hands reached out as if they could grab you through the air, and you smiled, knowing exactly the effect you had.

Johnny sat still, balancing a cigarette in his lips, with his arms arms folded, and his eyes locked on you. He didn’t cheer, didn’t move, didn’t crack a grin, but the heat in his stare made your skin tingle. You could feel the tension in him. He was trying, you knew, trying to keep his control, but the way he tightened his jaw and the slight flare of his nostrils, it told you everything.

You started your tease in earnest. Tracing your fingertips over the straps of your babydoll, sliding slowly down your arms, letting the fabric brush against your sides as you bent backward and rolled forward, swaying your ass in time with the music. You twirled once, letting the hem flutter and teasing their eyes with every inch of your thigh. You ran your hands along your neck and collarbone, dragging them down to rest just above the lace edge, pulling it slightly as if you might remove it… but then stopping, letting the tension build.

The Vandals were shouting now. “Take it off! Fuckin’ take it off!” Zipco’s face was red, his veins standing out in his neck as he slammed his fist on the table. Cal whistled and hooted, practically standing in his chair. Every scream, every cheer made you grin, egging them on, letting your body move more freely, twisting and turning, letting the thin fabric cling and tease, running your hands along the hemline, over your hips, tilting your head back as if daring them to touch.

You slid closer to Johnny, leaning forward as your breasts brushed close to his face, your skin just barely grazing his jaw, giving him the best view in the house. You toyed lazily with the straps of your babydoll, tugging them just enough to make his eyes flicker down. You let one strap slip an inch, just enough to tease, to make him imagine.

His control was a fragile thing, especially with the bulge in his jeans pressing against his zipper. The sight of it made your grin widen, slow and wicked. You shifted just a little more, letting the hem of your babydoll brush his thigh, close enough to the place of his body that needed urgent attention.

For several minutes, you danced for them, teasing every inch, stopping and starting, letting them beg and holler, moving your body in slow circles, letting the babydoll tease them with every sway. You bent forward, letting the lace peek just enough over your thighs, then straightened, rolling your shoulders, spinning slowly in place, letting your hands drag along the edge of the lace until finally, with a deliberate tug, the babydoll slipped down over your body, pooling at your feet.

The Vandals went ballistic. Screams, whistles, and hoots filled the room, the noise bouncing off every wall. Brucie almost fell out of his chair, yelling something about marrying you on the spot. Cal slapped the table so hard a beer nearly flew, shouting, “Jesus, she’s fuckin’ flawless!”

Johnny’s eyes never left you. His cigarette bobbing slightly between his lips as he inhaled sharply through his teeth. He was trying so hard not to move, not to groan, not to let himself give in to what you were doing to him. But the tension in his body, the tight grip of his hands on his knees, the subtle shift in his weight… it was all betraying him.

You let your hands roam slowly over your own body, dragging your digits down the curve of your waist, feeling the smooth slide of satin beneath your palms. The high-waisted girdle hugged every inch of you, sculpting your figure. Your breath caught as you trailed lower, finding the cool metal of the garter clips where they clung to your nylon stockings. With excruciating slowness, you unhooked the first clip, the faint snap cutting through the air like a gunshot. A rumble of approval rolled through the room. You moved to the next, making the men roar in unison. You looked up through your lashes, curling your lips into a teasing smile, and let the stocking slip down your leg inch by inch.

Finally, you circled Johnny’s chair, stopping behind him for a moment, letting your fingers graze the back of his neck, feeling the faint shiver that ran through him. Then, with a teasing drag of your nails down his shoulder, you stepped around and lowered yourself onto his lap, the move so graceful and sinful it stole the air from the room.

Johnny hovered his hands uncertainly at your sides, not daring to touch. You could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body went rigid beneath you, the bulge in his jeans pressing against the thin satin between your thighs.

You tilted your head, and let your lips hover just above his, your voice low enough for only him to hear. “Enjoyin’ the show, groom?

“YEAH! There you go, Johnny boy!”

“Grab her, Johnny! Christ, man, she’s sittin’ right there for you!”

“Shit, if you don’t fuck her, I will!” Zipco yelled, and the table slammed with fists again.

Johnny’s hands finally lifted, settling heavy on your thighs, curling his fingers in tight. That shut the room up for half a beat, and the air shifted.

“There it is,” Brucie crowed, pointing. “He’s in. He’s in! Groom’s gonna get his present tonight!”

“Take her to the back room!” Cal banged the table again, nearly tipping over his beer. “That’s what it’s there for!”

“Do it, Johnny,” someone called from the corner. “Do it properly before you sign your life away.”

“Alright, alright!” Zipco yelled, standing up. “Now it’s Johnny’s turn to have his real fun.” The Vandals roared again, pounding on the tables louder. Someone shoved a pack of bills into your hand and motioned toward the back room.

“Make her scream so we hear it out here!”

“Don’t hold back, Johnny, it’s your fuckin’ party!”

You could feel the heat of his body under you, his hands steady even as the Vandals chanted his name like a pack of animals.

“JOH-NNY! JOH-NNY! JOH-NNY!”

And still, his eyes never left yours. He didn’t smirk, didn’t laugh. Just smoked, watched, and held you firm on his lap like he was weighing something bigger than the room’s roar.

Finally, he leaned close enough that only you could hear, and rasped, “C’mon.”

The Vandals exploded when he stood, hauling you up with him. “There he goes! Fuckin’ knew it!” They pounded the tables, stomped their boots, shouting crude promises of what you two should be doing behind closed doors.

“Don’t bring her back in one piece!”

“Give us somethin’ to hear through the wall, Johnny!”

He ignored them all, just kept a hand low on your back as he walked you into the side room the bar had set up, slamming the door behind you. The cheers dulled into a muffled roar outside, inside, it was quiet. Just you and Johnny.

The back room was almost empty, bare walls lined with a few dusty shelves and half-forgotten barrels of liquor. But right in the middle of it — like, some kind of throne, sat an armchair. Big, worn, and a little out of place. You figured that had to be what the Vandals had set up for you and Johnny.

He dropped into the chair like a king, leaned back, and spread his legs, watching. You leaned against the wall, breathing hard from the routine, but his eyes were already on you.

“Well,” you teased, “your boys out there want a show. You gonna give ‘em what they’re waitin’ for?”

That got the faintest twitch of a grin out of him. “They set this up, not me.”

You tilted your head. “So you don’t want it?”

He dragged his eyes over you. “Didn’t say that.”

You stepped closer, the space between you felt heavy, and you slid onto his lap again, slower this time, no cheering crowd to distract. His hands came up, rough palms catching at your thighs.

“C’mon, Johnny,” you murmured. “Relax a little. Your boys bought you a wedding present. Might as well unwrap it properly.”

He cupped your ass with his hands, dragging you closer, grinding you down against the bulge pressing at his jeans. The corner of his mouth twitched like maybe he’d smile, but he just exhaled smoke instead.

You swayed your hips, unhooking the last clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the floor. “See? Nothin’ for you to do but sit there. Let me take care of you.”

Johnny leaned forward, stubbed his cigarette out on the edge of the table, and sat back again. That was all the permission you needed.

You slid between his legs, and the moment you settled there, Johnny’s thighs tensed, his breath catching like he’d been holding it the whole time you were dancing for him.

His jeans were stretched tight over the hard line of him, a thick, unmistakable shape pressing against the denim. You reached up, gliding your palm over the rough fabric.

“Christ,” you breathed, dragging your thumb along the outline of him, watching his thighs twitching. “You’re already so hard. Didn’t take much, hm?”

“Didn’t take much,” he muttered back. “Now shut up and suck.”

He shifted slightly, settling his hands heavily at the back of your head. You leaned in, hovering your lips over the waistband of his jeans, letting the tension build. You started your slow, calculated work, unbuttoning him one button at a time, dragging your fingers with exaggerated slowness over the fabric. The zipper followed next, inch by inch, until it finally gave way, and his cock sprang free with a small, wet pop.

Thick, flushed, and already leaking pre-cum, it stood proud and impossible to ignore. You let your palm brush the slick along the underside, feeling the weight of him, the pulse throb beneath your touch. The sound of your fingers sliding over him, the slick noise, and the quiet gasp he let out were just loud enough to carry through the thin walls. The Vandals outside might have been joking about wanting a peek, well, they were about to get more than they ever imagined, and you were going to make sure of it.

Your tongue darted out to lap at the bead of pre-cum on his tip, making his breath hitch, just the smallest sound, but it spurred you on. You wrapped your lips around the head, hollowing your cheeks and sucking just enough to make him grunt low in his chest. Then you pulled back, spitting onto the tip, stroking him with your hand, smearing the wetness down his shaft.

“Filthy enough for your bachelor party?” you teased, before swallowing him down again.

Johnny tightened his hand in your hair. He shifted his hips just enough to feed himself deeper into your mouth. You worked him like you’d been born to, taking him deep until your throat clenched around him, pulling off with strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock, stroking him with messy, wet fists. You spat again, dripping onto his shaft, spreading it with both hands before diving back down to suck.

Outside, the Vandals were still loud, but Johnny’s low groans and the wet sounds of your mouth filled the room, drowning out everything else. You looked up at him through your lashes, drool slicking your chin, and he was watching, always watching. His brows drawn, his lips parted, his chest rising heavy with each breath.

“Fuck,” he rasped deeper than before, “just like that. God, you’re so fuckin’ greedy, suckin’ me like you need it more than I do.”

You moaned around his cock, the vibration making him curse. You twisted your hand at the base while your mouth worked the rest, taking him as deep as your throat would allow. Every time you gagged around him, his grip tightened, a low growl tearing from his chest.

You pulled back, gasping, spit dripping down onto your tits, stroking him with your slick hand, fast. “Your fiancé ever do this for you?” you taunted.

Johnny locked his jaw, his eyes were dark as he glared down at you, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and shoved his cock back between your lips, deep, like he needed to remind you who was in charge.

You gagged, swallowed, drooled messily down your chin, and he groaned so roughly it made your cunt throb. It was filthy and loud, exactly the kind of thing the Vandals had wanted to buy him for his last night of freedom. And judging by the way Johnny’s thighs tensed under your hands, he was soaking in every second of it.

“That’s it… yeah, yeah… you like my cock, don’t you? Look at you… takin’ every goddamn inch.”

You hummed around him, sliding your lips over the underside, dragging your tongue along every ridge, and murmured against him, “Mmm… God, Johnny… you feel so good… so thick… I want all of you…”

The sounds in the room were obscene, your wet mouth sliding up and down Johnny’s cock, the sloppy suck of spit and pre-cum mixing, his quiet curses rasped through clenched teeth. You were flicking your tongue over the thick head, twisting your hand around the slick base, sucking with your lips until his thighs tightened under your grip.

Johnny wasn’t loud. Never was, but the rough, guttural grunt that tore from his chest as you swallowed him to the hilt was enough to make your core ache, slick pooling between your thighs. He tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging, guiding, holding you exactly where he wanted, making sure every inch of his length plunged deep into your throat.

Then he gripped your face with both hands, using it as leverage, driving himself harder, deeper, slapping his balls against your chin with every precise thrust. You rolled your eyes back, letting him have it, letting him fuck your throat any way he pleased.

When he noticed you were gagging too loudly, Johnny eased his grip, pulling back just enough to give you air, letting you gulp down deep breaths.

You watched cock glisten in the low light. “Mmm,” you purred, licking the underside slowly, “your boys out there would lose their fuckin’ minds if they saw me like this.”

Johnny grunted. “Don’t talk about them.” His voice was almost a growl.

You smirked, licking him from base to tip before taking him back into your mouth, moaning around him. His hips bucked just enough to tell you he was getting close, but you weren’t done, not yet.

You sucked him sloppy a little longer, then let his cock fall from your lips with a wet pop. He blinked down at you, furrowing his brow. And that’s when you let your tongue trail lower, past his shaft, over the soft skin of his balls, licking them into your mouth one at a time.

He scowled down at you, suspicious… but when your tongue slid further down, dragging a wet stripe lower, it made his thighs twitch under your hands.

Johnny’s hand tightened in your hair. “The fuck—” His breath hitched. “—what the fuck you think you’re doin’?”

You glanced up at him. “Told you, Johnny. Just sit back… enjoy your present.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, “you—fuck…”

You smirked against his skin, spreading him wider by the thighs. “Don’t fight it,” you murmured, and then pressed your tongue against the tight ring of muscle beneath his balls.

Johnny jerked, and he pulled at your hair with his hand like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop you or hold you there. “You fuckin’ crazy,” he rasped with disbelief.

But you just laughed softly, licking him again, firmer this time, swirling your tongue over the forbidden spot until his breath shuddered out of him. “Crazy good,” you teased. “I want you to feel everything.”

He let his head fall back against the chair, gripped the armrest tight with one hand, like he was holding on.“God damn,” he growled, his voice broke in a way you’d never heard before in a man. “What the fuck…”

You rimmed him slow at first, teasing with little flicks of your tongue, then firmer, licking him open until he was panting. His cock twitched, hard and leaking against his stomach, untouched but desperate.

“Sit back, Johnny,” you purred between licks, your hand stroking him again. “Let me take care of you. Your boys wanted you to go out with a bang, didn’t they? This is it.”

He groaned, deep, rocking his hips without meaning to. Every time your tongue pressed against him, his cock throbbed harder in your grip.

“Fuck,” he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You just smirked with your wet and messy mouth, and you went back and forth, stroking his cock with one hand, licking his hole with deliberate drags of your tongue. His whole body was tight under you, his thighs trembling, hands gripping wherever they could find purchase.

And then, finally, he let go. His hands pressed you closer, and he tilted his hips back, opening himself to you with a reluctant growl. “Christ almighty… don’t stop.”

The noises he made were nothing like before, they sounded helpless. His cock was leaking over your hand, his body shuddering under your tongue. But then, Johnny yanked at your hair, pulling your mouth away from him with a wet pop. His cock glistened in your spit, and his eyes were dark.

“That’s enough,” he rasped. “Wanna fuck you.”

You licked your lips, still on your knees between his thighs, grinning up at him like the devil. “Yeah? You better make it worth it then.” You dragged your tongue across your bottom lip. “Cause this—” you cupped his cock in your slick hand, giving it one long, filthy stroke “—this is the last pussy you’re gonna get after you put that ring on.”

He stood up and hauled you up by the arms, turned you, and shoved you down over the arm of the chair, with your ass in the air.

“You got a mouth on you,” he muttered as he spread you open with his hands, parting your asscheeks. “Let’s see if you still talk after this.”

You arched your back, looking over your shoulder with a smirk. “Give it your best shot, groom.”

He didn’t waste another second. With a rough yank, he tore a hole in your panties, lined himself up, and slammed into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. No prep, no hesitation, he saw your folds glistening with arousal from sucking him, and that alone was enough. The stretch hit suddenly, sharp and overwhelming, making you cry out, digging your nails into the armchair for balance as your body was forced to adjust to his thickness.

Every inch of him filling you at once was punishing and delicious, and the wet, slick friction made your toes curl as he held you down, driving into you without mercy.

“Fuck, you feel so good… so fuckin’ tight around me.” he growled, driving into you harder. “I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk straight, sweetheart.”

Outside, muffled through the wall, you could hear the Vandals still jeering, stomping their boots, laughing about what they thought was happening in here. If only they knew. Johnny set a brutal pace from the start.

There was no build-up, no teasing, he snapped his hips forward, plunging his cock deep into you again and again, each thrust harder, faster, and more merciless than the last. He clamped his hands violently onto your hips, holding you still, forcing you to take him exactly as he pleased, every slam of his length shoving you forward, every push leaving you gasping and trembling.

Your back arched, your body bouncing with his rhythm, and the wet smack of him hitting your folds filled the room, leaving you dripping and aching under his relentless assault.

“Fuck,” you gasped, clawing at the chair, but wanting to poke the bear, “that all you got?”

He growled, slapping your ass hard enough to make you jolt. “Smart fuckin’ mouth…” Another slap, even harder this time. “I’ll shut you up.”

And he did, by fucking you even deeper. He slammed his cock into you with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin loud in the tiny room, mixing with your cries and his ragged grunts.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, voice broken, “so fuckin’ wet.” He pressed his hand on your back, forcing you lower, arching you deeper for him. “You’re takin’ me so good.”

You looked back at him, hair wild, sweat dripping down your spine. “Harder, Johnny. Make it count. Last chance.”

His eyes narrowed, and he gave you exactly what you asked for. He pounded into you, slamming deep, making his thighs slap against the backs of yours. Your body rocked with every thrust, making the chair legs scrape on the floor. You were loud, moaning, crying out, scratching at the wood, and you knew the Vandals could hear every bit of it through the wall. That only spurred Johnny on, his growls rough and feral as he fucked you like a man possessed.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, “you’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me before I’m even married.”

“Good,” you gasped, pressing back against him, meeting each brutal thrust. “Then you’ll remember this night every time you touch her.”

That broke something in him. With a guttural snarl, he yanked your hair back, forcing your head up, so he could look you in the eye as he fucked you harder, faster, splitting you open with his cock, so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs.

The Vandals must’ve heard it, because their laughter turned into a chant again, muffled but still clear: “JOH-NNY! JOH-NNY! JOH-NNY!”

And Johnny gave them exactly what they wanted, fucking you raw from behind. His thrusts were already brutal, but then something in him snapped. Maybe it was your taunt, maybe it was the chants of the Vandals outside, maybe it was just him deciding that if this was his “last taste of freedom,” he’d take it like a man starved. Either way, he slammed into you hard, pistoning his hips, his cock battering your walls with each savage stroke, his tip punching your cervix.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled, “you wanted it hard…here it is.”

You choked on a cry, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not quite from pain, but from how overwhelming it was, how impossibly deep he was fucking you. You pressed your facd into the rough fabric of the chair, muffling a sob.

“Ah—Johnny—”

“Yeah?” He fisted your hair harder, yanking your head back to hear you better. “What’s that, sweetheart? Too much for ya?”

But you shook your head, crying, because the thought of him stopping, slowing down, or pulling out made your body tremble with panic and need. You needed him, the pleasure was bigger than the pain.

“No—so good—so fucking good—!” you cried out, voice breaking under the force of your desperation, clinging to him as he rammed into you, every thrust driving you higher, every slam making you gasp and whimper in equal measure.

That made him groan before slamming into you more violently. His cock was relentless, each thrust punching the air from your lungs, leaving you trembling, wrecked, and undone.

“You’re cryin’ for it,” he rasped, arching your spine so his cock could hit you even deeper. “Look at you… fuckin’ cryin’ on my cock. Jesus Christ.”

Even more tears streaked down your cheeks, you were sobbing as he drove you closer and closer to breaking. Outside, the Vandals’ laughter dimmed, like they were straining to hear. And they could, there was no way they couldn’t hear the way Johnny was destroying you in here.

Your arms gave out, and you collapsed forward, pressing your cheek against the chair, but he didn’t slow down. He grabbed your hips in both hands and pounded into you mercilessly, using your body like you were made for him.

“You said…” he snarled through gritted teeth, pulling you back into every thrust, “…last fuck before I’m married, right? Then you’re gonna take every goddamn inch I give you.”

You wailed at that, spilling more tears as your orgasm built. “Johnny—please—please—”

His growl rumbled against your skin as he bent over you, pressing his chest to your back. “Please, what? Huh? Please stop? Or please don’t fuckin’ stop?”

Your sobs broke against the chair. “Don’t—don’t stop—”

And he didn’t. You were crying outright now, your body quaking under him, your walls clenching around him like they were made to hold him, slick pooling beneath you, your body craving every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he panted, his voice low, broken, “fuckin’ cry for me. Cry on my cock. Lemme know you feel me.”

You threw your head back, tears like waterfalls streaming down your cheeks,your voice cracking as you sobbed and screamed, “I-I’m close! Fuck, I’m gonna cum! Johnny—oh God!”

“God, I love seein’ you like this, cryin’, beggin’, shoutin’ for my cock, takin’ it all, yeah?” He forced himself deeper.

His cock was filling you completely as he dragged your orgasm out of your body. It hit you in a violent wave, you screamed and sobbed as your body convulsed, all while he fucked you through it, unrelenting. Johnny didn’t give you mercy, he kept slamming into you, chasing his own release.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled, “you take me like you were made for it.” He dug his hands into your hips, dragging you back to meet every thrust, your body clapping against his. Your cheeks were wet, streaked with tears, but you didn’t care. You needed it like this. “Goddamn, listen to you cry… Cryin’ on my cock like you can’t take it.”

“Johnny’s givin’ it to her!” someone shouted through the wall, and the room erupted in muffled chants. “JOH-NNY! JOH-NNY! JOH-NNY!”

You sobbed, broken by it all, their cheers, his pace, the way his cock filled you so brutally.

“Johnny, show her who owns her!”

“You better not be softin’ on her now, Johnny!”

“Keep poundin’ her, don’t let her breathe!”

“Last one,” Johnny panted in your ear. “Last time I get to do this. You better fuckin’ make me remember it.”

You could tell by the way his rhythm started to falter, the deep, steady thrusts turning into short, erratic slams. His grip on your hips tightened bruisingly.

“Fuuuuck… I’m close,” he groaned, trembling with the effort to keep control. “You want it, sweetheart?” He snapped his hips forward again, hard enough to make the chair creak beneath you. “Gonna get every last drop.”

“Yes! Yes, please, Johnny!”

Your walls clenched around him, but before you could cry out his name, he suddenly yanked himself free. The emptiness was brutal, but then he groaned, “Stay right there. Don’t you fuckin’ move.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he stroked himself hard and fast, his cock was wet with your slickness, and he pumped it furiously. He aimed down, groaning as the first hot spurt painted across your ass.

“Fuck—oh—fuck me,” he groaned as he shot his hand to the back of your neck, holding you down as he painted your ass in white. “Take it!” he snarled. “You fucking take it.”

Another, then another, thick ropes of his cum stripped your skin, dripping down between your thighs messily. He milked himself with his hand until every drop smeared across the curve of your ass, some sliding lower, sticky against your folds. You gasped at the heat, the filth of it, whimpering as he spread it with the thick head of his cock, dragging his release across you like he was marking you.

Only when he was absolutely sure his balls were drained, when every last hot, sticky drop of his cum clung to your skin, did he finally ease back, letting his cock soften slightly.

“There,” he muttered, smearing the last drops along your ass cheeks and slapping his softening cock against it, his chest rising and falling like he’d just gone ten rounds in a fight. “Covered in me.”

Through the wall, the Vandals’ voices rose again, cheering, chanting, their boots pounding the floor. They knew, they didn’t have to see it to know Johnny had finished like a king.

He gave your ass one last rough slap, then leaned back in the chair, lighting another cigarette, and outside the Vandals roared his name like he was a god.

Updates account Check my Masterlist

A/N: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, tell me I’m not the only one who thinks this kind of voyeurism is hot af!!! The thought of a bunch of rowdy men listening to how well Johnny fucks reader?? MAJOR turn on. Please don’t leave me alone in this one😭

As always, thank you so much for reading. I hope you’ve been enjoying Kinktober so far! We’re getting close to the end🥺

You bit your lip, fighting a smile. “Oh no…” You said softly with mocking innocence.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He mimicked you, “Oh no. Yeah, oh fucking no is right. Try explaining to Kiko why I was watching a video of a woman moaning next to him, eh? Why is my girl moaning my name so loud I had to shove my phone under the fucking car seat.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “He didn’t… see, did he?” You didn’t really give a fuck if anyone else saw the video you sent to Harry fucking yourself with your fingers and yelling his name.

“Didn’t need to see. Could hear.” Harry stepped forward, looming over you. He yanked the shirt collar down, exposing the slope of your throat. “You think you’re funny, do you? You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

You curved your lips into a smile. “I was bored. It’s not a big deal.”

Harry’s laugh was humorless. “Bored, she says. Nah. You like poking the fuckin’ bear, don’t you?” He had a hand already on your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “And now you’re in for it.”

You shivered, pressing your thighs together. “Maybe that’s what I wanted.”

His eyes flared, and then you were being hauled up, tossed over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. He didn’t bother with gentleness; each step up the stairs was purposeful, your body bouncing against him while he muttered, “Gonna teach you, girl. Gonna make you think twice before pulling off something like that again.”

He threw you down on the bed, making the mattress bounce beneath you. “Clothes off. Now.”

You moved slowly, deliberately dragging the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His gaze tracked you with hunger, it was too slow for him. Harry lunged forward, ripping your underwear down himself, not even bothering to be careful. “You like making a show, don’t you? Giving me a fucking heart attack in front of the people I work with. Fine. I’ll show you what you get when you act like a brat.”

He didn’t waste any more words. He just yanked open the top drawer of the nightstand. The one where you both kept everything.

Your breath caught when you watched him close his hand around the whip first. Made out of thin leather, designed to sting, the one you both knew left your skin marked in seconds. He turned it over in his hands, flexed it, then cut his eyes at you with a slow smile.

“On your knees. Face down. Arse up.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want it, but because bratting him was half the fun. “Maybe I don’t feel like—”

The whip cracked through the air and smacked across the mattress beside your thigh, making you flinch.

Harry’s voice dropped lower. “You’ve got two seconds to get in position, babe, or I’ll make you regret it even worse.”

You scrambled instantly, pressing your face to the sheets, keeping your ass in the air, trembling with anticipation.

“Good girl,” he drawled, dragging the flat side of the whip across your skin in a mock caress. “Now let’s see if you’re still smiling after this.”

The first strike bit sharply across your ass, leaving red lines blooming across your skin. You yelped, clawing your fingers into the sheets. Before you could even catch your breath, the second landed, and it was harder than the first, making you gasp as the sting burned across the tender flesh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. The third followed almost immediately, each crack of the whip forcing your body to tense.

“Count.” Harry’s voice was commanding. He raised the whip again, giving you a sharp strike. “From one.”

“One!” you gasped, shaking, feeling the heat pooling between your thighs, the sting of the strike already making your pussy clench around nothing.

The whip sang through the air, landing on your bare skin with a biting smack.

“Two!” You screamed. The strike was even harder this time, making you arch, your breath coming in broken bursts.

He raised it again, the leather whistling before it hit.

“Three—” your voice shattered, breaking on the word as the whip slammed down harder than ever, the sting exploding across your ass, you were trembling, making your thighs soaked with your own arousal.

Harry smirked, standing over you, swinging the leather with expert precision. “Louder. Don’t want you mumblin’ into the sheets. Wanna hear every fuckin’ number.”

You obeyed without hesitation, yelling the numbers with every crack of the whip. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but despite it, your cunt was impossibly wet, dripping freely onto the sheets below, leaving a glistening trail down your thighs, pooling on the bed.

Harry’s cock was hard as a brick, watching you take strike after strike, hearing those little moans you let slip, turning him into an animal. Every sound you made seemed to echo inside his skull, feeding the hunger that burned in his gut. He dragged his free hand under his pants and underwear, tugging his big cock up under the elastic band of his boxers so the pain of his throbbing member trying to escape wouldn’t be so overwhelming. The thick length slapped against his skin, twitching violently like it had a pulse of its own. As he did, he smeared a little of that white creamy pre-cum over his lower stomach, smudging the sticky trail across his abs. His cock leaked like it couldn’t help itself, desperate for you, desperate for friction, desperate for anything.

He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to just fist himself raw right there, because the sight of you, so helpless and writhing, was already more than his body could stand.

By the time he reached ten, your ass was burning, hot, and welted under his aim. Harry tossed the whip onto the bed beside you, leaning over to press a hand to the burning flesh, squeezing it harshly. You hissed at the pain, but the moan that slipped out gave you away.

“You’re fucking shameless,” he dragged his fingers over the marks he’d made. “Crying and moaning all at once. You love it.”

“I do,” you whispered.

He chuckled. “Course you do.”

Just when you thought he might finally put the whip aside, maybe lose himself in his own desire and bury himself inside you, a rough strike of the leather slammed against your wet slit.

“Harry!” you half-screamed, half-moaned, the wet smack echoed through the room, every nerve in your cunt alive, leaving you trembling and utterly exposed beneath him.

Harry lowered the whip, slidding the thin leather ribbon teasingly across your dripping folds, as if to soothe them after the strike. He traced it over your slit, teasing the swollen bundle of nerves, before slamming it down with a sting right on your clit.

A yelp tore from your throat, but he didn’t stop, giving a few more controlled strikes, each one making you cry out, soaking the leather with the wetness from your pussy as he punished and teased you at the same time.

“Shhhh…” Harry whispered, cooingly. “This… this is exactly what you were begging for when you sent me that little video. Don’t think I’m mean, I’m just being a good husband, giving you exactly what you wanted, love.”

You shook your head frantically. “Harry… please—please fuck me… please get inside me, love… I need you!” you begged helplessly, because you knew Harry’s self-control was unyielding, machine-like, and he wasn’t anywhere near finished with you.

“Not yet, love.” He snapped the whip against your clit, leaving it raw and puffy. “We still have a lot to go through first.”

He gave your burning ass a tender caress, gliding his palm over the skin. You almost sighed at the fleeting comfort, but it didn’t last, because he slipped his hand away, leaving behind the ghost of his touch.

You heard the scrape of the drawer opening, and you craned your neck over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse. Harry shifted behind you, his movements were unhurried, the kind of patience that made you tremble, because it meant he already knew what came next.

“What’s next, hmm?” he teased, pulling something out slowly. “Whip’s just the start, babe. We’ve got a whole drawer to get through… Y’know what I think?” He crouched beside you. “I think you ain’t learned enough yet. You still got that little smirk in your face. You still reckon this is a game.”

“It’s not—” you gasped, trying to sound contrite.

He cut you off with a sharp slap of his hand on your ass. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You sent me that video knowing full well what it’d do. You like poking me till I snap. Well—” He moved his left hand from ass and reached back into the drawer. You heard the little clink of bottles, the sound of a plastic cap flicking open. “—snap’s what you’re getting.”

Your stomach twisted in anticipation, your body already shaking with adrenaline. Harry dangled the next object where you could see it. He held up the small bottle, and you recognized it instantly, it was the hot lube.

Harry smirked, shaking a few drops onto his fingers. “Don’t get shy now, love. This is what you wanted, innit? This is what you were begging for, screaming my name on camera like a fucking pornstar.”

You shuddered as he spread your ass cheeks with one hand, dragging the slick, warming gel over your pussy lips with the other, down to your hole. At first, it was just cool and wet… and then the heat bloomed. A burning warmth that spread through every nerve ending it touched.

“Fuck!” you gasped, jerking your hips.

Harry chuckled, watching the way your body writhed. “Ohhh, she feels it now. Look at you, squirming. Little cunt’s on fire, isn’t it?” He rubbed it in deliberately, coating your folds, circling your clit with the slick until your thighs trembled. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Hot,” you panted. “It burns… oh my god—”

“Good.” He leaned down, breathing against your ear. “That’s what happens when you play with fire, love. You get burned.”

You whimpered, burying your face into the sheets as the heat built, spreading between your legs and deep inside. But Harry wasn’t done, he reached into the drawer again, and when he pulled his hand free, you caught the glint of silicone beads.

Your stomach dropped. Harry dangled them, letting them brush across your ass teasingly. “Oh, you know these well, don’t ya?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes” Your voice was breathless, betraying just how much you craved what was coming.

Harry curved his lips in that knowing smirk he reserved for when he had you right where he wanted you. He loved playing with your ass, and the beads… well, you two were good, old friends by now. Harry’s favorites, and he knew exactly how to use them to push you to the edge.

“Yes, what?” he corrected. Just like that, your pussy clenched, reacting automatically to his authority. You loved it when he acted that way.

“Yes, Harry.”

“Good girl.” He slicked the beads with more of the hot lube, then pressed the first one against your tight hole. The heat was already making you shiver, clenching your muscles instinctively. He tutted, pressing harder. “Don’t fight it. You wanted to be a brat, now you’re gonna take every fucking inch I give you.”

Your moans were muffled into the sheets as the first bead slipped inside, stretching you just right. Your ass clenched instinctively around it, the muscles tightening, while the burning warmth of the lube spread deeper, making every nerve stand on edge. Each tiny shift of the bead sent shivers through your body.

“There we go,” Harry murmured, almost with gentleness. Almost. “One down.”

The second bead slid in with more pressure, forcing your ass to open wider, stretching your muscles around it. Your body writhed against the sheets. “Harry—fuck—” you gasped, your ass already aching and pulsing with the delicious burn, craving more, desperate for him to keep going.

He smacked your ass, right over the welted skin, making you yelp. “Language. Count.”

“Two,” you choked.

He pushed the third bead in slowly, taking his time, letting you feel the straining. Each millimeter pressed deeper, making you shiver, sweat slicking your skin and tears streaking your cheeks.

“Three—” your voice shook, your moans we’re tangled with whimpers, more tears slipping down your face as the delicious, painful fullness left you undone.

The fourth bead slid in with force, pressing deeper than the others, making your cry tear out of you, almost a scream. The burn of the stretch, the fullness pulsing deep inside, and the way your body fought and surrendered all at once sent waves of overwhelming pleasure lacing with delicious pain through you.

“Four,” you gasped, clinging to the sheets.

Harry tangled his hand in your hair, yanking your head back so you had to look at him over your shoulder. His eyes were wild with lust and fury. “Look at you. Eyes all wet, face all wrecked. And you love it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered as your body shook.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Harry. I love it.” You meant it, you loved it because it was him doing it, your man inflicting the most delicious pain as a punishment. It was Harry dominating your body, dictating your pleasure, marking his authority, and every cry, every gasp, every wet clench of your cunt and ass was proof: you belonged to him completely, utterly, and willingly.

He curved his lips into that dangerous grin, the one that made your stomach flip, as he pushed the last bead inside, burying it deep, forcing your body to clench desperately around the stretch.

“There we fucking go,” he stroked your back almost affectionately. “Every bead sitting nice in that tight little arse. Burning hot, full up, just the way you deserve.”

Your whole body was quivering, overwhelmed by the mix of sting, stretch, and heat. You were sobbing into the sheets, every nerve ending screaming, but the wetness that kept dripping down your thighs betrayed you. Harry saw it. Of course, he saw it, and he grabbed your ass to spread you wider, fixing his eyes on the mess between your legs. “Soaking the sheets, babe. Look at you. Punishment’s supposed to break you, but you’re fucking dripping.”

You whimpered, rolling your hips back against the fullness in your ass. “I can’t help it.”

Harry’s grin widened. He smacked your ass again, making the beads shift inside you, pulling another scream from your throat.

“Don’t you worry, love,” he rasped, leaning close. “We’re only just gettin’ started.”

Your body was quivering, you could still feel your ass burning, the beads inside it keeping it stretched and open. The heat of the lube had spread deep inside both your holes, making every little twitch feel unbearable, like you were burning up. Harry stood back, crossing his arms for a moment, just looking at you, taking in the sight of you being utterly ruined and trembling.

“Not enough,” he whispered. “Not even close.”

Before you could catch your breath or protest, he gripped your hips with his big hands, and he flipped you over with little care, so you were lying on your back now. The beads shifted inside you from his rough movements, dragging another cry from your lips.

Harry shoved his hand between your thighs, spreading them wide to get full access to your center. “Keep those beads in,” he ordered. “If a single one slips out, I’ll start all over again.”

“Yes, Harry,” you choked, and your ass clenched instinctively, trying to hold them in place.

He reached for the drawer again, and you heard he sound of the cap flipping open once more. He drizzled some more of that lube over your swollen folds, not cause you needed more lubrication, just to make you feel the burn. It was cold at first, a teasing contrast before the heat set in. In just a few seconds it bloomed hot again, soaking into your skin, spreading like fire through your clit, down to your cunt, making you moan loud.

The sound of your moan made Harry groan as he rubbed the lube in with his rough fingers, coating you until you were thrashing. “Oh, she’s burning now. Can feel it, can’t you? Cunt’s on fire, ass full, and you still can’t keep quiet.”

“It’s too much!” you cried in between tears, soaking the pillow.

“It’s just a little lube, babe.” His voice was almost coaxing, but there was an undertone of satisfaction in the way he watched you squirm. Part of him was trying to soothe you, to calm the overstimulation, but another part of him enjoyed watching you too far gone to form a coherent thought.

All of a sudden, the room hummed with the familiar buzz of the vibrator you knew far too well. Harry pressed the head of it firmly against your clit, and the vibrations slammed through you instantly, each pulse amplified by the burning slick of the lube still coating your folds.

You arched your whole body off the bed, clutching with your hands at the sheets as you tore out a loud and desperate scream from the back of your throat.

“Fuck! Harry! Oh my god!” you cried, completely overwhelmed by the brutal combination of the burning, the stretch, and the merciless vibration.

“That’s it.” Harry snarled, pressing one hand firmly against your lower belly to hold you down, while the other tortured your clit with the buzzing vibrator. “Scream for me. You wanted a punishment… You fucking got it.” Each word drove you further over the edge, ass and cunt trembling.

The burn mixed in with the vibration, the feeling was so intense it bordered on pain, but behind it was the exquisite pleasure that only Harry could inflict on you. Your thighs shook violently, and you clenched every muscle of your body as you tried to fight the overstimulation, tried to escape it, but his weight kept you pinned.

“Please… please—” you sobbed under his assault. You weren’t even sure what you were asking for, release, more, him inside you, or just to keep feeling this overwhelming fire, all you knew was that you didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want the pleasure to end, didn’t want to lose a single second of the burning, pulsing, maddening intensity he was driving through you.

Harry leaned closer. “Please, what? Please stop? Please more? You don’t even know what you want, do you? Just a needy thing begging for anything I’ll give her.”

He pressed the vibrator harder, tracing circles over your swollen clit, making the beads shift inside your ass with every tremor. The burn was maddening, traveling through your veins until your cries turned to raw screams.

“Can’t—can’t—” you babbled, shaking your head in denial.

“Yes, you fucking can,” Harry growled, never letting up, not even for one second. “You’re gonna cum when I say, and not before. Hold it, babe. Hold it or I’ll edge you all fucking night.”

Your body convulsed as you fought against the overwhelming stimulation. The heat, the stretch, the vibration… it was too much, far too much, and you couldn’t breathe around it.

Harry’s voice cut through. He was punishing you, yes, but he also love you deeply, and he could only be so cruel when it came to you. He knew exactly how far to push, when to hold, and when to finally let you shatter. “Now. Let go. Let me hear it.”

The release tore through you violently, the orgasm ripped every sound from your lungs. You screamed and sobbed, feeling your cunt clenching so hard that it almost hurt. Harry didn’t pull the vibrator away immediately, he kept it there, making you feel every aftershock until you were a crying mess.

Finally, he switched it off and tossed it aside. He stroked your cheek once, almost tenderly, before gripping your hair and yanking your head up to watch the state of you, your glassy eyes, mascara streaked, with tears still falling freely.

He smirked. “There’s my love. Wrecked and ruined. Exactly how I want you.”

You whimpered, but the gleam in his eyes told you the punishment wasn’t over. Not even close.

You widened your eyes before he could say or do anything else. “No. Harry—please—”

But your begging was pointless, he was already pressing the vibrator back against your swollen clit, but this time he set it up higher, the hum was stronger, and when it made contact with your cunt, a jolt ripped through you like electricity.

“Fuck!” you screamed, pounding your fists uselessly into the sheets.

Harry had his heavy hand pinning you down as you jerked your hips helplessly. “Thought I was done with you? Nah, babe. You don’t get to send me that filth and walk away with one pretty little orgasm. You’re not learning anything that way.”

“Harry—I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he barked, holding the toy firm against your clit, ignoring your sobs. “You’ll take what I give you. Every last fucking second of it.”

You felt the burn from the lube sharper now, the heat was spreading deeper, and the vibrator on high speed made your clit feel raw and overexposed. Your throat was hoarse from screaming so loud, but even if you felt like you couldn’t hold on anymore, your body betrayed you, because it was clenching and dripping, as if asking for more.

“Look at this mess,” Harry said, watching the slick run down your thighs. “Crying, but your cunt’s gushing all over the sheets. My filthy, beautiful woman.”

You thrashed against the mattress, trembling uncontrollably. “Too much—it’s too much!” you gasped. You didn’t even know what the words meant anymore, you were drunk on the overwhelming sensations Harry was driving through you.

Harry snarled. “Then give in. Stop fighting it. Let that needy body of yours do what it’s begging to do.”

The pressure built to the point were is was unbearable, you felt it coiling in your gut, sharper than anything you’d ever felt before. The beads shifted inside your ass, amplifying the sensation until your vision blurred.

Your cries turned to screams for mercy. “Please, Harry—please—”

“You wanna cum again? You wanna soak the bed? Then fucking do it. Show me. Show me how gorgeous you look when you cum.”

“I—fuck—I can’t take it!” You kicked uselessly, and your thighs trembled so hard you could barely hold them apart. Harry had to push them open with one hand.

Harry was groaning like he was getting himself off too just by watching you. It was as if your pleasure was his own, and even though his hands and every ounce of his attention were fixed entirely on you, he looked just as fucked-out as he did when his cock was buried deep inside you.

He shoved the vibrator harder against your clit. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare give up now. You’re gonna cum for me again. You’re gonna scream my name, and you’re gonna give me every fucking drop I wring out of this cunt.”

As if your body had a mind of its own, it obeyed. Another orgasm slammed into you without warning, it was violent, tearing through every muscle. You screamed, convulsed, arching your body off the bed as he held the vibrator against your clit. Harry moaned and growled too, as if he were joining you in your climax, not just watching but feeling it through every fiber of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trembling as he shook with need, his cock straining in his pants. It was impossible to tell where your pleasure ended and his began.

But this time, as you came, it wasn’t just a little wetness coming out of your pussy, instead of the usual pulse of release, something broke open inside you, hot liquid gushing, spilling out of you like a waterfall, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Your own shocked cry rang in your ears. That had never happened before. Every orgasm with Harry had been wild, intense, and mind-shattering, ye… but nothing like this.

“Harry—! Oh my god—!” you gasped, and Harry froze for half a second, then his grin spread slowly. He pulled the vibrator away, sitting back to watch the wet patch spreading under you.

“Fuuuck!” Harry said, staring down at you, at the patch spreading fast under your hips, dripping down your thighs. “Fucking hell.” He grabbed your ass cheeks, spreading you open just to see the mess leaking out of you. “Look at you! Babe, you just squirted all over the fucking bed! My woman, squirting all over our bed.”

Harry’d be lying if he said he’d never fantasized about making you squirt for him, about feeling you shiver as your juices gushed, slicking him. The thought alone made him harder, hungrier.

You shook your head frantically, still trembling. “What the fuck, Harry?!”

Harry barked out a laugh with disbelief. “What the fuck, she says… what the fuck is you making a puddle in our bed! Jesus Christ, look at this. Never seen you do that before.”

“I haven’t!” you shot back, still shaking. “You made me… oh my God, Harry—”

He was still staring like he couldn’t get enough, dragging his hand down your soaked thighs, smearing your slick across your skin. He lifted his dripping fingers, and he shoved them between your lips. “Taste that. That’s what you just did for me. That’s mine.”

You whimpered helplessly, taking his fingers into your mouth on pure instinct. You tasted yourself, the salty, heady flavor of your own juices, the mess Harry had dragged out of you.

Once you’d calmed down, you looked down, expecting the familiar tent of his erection, only to see a large, wet patch blooming across the crotch of his pants. Your eyes widened, you knew Harry well enough to recognize that was far too much to be just pre-cum. It had soaked through layers of fabric.

“Harry… did you… did you?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you stared at the evidence of what you’d done to him.

He looked down at the dark spot, then brought his hand to his crotch, squeezing and brushing it as if testing it, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Fuck, babe… you made me cum.” His grin split his face, with half disbelief, chuckling like a boy who’d just discovered the greatest trick in the world. “Fucking came untouched for you.”

“What the hell…” you murmured, tracing your fingers over the sticky remnants on his pants. The warmth of it clung to your skin, and without thinking, you rubbed your fingers together, bringing them to your mouth to taste it. Yep. His cum. Thick, salty, and entirely his. He’d cum in his pants like a teenager, completely undone, without a single touch, just watching you cum, and squirt for him. “Has… has that ever happened before?” you asked.

“Never.” He shook his head, pleased. “Guess we both found new things about ourselves tonight, huh?”

Harry’s grin softened into something dangerously satisfied. “Fucking hell, babe… Never thought I’d get this outta you. My woman… squirting for the first time, and it’s for me. Only me.”

He looked utterly fucking proud, his chest puffed, like a man who had finally claimed the ultimate prize he’d been chasing all his life. He owned this, owned you, and reveled in the mess he’d made you into, dripping and trembling beneath him, completely undone.

“Only you… only you could make me cum like that just by watching you. So fucking pretty cumming like that… couldn’t hold it. Not a chance. Even my cock knows you own me, babe. Every inch of me is yours.”

He knelt between your legs and held them open, staring at the wet mess on the sheets with awe and hunger.

You covered your face with both hands, spilling out muffled words. “I can’t believe you made me do that, what the fuck, Harry—”

He pried your hands away, pinning your wrists above your head. “Believe it. Christ almighty, babe. Never seen you make a mess like that in your life. Fucking beautiful.”

But he wasn’t done admiring you. Harry bent down between your thighs, pressing his mouth to your dripping folds, dragging his tongue up and along your messy. A groan rumbled in his chest as he licked and lapped at you like a man starved, tasting every drop of your warm juices, curling his tongue into every curve, every seam, savoring what was entirely his.

You yelped, arching your back as he closed his mouth over your swollen clit. “Harry, oh my God—it’s too much!”

“Too much?” He smirked against you, sucking hard enough to send another shockwave through your sensitive body. “Not fucking enough. You think I’m wasting all this sweet mess? Not a chance, babe. I’m licking up every last bit you give me.”

You writhed helplessly, the whimpers breaking from your throat as he darted and curled his tongue, pulling more shudders from you. The overstimulation had your vision spotting, but he wouldn’t let up until he’d sucked and swallowed his fill.

Finally, mercifully, he pulled away, and you saw how shiny with slick his lips were. “Never been prouder in my life. My girl, like a fucking waterfall for me.”

You tried to glare at him, but it came out weak. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he chuckled, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “But I’m insane for you.”

Before you could answer, you felt his fingers at your ass, gently tugging on the string of beads still lodged inside you. Your whole body seized as your muscles clenched around them.

“Easy now,” he murmured, soothing you. “Nice and slow for me.”

He carefully pulled them out one by one. Each pop made you curl your toes, but Harry kissed the inside of your thigh to ground you with his warmth, until the last bead slid free.

“There we go.” He tossed them aside and leaned over you, smoothing his big hand over your stomach, then up to cup your jaw. “All empty now.”

You blinked up at him, glassy-eyed, your body limp as if every nerve had been wrung dry. Harry gathered you into his arms, pulling you into his chest as though you weighed nothing, pressing his lips against your hairline.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered, rocking you gently. “Come down nice and slow. Breathe with me. You’re safe, I got you.”

You pressed your cheek against the solid warmth of his chest. The edge of your overstimulation ebbed, replaced by a sated haze. You let yourself melt into him, too weak to do anything else.

He stroked your back, moving his hand up and down in slow passes. “You did so fucking good for me. Best I ever had. Made me so proud, you don’t even know.”

“Harry…” Your voice cracked, and you clutched at his shirt weakly.

“Shh,” he soothed, kissing the top of your head again. “I know. I know, love. I’m right here.”

He held you like that for what felt like forever, rocking you until your trembling eased, until your breathing wasn’t so ragged. When you finally sagged fully against him, he chuckled, rubbing your hip.

“Alright, messy girl,” he said softly, brushing his lips across your temple, “I’m gonna run us a bath. Get ourselves cleaned up. Can’t have you sleepin’ in this puddle you made.”

You groaned weakly, hiding your face against him. “And you can’t sleep with those pants on unless you wanna wake up glued to them.”

He grinned. And with that, Harry shifted, gathering you up in his arms like you were nothing but something precious and fragile, already striding toward the bathroom to take care of you, even after breaking you apart piece by piece.

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A/N: My first (and only) Harry fic for Kinktober🥲 I remember someone sent me an ask ages ago requesting a Tom fic where the reader squirts, and this felt like the perfect opportunity to finally write it!

I was a little unsure which sex toys to choose, sorry for leaving out so many other interesting options, but there’s only so much you can fit in one fic, lmao. The cumming untouched part was a last-minute addition, because HELL YEAHHHH. Hope you like it!

I gotta admit, this one was initially one of my least favorites, but I ended up liking it more than I expected. I’d love to hear what you think of it! Thank you, as always, for being here🩷

The suit hung there, pressed, black, waiting for him on the back of the bedroom door. Johnny stood in front of it like it had personally wronged him, his jaw working around a muttered curse.

“Don’t see why I gotta wear the damn thing,” he grumbled. “I’m fine in my jacket ‘n boots, same as always.”

You were half bent over your vanity mirror, slipping in an earring, and you caught his reflection glowering at the fabric. “You’re not showing up to our wedding in a leather jacket that smells like smoke and beer,” you said smoothly, fastening the earring. “Not unless you want my entire family to start whispering.”

“They whisper anyhow,” Johnny shot back, scratching at his stubble. “Don’t matter what the hell I put on.”

You turned, giving him a pointed look, lifting one brow. “Yeah, but you’d be doing me a favor if you actually tried.”

That got him. Johnny’s eyes flicked from the suit to you, and then down again. He exhaled heavily, reluctantly putting on the black pants. “Doll…” His voice softened. “I don’t look right in that kinda crap. Feels like I’m playin’ dress-up, like I’m somebody I ain’t.”

You crossed the room, tugging gently at the lapels of the jacket. “We’ve talked about this, Johnny. And you don’t look like you’re playing dress-up, you look like my man. That’s all I care about.” He frowned at you. “Besides,” you added slyly, pressing the suit jacket against his chest, “you’re gonna look real handsome in it. Very hot.”

Johnny blinked. His ears pinked, and he scowled harder to hide it. “Hot,” he repeated flatly, as though the word didn’t suit him.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, already sliding the jacket up his arms before he could resist. “Handsome, hot, elegant. You’ll make all my bridesmaids jealous.”

He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You tugged the lapels into place, smoothing them over his chest, “I’m not, you’re gonna make me stare at you all night.”

His breath caught, and his mouth twitched, like he wanted to argue, but your hand was flat against his chest now, right over his heart.

“Christ, doll…” he shook his head. The suit framed him perfectly, the roughness of him contrasting against the sharp lines of black fabric, making him look even more dangerous. He shoved his hands into the pockets, like a kid who’d been stuffed into Sunday clothes.

“Feels tight,” he grumbled. “Don’t remember it bein’ this damn tight.”

“Because you’ve got more muscles. That’s not the suit’s fault.”

He gave you a side-eye that was both suspicious and amused. “You tryin’ to butter me up?”

“Mm, is it working?”

You rose on your toes to kiss him, until he gave in with a quiet groan, gripping your waist with his big hands. You meant to make it sweet, just a quick kiss to get him to stop pouting, just a quick one so you could slip into your wedding gown and get ready to go to church, where everyone was already waiting. But Johnny never did know how to keep anything at “quick.”

The kiss deepened. His mouth slanted over yours with insistence, his stubble scratching your skin as he slid his tongue against yours. His grip tightened, and the jacket he’d just been complaining about was wrinkling under the strength of his muscles.

You gasped when he backed you into the dresser, feeling the cool wood against your spine. “Johnny…”

He groaned your name against your mouth, swallowing your breath like he couldn’t get enough. “You started somethin’, doll, don’t blame me when I finish it.”

“You’re gonna wrinkle the suit,” you teased, though your voice was already shaky, betraying how much you wanted this. “And we gotta get going in twenty minutes.”

“Don’t give a damn about the suit,” he muttered, dragging his lips down your jaw, nipping at the tender skin of your neck. The heat of him pressed tight to you. You threaded your fingers into his messy hair, tugging it and making him growl. He shifted his hips, grinding subtly against you, and you felt him already straining against the neat black trousers he’d cursed only minutes ago.

“Christ…” he hissed, resting his forehead against yours for a beat, breathing heavy. “You’re drivin’ me nuts. Standin’ there tellin’ me I look handsome… got me hard as a fuckin’ rock.”

You smirked, brushing your lips against his. “Told you I meant it.”

That set him off again. He crashed his mouth back onto yours, sliding his hands down to your ass, cupping you through the thin fabric of your dress and hauling you closer. You could feel every inch of him pressed against you, proof of how much he desired you.

He broke the kiss only to mutter against your lips, “Ain’t gonna make it to this weddin’ if you keep temptin’ me, doll. Might just keep you right here.”

Your laugh was breathless. “We’ll be late.”

“So what?” Johnny growled, sucking at your throat hard enough you knew it’d leave a mark. “They can start without us.”

You gasped when he slid his hands lower, slipping between your thighs through the fabric of your dress. He cupped you there, rubbing with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle. His other hand came up quickly to steady you, pressing you harder against the dresser.

“They can’t! Johnny— It’s our special day. We can’t... we can’t be late.”

“Shhh,” he husked as he kissed you again, swallowing the sound of your moan. “You started this, doll. Gotta lemme take care of it now.”

Johnny’s grip shifted, spinning you around with his big hands, with a roughness that made your stomach flip. Before you knew it, your chest was pressed against the dresser, your cheek flat against the wood, and his body caging yours in from behind. His hand was already at your hip, tugging the slip you’ve been wearing while doing your make-up over your thighs, gathering the fabric in a fist until it bunched at your waist.

“I’m standin’ here tryin’ to be respectable for your family, cause it’s our goddamn wedding day, and you’re makin’ me think ‘bout bendin’ you over every piece of furniture in this house.”

Your pulse thundered as the cool air hit the back of your thighs, the hem of your slip rucked up obscenely high. You tried to twist your head to look at him, but Johnny pressed you down more firmly against the dresser with a growl.

“Stay right there, doll. Lemme look at you.”

His other hand was already at his belt, and you heard the metal buckle clinking, the zipper being dragged down. The sound alone made you clench around nothing, wishing to be filled by your man.

“Fuckin’ suit pants,” he muttered, like the fabric itself had betrayed him. Then he groaned as he finally freed himself, the heavy weight of his cock settling against the curve of your ass. He rutted forward once, just to let you feel exactly how hard he was.

You whimpered. “Johnny…”

“That’s right,” he rasped, angling his hips so his cockhead slid against your soaked panties. “Say my name. Don’t forget it.”

He teased you mercilessly, grinding the thick length against your heat, dragging it along the soaked fabric of your panties until it clung to you. Then, with a curse under his breath, he shoved your underwear aside, exposing you to the air. His tip nudged right at your entrance, but he didn’t push in yet.

“Christ almighty…” he hissed, and you gasped as he pulled back, spitting crudely, the warm slick of it landed on your pussy, sliding down, and then he smeared it along your folds using his thick fingers, circling your clit until your hips jerked.

“Johnny—!”

“Don’t rush me. You want it, don’t ya? Want your man to bend you over and fuck ya like some dirty little girl ‘fore we go smile for the weddin’ pictures?”

“Yes—please—”

That was all he needed. With a groan, he lined himself up, his cock thick and throbbing at your entrance, and he pushed in slow, stretching you around him inch by inch until you were gasping against the dresser. The burn was delicious, his size filling you completely, making you whimper and clutch at the wood for balance.

“Goddamn,” Johnny cursed, stilling his hips halfway in, like he was trying to hold himself back. “Tight little pussy always eats me up good…”

You pushed back against him, to show him how needy you were, and he let out a strangled laugh.

“Greedy girl.” He snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one hard thrust. You cried out, and he clamped his hand over your mouth instantly, keeping his palm against your lips. “Shhh,” he growled in your ear. “Don’t need the neighbors nosin’ around wonderin’ what the hell’s goin’ on in here.”

His pace was relentless, he was fucking you hard against the dresser, making the wood creak under the force of it.

“Look at ya,” Johnny panted, watching himself disappear into you over and over. “Bent over, takin’ cock like you were built for it.”

You moaned into his palm, every thrust was hitting deep, every filthy word making you clench tighter around him.

“Yeah, squeeze me like that,” he groaned, fucking you harder. “Gonna have me ruinin’ this suit ‘fore we even get out the door.”

The dresser continued to rattle under the force of him, each thrust was driving you forward, his cock pounding into you so deep you saw stars. He leaned back just enough to spit again, the wet splatter landed on the curve of your ass, and he dragged his hand down, smearing the spit lower with his fingers until he circled your tight hole.

“Christ,” Johnny rasped, watching his finger tease you there while his cock still split you open. “Look at this… already takin’ me so sweet, and you’re twitchin’ back here like you want more.”

You whined into his palm, jerking your hips when he rubbed the wetness in harder. The slick circles grew firmer, pressing insistently over your butthole now. “Yeah,” he groaned, “gonna give it to you. Gonna have you open for me in both places. My perfect wife can take it.”

He spat again, this time right onto his thumb, slicking it, then he pressed slowly against your tight rim until the resistance gave way and he pushed inside. You cried out, but the sound was muffled against his hand.

The first time he’d done that, the stretch had been brutal, every inch of his finger feeling impossibly big as he took his sweet time teasing your hole open. Even then, the size of his fingers had been intimidating, almost overwhelming, and your body had trembled under the ache. But now, you’d learned to relax, to open yourself fully, letting the burn of the stretch mingle with the pleasure of his cock buried deep in your pussy. Every time he claimed both your holes at once, you felt owned in the most deliciously painful way.

“Fuck, doll… You feel that? Cock in your pussy, my thumb stretchin’ your ass… both your holes stuffed full’a me. Goddamn.”

Your body shook, feeling completely overwhelmed, the dresser digging into your hips as he worked into both places at once, fucking you deep and hard, while his thumb moved in your ass. The stretch was obscene, making you feel dizzy with so much pleasure.

The mirror in front of you caught it all. Your flushed face pressed against the wood, your mouth parted under Johnny’s rough palm, the way your dress was shoved up, him standing behind you while he pistoned his thick cock into your dripping cunt while his suit clung to him, wrinkled and ruined.

“Look at yourself,” Johnny growled, shifting his hand from your mouth to fist your hair, yanking your head up so you couldn’t look anywhere but the mirror. “See what I’m doin’ to you? Bent over, stuffed full, takin’ me like a filthy little slut before you walk down the aisle.”

And that was part of why Johnny was so special, why he truly was the love of our life. Because he had this way of treating you like a queen, like something sacred, the love of his life. And yet, in the next breath, he could make you take it like his dirty whore.

You whimpered, arching your back. The sight of him behind you was too much to bear, his broad shoulders straining the suit jacket, his mouth twisted in that desperate snarl he wore only when he was close but trying hard to hold on.

“Goddamn right, keep watchin’,” he panted, snapping his hips harder, sinking his thumb deeper in rhythm with each thrust. “This is mine. Every fuckin’ hole you got’s mine.”

The dresser shook, the drawers rattled with every slam of his hips. Your legs trembled as he drove into you harder, faster, all while working his thumb in your ass like he wanted to break you apart.

“You’re squeezin’ the life outta me, doll,” Johnny groaned. “Clenchin’ down on both ends like you don’t ever wanna let me go. You tryin’ to kill me ‘fore the weddin’?”

Your reply was just a broken moan, the tears were prickling your eyes from the intensity. You couldn’t stop watching in the mirror, the way he took you, owned you, filled you everywhere at once. The way he parted his plump lips, forming a perfect little “o” every time he piston-thrusted deep into you, hitting that gummy spot inside you that no man had touched before. And every deliberate pull back dragged the thick ridges of his cock through your hungry walls, making him spill moans and grith his teeth.

He looked so fucking sinful like this, suit wrinkled and half-untucked, his fucked-out face was pure heat, like he was on the verge of losing his mind, like your pussy was showing him a kind of goddamn ecstasy he’d never known, making him shiver, groan, and fuck into you harder just to stay upright.

Johnny bent over you until he had his mouth was right next to your ear. “Gonna make you cum like this, cock deep in your pussy, my thumb stretchin’ your ass. Gonna wreck you before we even leave this room.”

It was overwhelming, his astonishing big cock sliding deep while his thumb ruined your asshole, two points of pressure that made your body shake and seize. Johnny’s grip on your hair kept your head raised, forcing you to look in the mirror. Your face was flushed, your eyes glassy, your lips parted in helpless little cries.

“You see that?” he snarled. “See how you’re takin’ me? Filthy little thing, both your holes stuffed full’a me.”

He slammed his hips forward, and you gasped, scrabbling at the dresser for something to hold onto. “Johnny—fuck, I—”

You squeezed him so impossibly tight that he had to dig every ounce of strength into pulling back, only to slam back into you with feral force. It was like your tight, hungry cunt had a mind of its own, refusing to let him even pause for a single second, clinging to him.

“Yeah, I know,” he cut you off, grunting as he drove deeper. “You’re close, ain’t ya? Can feel you squeezin’ me like a fuckin’ vice. Tight little cunt milkin’ my cock, ass clenchin’ ‘round my thumb. Christ almighty.”

The pressure built fast, his cock dragged against that perfect spot with every thrust, the added stretch of his thumb sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

“Cum for me,” Johnny growled, his eyes burned into yours in the mirror, he looked wild. “Cum all over my cock, doll. Don’t hold nothin’ back.”

That did it, your body arched, your legs gave out as the orgasm tore through you. You cried out, loud, clenching so hard around him that he groaned like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Ffffuck—there it is,” he snarled, grinding his hips deep even as you shook beneath him. “Look at you… cummin’ all over me, drippin’ down my cock. Sweet fuckin’ girl, takin’ me so good.”

Your cunt spasmed around him, milking him, and he lost it. With a guttural curse, he pulled his thumb free, shoving you down flat against the dresser as his hips snapped hard.

“Gonna fuckin’—shit—” His breath hitched. “Gonna cum… fuck, doll, I can’t—”

He yanked out at the last second, his cock throbbed in his fist as he stroked himself roughly, before spilling heavy ropes of cum across the curve of your ass. His thick, creamy seed streaked your skin, dripping down the swell, and the sight made him snarl and pump himself through the aftershocks.

“Christ…” he panted, staring down at the mess he made of you. “Look at that. Ruined you ‘fore the weddin’ even started.”

You were still trembling against the dresser, trying to catch your breath. You glanced back at him in the mirror, noticing how his chest heaved, the way his hair looked damp and messy. He still had his cock in his hand, shiny with the mess he’d just spilled across your ass.

“Well?” you asked. “Ain’t you gonna clean me up? We’re late already.”

Johnny’s brows shot up, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. He gave his cock a lazy pump, watching the way the white streaks dripped down the curve of your ass.

“Clean you up?” His voice was low. “Not a fuckin’ chance, doll.”

You blinked at him in the mirror, “c’mon, Johnny…”

He stepped closer, dragging the blunt head of his cock across your skin, smearing the cum in messy strokes. “Nah. We’re gonna go to church, and we’re gettin’ married with my cum dryin’ on your ass under your wedding dress.”

Your breath hitched, “Johnny…”

“Don’t whine,” he cut you off. “You wanted me in a suit tonight, huh? Well, gentlemen leave their mark.”

He spread your cheeks to have better access, and he rubbed his cum with the tip of his cock, leaving your skin glistening with his seed. Thick streaks smeared over your skin, sliding down the curve of your thighs, making them sticky.

“Look at that,” he rasped. “Made a goddamn mess outta you. My mess. And you’re keepin’ it. Walkin’ down that aisle beside me smellin’ like my cum.”

You squirmed against the dresser, but he pressed his hand firmly on your lower back, to keep you bent. He dragged his cock lower, smearing more of his cum along your folds, getting it mixed with the slick already dripping from your pussy.

“Johnny—” your voice cracked on his name.

“Shhh,” he hushed, circling your swollen clit with the head of his cock until you gasped. “Don’t go forgettin’ who you belong to while everybody’s watchin’ you smile, doll. You’re mine. Inside, outside. Marked.”

He played with it cruelly, pushing the slick tip between your cheek to rub his cum like he wanted it tattooed there. Then he tapped your clit once, twice, spreading more of the sticky mess against your folds.

“Could slip back in right now,” he whispered, almost to himself, pressing against your entrance but not pushing through. “Have you stuffed full walkin’ out the door. Nobody’d even know.”

Your whole body shook, and you curled your toes in your shoes instinctively, torn between shame and desire.

Johnny caught your gaze in the mirror. “Say it. Tell me we’re gettin’ married out there with you wearin’ my cum.”

Your lips parted, and your voice came out small. “We’re getting married... and I’ll be wearing your cum.”

His grin widened. He gave your ass one last obscene smear with his cock, dragging it through the mess and spreading it over every curve. Then he tucked himself back into his trousers, even if he was still half-hard, still hungry for more.

“Good girl.” He leaned down against your cheek to kiss you there. “Now hurry up, doll. We need to get goin’.”

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A/N: Yay, first Johnny fic for Kinktober!! I know this one’s all filth and smut, but somehow it still feels a little domestic to me, like that’s just so Johnny, wanting to fuck reader any time of day, lol. And ohhh, don’t get me started on him in a suit😩😩

Initially, I wrote this fic as them getting ready for reader’s sister’s wedding, but once it was done, I thought there’s no way I’m writing a wedding themed fic if it’s not their own wedding, so I changed it a bit.

I decided to post this one a little earlier because I feel it’s more convenient for people that way (lol, sorry for being so indecisive about posting times). Hope you enjoyed this fic, and thank you so much for all the love🩷

༺♡༻ You always ignore the grumbling, the swearing, the I don’t need nothin’ that comes out of his mouth the second you suggest he sit still. You go get the warm compress, your good balm, the bottle of pills he refuses to admit helps. Alfie softens the second you touch him, he always said you had magic hands, and part of him enjoys the attention, even if he won’t admit it, just knowing that his beautiful wife is looking after him, fussing over him like he’s worth the trouble. “That’s it, innit? Christ…” he exhales, as your fingers press into a tight knot of muscle. “You’ve got magic fuckin’ hands, woman.”

༺♡༻ Whenever his psoriasis flares, he goes relentless. He gets patches on his elbows, his neck, shoulders, and face. You’ll be reading, cuddling against him in bed, folding laundry, just minding your own business, and suddenly his big hand closes around your wrist. He drags your hand straight to the itchy patch on his shoulder or back, plants it there, and immediately starts using it to scratch himself. “Alfie!” You try to protest. “Don’t fight me on it, love, I need it. Ohhh, fuck me, there it is. Right fuckin’ there.” His head tips back. “You see, it’s like a wank, love, I could do it meself, but someone else’s hand always feels better.” He says it with that look of a man who knows exactly how much he’s getting on your nerves and enjoys every second “Romantic, Alf,” you shoot back, full of sarcasm. He grins without shame, still grinding your fingers over the spot that itches.

༺♡༻ You always try to pull away, but he’ll clamp his massive hand around your wrist, forcing you back in. “Don’t be cruel, darlin’,” he mutters. “I’m fuckin’ beggin’ you here, treacle… just… right there, yeah, don’t fuckin’ move. Ohhh, God… that’s, Jesus Christ—that’s better than sex… well, almost better, right?” You hate doing it, hate the idea of breaking skin or hurting him more, but the sound he makes when you hit just the right spot is almost obscene. “Stop, you’re gonna make it worse, it’s gonna bleed! I have a cream for this, Alfie.” You try to make him stop, but he won’t have it. “Treacle,” he grunts. “At this age everything’s worse anyway. Might as well go out enjoyin’ meself.”

༺♡༻ Sometimes when you’re scratching him he’d look up at you with a wide grin on his face. “Y’know, if you slide that hand down, yeah, we could sort out my other fuckin’ itch at the same time. Kill two birds, innit? Back’s sorted, cock’s sorted, everyone’s happy.” You snort and give him a playful nudge in the shoulder. “You have to make everything about your cock, don’t you?” But then he drags your hand down until your palm is resting over the hard, heavy outline in his trousers, the thick weight of his hard cock impossible to ignore. “Yeah… there’s my good girl. See? Feels better already.” He rolls his hips forward just enough to make sure you feel him. If you start moving your hand, even the smallest squeeze or drag of your palm along his length, he lets a guttural groan out. “Ffff—yeah, just like that. God, you don’t even fuckin’ know, I’ve missed your hands on me.”

༺♡༻ Alfie’d look at himself in the mirror, at the shell of the man he used to be, and he couldn’t help but feel like you deserved better. You were still so full of life, and he was… him. “And what about when me back’s completely fucked, eh? What then, treacle? You still keepin’ this old bastard ‘round?” He tries to make it sound light, like a joke, but it was a possibility that terrified him. “Then I’ll ride you every day, Alf. I’ve already told you.” Your tone was matter-of-fact. There was no one else, there never would be, you wanted him, even more now than when you first met him. “Yeah, and what about when I can’t even get it up anymore, eh?” He says with a grin, but his eyes flicker like he’s checking to see if you’ll flinch. “Then I’ll ride your face,” you say without hesitation, and you watch the grin crack into a real laugh, shaking his head. “Alright then, jump on, woman.”

I’m not doing taglists anymore, you can follow me on my Updates account

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A/N: Thank you so much @lafrancak for sending me this idea!! I hope you enjoyed it🩷

If you’re reading this and you’re the person who sent me an ask a few days ago about whether I thought Alfie would have kids or not, I’m not ignoring you, lol. I’m actually writing a little something for that (even though you didn’t ask me to).

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The night had been loud, the kind of Friday night the Esmeralda lived for. You'd been sipping champagne, swaying to the rhythm of the music, and more than one man’s gaze lingered on you longer than was polite. Their eyes drift across the line of your bare shoulders, the curve of your mouth, to your breasts under the neckline of your dress. It was innocent. You’d never dare act on any of their advances, not when you had Reggie, not with the way his name alone could still silence a room. But a part of you, the part that had dressed a little prettier tonight, still enjoyed the attention. The idea of being wanted, even if it would never go anywhere.

When Reggie finally walked in, you saw the look in his eyes, and you knew you were in trouble. He didn’t say a word in front of the others. Reggie would never make a scene with you in front of everyone. No, he liked to keep these kinds of matters private. That was worse, somehow, because it meant you had no idea what was waiting for you, only that it would come the second you were alone.

He just placed a firm hand on your wrist and dragged you out, down the hall to his office. His grip wasn’t brutal, but it was unyielding, a way of silently warning you that you weren’t going anywhere until he decided otherwise. The slam of the door made you flinch as he locked the door.

“D’you think I didn’t see it?” Reggie’s voice was dangerous. “Every bloody bloke in that club had their eyes on you, and you—” his jaw ticked as he stepped closer, “—you fuckin’ liked it, didn’t you?”

You swallowed hard as your heart hammered inside your chest. “Reggie, I was just—”

“Just what?” He cut you off, backing you up against the wall, his palm slamming beside your head. “Smilin’, laughin’, swayin’ your hips like some cheap little tart for anyone who’d look? My girl, my girl, paradin’ herself like a fuckin’ whore.”

Your stomach knotted at his words, and you opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t your intention, that it didn’t mean anything, but his hand came up fast to cup your jaw, squeezing it just enough to shut you up.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ deny it. You know exactly what you were doin’. Every bastard in that room wanted you, and you wanted them to look. That’s whorin’, love.”

You whimpered against his grip, and Reggie dropped his gaze to your chest, where your breasts rose and fell with your quickened breathing. A dark smirk pulled at his mouth. “Look at you… all worked up. You like me callin’ you that, don’t ya? You dirty little slut.”

Before you could answer, his free hand shot down, gripping your tits through the fabric of your dress with a possessive touch. He squeezed them hard, making you gasp.

“Wearin’ this tight little thing so every man in the place could stare at your tits,” he growled, yanking the neckline down, tearing the fabric at the seam, and exposing your tits to his cold eyes. They spilled out, bouncing free into his hands. “They’re mine. D’you understand? Mine.” His thumb rolled over your nipple, making it harden instantly. “Not for showin’ off, not for sharin’. Just for me.”

You whimpered, half from the sting of his words, and half from the way his fingers pinched your nipple sharply, without any delicacy.

“Christ, listen to yourself… moanin’ like a slag while I shame you,” Reggie sneered, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear. “I should keep you here, bent over my desk, let the whole fuckin’ club hear what a little whore you really are. Show ’em you’re only ever allowed to cum because of me.”

He shifted his hand, and both of his palms now kneaded your tits roughly, flicking his thumbs at your nipples until you arched off the wall. His mouth caught one in a biting suck, scraping you with his teeth until you yelped.

“You’re mine,” he said again. “No one else so much as looks at what belongs to me. You even fuckin’ smile at another man like that again, I’ll put you on your knees in the middle of the club, make you suck my cock in front of all of ’em. That’ll show ’em what kind of whore you are... my whore.”

Your body trembled, but your nipples throbbed under his rough play, and even if part of you was scared about how impulsive Reggie got whenever he was angry, and about what he could do to you, your pussy was still soaking wet beneath your dress.

Reggie smirked, seeing the effect he had on your body. He slid his hand lower, hooking his fingers under your hem. “Yeah… you fuckin’ love it.” Your back hit the wall hard as Reggie gripped your arms, pinning you in place. “You think I don’t notice, eh? Smilin’, lettin’ every bastard in that club stare at you? You fuckin’ liked it.”

“Reggie, no. I... I wasn’t—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me,” he growled, squeezing and pinching your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. “Look at ’em. Hard already. Little slut’s been waitin’ for me to notice.”

“Reggie!” you cried, half in protest, half in need.

He bent low and latched onto your breast, sucking harshly, biting down until you cried. His teeth scraped, his tongue lashed, and then he pulled back, leaving your nipple wet and reddened. “Whore tits,” he said, smacking one with his palm so the sting bloomed across your skin.

You whimpered, tears pricking. “I wasn’t being a whore, Reggie—I swear. I was just—”

“Just what? Flauntin’ yourself like a tart? You want every man in the room starin’ at these?” He landed another slap that made your breast jiggle from the impact, followed by his mouth crushing down again, biting harder this time. “Tell me you didn’t fuckin’ enjoy it.”

“I didn’t!” you sobbed, writhing under his grip, the sharp pain and the pleasure were a combination that turned you on more than you wanted to admit. “I only wanted you, only ever you.”

Reggie’s laugh was cruel, muffled against your flesh. He sucked hard enough to leave bruises, pulling back with a wet pop before dragging his teeth across your other nipple. “Say that again. Say it while I suck these filthy tits you’ve been waggin’ about.”

Your chest arched, your nipples were swollen and sore under his mouth and stinging palms. “I only wanted you!” you cried out as more tears slipped. “I wasn’t being a whore, Reggie—I wasn’t!”

He straightened, closing his hand harshly around both breasts, squeezing them together until your nipples throbbed. His lips curled into a cruel smirk as he looked down at you. “Yeah? Then prove it. Prove these are mine. No one else’s.”

And before you could respond, he shoved your tits together and sank his face between them, biting and sucking both nipples in turn, alternating with harsh slaps that made you whimper. Reggie’s mouth left your nipples bruised, the sting of his teeth and slaps burning against your skin. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking at the sight of your tits flushed and glistening.

“Look at you,” he sneered with disgust and want. “Tits red raw, nipples sore, eyes wet… proper fuckin’ slut.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, Reggie, I’m not—I wasn’t! Please, I didn’t mean—”

He caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Shut it. You’ll only make it worse. You've been whorin’ yourself about in my club, and now you’re standin’ here beggin’ me not to call you what you are.” He flicked his eyes down, devouring your body like he owned every inch. “Dirty fuckin’ whore.”

Your body betrayed you as the wetness kept gathering beneath your dress. The shame that flooded you with his words only made the ache sharper. “Reggie…” you whispered, pressing your thighs together.

He noticed it, and a cruel laugh slipped past his lips. “Soakin’, are you? Of course you are. Little sluts get wet when they’re told off. Bet your cunt’s drippin’ right now from me callin’ you a whore.”

You whimpered. “Please… I just want you. I only ever wanted you.”

His hand shot under your dress, dragging the fabric up until your thighs were bare. He shoved your legs apart roughly, and he slid two fingers against your panties. They came away slick. He showed you, holding them up between your faces. “Pathetic. Say you’re not a whore, but you’re floodin’ my fuckin’ hand.”

He shoved them back down, this time beneath the fabric, plunging his fingers between your folds to circle your clit with brutal movements. You gasped, and your knees buckled.

“Reggie!”

“That’s it, moan for me. Moan like the filthy little slag you are.” He thrusted his fingers into you, pumping them hard, curling them just enough to make your pussy clutch around him. He leaned close to your ear. “Beg me to fuck you. Go on. Let’s hear you beg.”

You whimpered, grinding your hips down helplessly on his hand. “Please, Reggie, fuck me… I need you inside me. Please. Need your cock.”

But instead of giving in, he stilled. His hand stayed buried in your pussy, resting his fingers inside, unmoving. He slid his other hand to his belt, unfastening it, dragging his cock out into the open. That cock that was so familiar to you stood hard and proud, already leaking from how pent-up he was. Your eyes widened, and you parted your lips at the sight. You reached for it instinctively, needing to touch it, needing him, but he shoved your hand away.

Reggie’s grin was dark. “Yeah, you want it, don’t you? Want me to fill that sloppy cunt. But here’s the thing…” He leaned close. “You’re only gonna watch it, because whores don’t get fucked. You wanna know what whores get?”

He pulled his fingers out of you, leaving your aching hole feeling empty. He stepped back, loosening his tie with one hand, the other pushing at your shoulders until you slid to your knees before him. But he didn’t push his cock inside your mouth, he stretched one leg forward, and the polished leather of his shoes gleamed under the light. The crease of his tailored trousers and the shine of his handmade Italian shoes were right in front of you. He lifted your chin, forcing your eyes up to his, then smirked.

“This is what whores get. Go on then. Show me what you are. Grind your filthy little cunt on my shoe. Go on, slut. Rub yourself like the whore you want them all to see.”

Heat scorched your cheeks. He was serious. He wanted you to hump his damn shoe.

“Reggie—” You tried to protest.

“Don’t make me tell you twice.” His voice cracked.

With shaking thighs, you straddled his leg, the smooth leather pressing between your bare thighs. He watched you with amusement as you hesitated, then finally rocked forward, dragging your soaked folds across his expensive shoe.

“There she goes,” he muttered, leaning back against the wall as if he owned the world. “Look at you. Ruinin’ my fuckin’ suit with that filthy cunt. You like it, don’t you? Dirty little slag.”

You whimpered, the friction was sharp, and the humiliation you felt only made it worse. You couldn’t stop grinding, couldn’t stop the way your body needed it. You were soaking wet, smearing slick all across his shoe.

“Eyes on me,” he snapped, and you looked up through your lashes. His gaze was merciless. “That’s it. Show me how much of a whore you are for me. Not them. Me. You ride my fuckin’ shoes, not theirs. You cum for me, not them. Say it.”

“I—” You bit back a cry as your clit caught the edge of the leather. “For you, Reggie. Just you—”

“That’s right. Only me. You spread your legs in my club, you grind that wet little cunt on my fuckin’ shoe, you cum like the shameless slag you are, but it’s for me. You hear?”

“Yes—yes, Reggie!”

He clamped his hands on your shoulders, and he forced his shoe up harder against your pussy, dragging the leather across your slit until your thighs shook. He growled, delighted while watching every pathetic rut of your hips, every desperate little moan.

“Look at you, ruinin’ the shine. Cost me more than you’re worth, those shoes. And here you are, drippin’ all over ‘em. Fuckin’ disgrace.” His mouth curled in a cruel grin. “My filthy girl.”

You couldn’t take it anymore, the heat, the shame, the way he was owning you completely. You gasped his name, feeling your orgasm ready to explode, but all of a sudden, right before it happened, he moved his foot away from you.

You cried out with frustration, your body trembled from the denial. “Reggie—”

“Whores like you only cum when I say so,” he growled. “Look at the fuckin’ state of you. Ruined my shoe. Drippin’ all over it like some back alley tart.”

You whined softly. “Reggie, please—”

“Don’t you ‘please’ me.” His grip forced you to look down at the mess you’d left, at your slick, smeared across the glossy black leather. “You wanted to act the whore, didn’t you? Then you’ll fuckin’ clean up after yourself.”

You snapped your head up. “You can’t mean—”

“I can, and I do.” His smile was cruel. “Lick it. Every drop. Till I can see my reflection again.”

Your throat went dry. You shook your head instinctively, shame choking you, only for him to twist your hair harder, making you cry out.

“You don’t tell me no, girl. Not after flauntin’ yourself like that. You’re mine. You’ll do as I say, or I’ll drag you back out there, throw you on the floor in front of the whole fuckin’ club, and let everyone see exactly what you are. That what you want?”

Tears pricked your eyes, but beneath it all, the heat between your thighs was back, and it was unbearable. You shook your head quickly. “No… I’ll do it. I’ll do it, Reggie.”

“That’s my girl.”

With a trembling breath, you lowered yourself, darting your tongue out to swipe across the ruined leather. The taste was like bitter polish and faint salt from your own arousal. You licked again, and again, cleaning away the wet patch your grinding had left.

Reggie groaned, watching you debase yourself on your knees, your tongue working over his shoes.“Christ. Look at you. On your knees, lickin’ my fuckin’ shoes clean. That’s all you’re good for, innit? My pretty little whore. My dirty little slut. Don’t ever forget it.”

You moaned softly against the leather, feeling the tears slipping down your cheeks as you obeyed him, lapping until the shine returned. When he finally tugged you up by the hair, you had slick smeared at the corner of your mouth. He yanked you up by your hair, forcing you to stand again in front of him.

“Please—please, Reggie, I wasn’t—” you stammered, helpless and desperate after he’d ripped the pleasure away right before it could burst, “I need you… need you inside.”

“You heard me.” He slid two fingers inside you again, curling them to make you cry out. “You’ll get these fingers, and you’ll thank me for it. That’s all a whore like you deserves.”

You whimpered, the tears falling down your cheeks as you reached out and wrapped your hand around his cock anyway, stroking desperately. His hiss filled the room, and he jerked his hips into your fist despite his words.

“Fuck…” he groaned, fluttering his eyes shut for a second before snapping them open again. “You’re nothin’ but trouble, makin’ me hard while I should be teachin’ you a lesson.”

You stroked him faster, circling your thumb over his leaking tip the way he liked it. His groan deepened, even as he fucked his fingers into you mercilessly, slamming his knuckles against your soaked folds. The filthy sound of your slick pussy being fingered mixed with the wet slide of your palm on his cock, and his office filled with the obscene sound of it all.

“Please, Reggie,” you begged again. “Please, just fuck me. I need it, I need you.”

But he only gritted his teeth, slapping your clit with his fingers before plunging them back inside. “Told you, whores don’t get fucked. You’ll take my fingers and you’ll milk my cock with that little hand, and you’ll be grateful I didn’t kick your ass out of the club.”

You cried out, torn between humiliation and pleasure. His cock pulsed hot in your grip as he ricked his hips despite himself. Your body shook, pinned against the wall as Reggie curled his fingers just right with every thrust, brushing that sweet, unbearable spot, grinding his palm against your clit until you were keening and clawing at his suit jacket.

“Listen to you,” he taunted. “Cryin’ like a bitch in heat. So desperate to cum for me. Gonna cum like a proper little slag on my fuckin’ fingers, aren’t you?”

“Reggie—” You shook your head, but your hips betrayed you with the way they were grinding frantically against his hand. “Please, Reggie—”

His teeth grazed your jaw as he fucked his fingers harder and faster. “Your cunt’s squeezin’ me so tight I can feel it drippin’, gushin’, beggin’ for it. You’re close, aren’t ya? Gonna soak my fuckin’ hand like the dirty whore you are.”

Your moans were breaking high and desperate. “Yes. God, yes, I’m close—”

“That’s it.” His tone turned cruelly triumphant. “Cum for me. Do it. Cum like a filthy whore all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

Your body shuddered with his words, your pussy clamping down hard as the orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, your vision blurring as waves of pleasure flooded you. His hand didn’t relent, it kept fucking you through it all, while he ground his thumb on your clit until you sobbed from overstimulation, your slick coating his fingers and dripping onto your thighs.

“Christ,” Reggie groaned, pulling his fingers out with a wet squelch, holding them up. He smirked as he shoved them between your lips before you could catch your breath. “Open. Taste it. Lick your mess off me like the good little whore you are.”

You obeyed instinctively, curling your tongue around his fingers, sucking them clean while he watched. He pulled them free with a pop. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered as he tugged his cock harder into your fist. His tip was red and leaking under your grip. “Now finish me. You made me hard, you dirty whore, so you’re gonna stroke me off like the slag you’ve been actin’.”

You nodded quickly, starting to stroke him faster, circling his slick crown, letting your palm twist hard around the thick shaft. His hips jerked against your first, and his breath turned ragged.

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he growled, keeping his eyes glued to your flushed tits, bruised after his bites and slaps. “Stroke it like you mean it. Like you’re earnin’ it. Fuck, look at you, tits out, dress half torn, my cock in your hand. Christ, you were made to be my whore.”

His groans turned deeper, he closed his hand over yours to pump himself harder, making you feel him throb in your grip, and his balls tightened against your wrist. “Reggie—” you whispered, completely breathless.

He snarled, and with a guttural moan, he came. The hot ropes of his cum spilled over your hand, spurting messily across your fingers and knuckles. He groaned as he milked every last drop of his release over your hand, his cock twitching until he was spent, until your hand was drenched in him. You stared at the mess, but Reggie wasn’t finished. His hand shot out to grip your wrist, dragging your cum-soaked fingers up to your mouth, pressing them against your lips.

“Open.” You hesitated, but his grip only got tighter. “Open your fuckin’ mouth and lick it clean. All of it. You wanted to act like a whore in front of my club? Then you’ll swallow every drop of me.”

You parted your lips, and when they did, he shoved your sticky fingers past them. You moaned when you tasted him on your tongue, it was salty like all the times he’d cum down your throat before. Reggie watched with a satisfied smirk as you licked your hand clean under his command.

“Good girl,” he whispered darkly, brushing his thumb across your lips when you’d swallowed it all. “That’s my whore. Only mine.”

The silence after was heavy, the only thing that could be heard was your ragged breaths and the hum of music from the club downstairs. You leaned back against the wall, trembling, your breasts still sore, your thighs damp with your release, the humiliation aching in your chest. For a moment, he just stared at you, at the wreck he’d made of you. Then, slowly, his expression shifted and the sharpness left his eyes. He let out a long breath and reached for you, his hands were suddenly gentle as they cupped your face.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging you forward into his chest.

You collapsed against him, pressing your cheek to the fabric of his fancy suit, and breaking into a messy sob. He wrapped his arms tight around you, holding you as though he’d never let go.

“Don’t cry, love,” he whispered, brushing his lips over your hair. “Don’t want you thinkin’ I meant all that. I get… I get carried away, yeah? I see men lookin’ at you, wantin’ you, and I lose my fuckin’ head. But you’re mine. My beautiful girl. Not a whore. Never that.”

Your throat tightened, and more tears slipped down your cheeks. “Reggie… you scared me,” you admitted softly.

He kissed your temple, rubbing your back in soothing circles. “I know, sweetheart. I know. And I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Didn’t mean half the things I said.” His voice cracked, and he sounded almost tender. “You’re not some tart I picked up off the street. You’re my girl. My only girl. You make me mad, yeah, but Christ… I love you.”

You wound your arms around him tighter, clinging to his warmth. “I love you too,” you whispered, but it was muffled against his chest.

He tilted your face up, brushing your lips with his. The kiss was soft and apologetic. Stroking your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the tear tracks. “That’s my good girl. My beautiful girl. Always mine.”

Updates account Check my Masterlist

A/N: My very first Reggie fic!!! This was supposed to be posted on Day 3 but shit happens. Anyway, here it is now!!! I hope you enjoy it🩷🩷

This poor, burnt-out writer would honestly love to hear your thoughts on the fics so I don’t feel like staying up all night during September was in vain, lol. As always, thank you so much for your support!🫶🏻

His eyes flicked to you, “Yeah.”

“Aww…come here, Tommy.”

You patted your lap, signaling for him to come over. For a moment he hesitated, but he moved over and dropped his weight beside you, laying his head across your soft thighs. His body eased into yours, when your fingers slid into his hair and scratched lightly at his roots, he let out a low broken sigh. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, crushing you slightly.

“It’s okay baby, You’re home now,” you cooed.

Tommy whimpered, his hands slid lower and gripped your waist harder. Before you could react your back hits the wall with a soft thud, his palms braced to soften the impact. His lips crashed onto yours sloppily, blocking each breath you tried to take.

“Tommy—” you gasped before he cut you off with another kiss. His forehead pressed to yours. His hot breath mixes with your own.

“Need you,” he muttered.

His fingers fumbled around his belt, cursing under his breath. “Fuck—stupid belt.” When he finally tore it free, his whole body pressed into yours, all heat and muscle. His big arms pinning your hips as he ground himself into you. The moment he slid in you slowly, he let out a deep guttural sigh of relief like it was the only thing he needed.

“Ah—fuck! Tommy…please”

You hooked your legs around his waist to pull him closer and deeper. Every thrust of his hips were merciless, like he could pound every ounce of his rage straight out through you. You cried out his name but it was drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against each other. And all Tommy could focus on was fucking out all his frustration, by crushing your poor little body. You tangled your fingers in his sweaty hair, tugging softly just to bring him back for a moment. His eyes squeezed shut, forehead resting against your jaw.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can stop” he rasped against your throat, his voice breaking.

“Feels too fucking good, baby.”

His hips slammed up harder, his breath ragged, his teeth grazed your neck. Each thrust took every breath out of you. Your nails drag down his wide back. Tommy marveled at the sight of you—wet, sticky, and desperate. He was unraveling you right there in your hands, using you. Burying himself deep inside you like you were the only safe place left in the world.

Okay if you’ve made it here you can probably tell that I can’t write smut for shit 😂 But I’d like to hear what you guys think of it even though it was kinda rushed

You had his laptop propped up on your knees, and there was definitely porn playing on the screen. Eddie had been staring at you for the last five minutes like you’d just confessed to murder.

“Tell me again,” he said sharply. “Why are we doing this?”

You groaned, dropping your head against his pillow. “Eddie…”

“No, no, don’t ‘Eddie’ me. You’re in my bed. Watching porn. And not even good porn, by the way, this is like… bad dialogue, bad acting, everything—”

“Eddie.” You cut him off, feeling how your cheeks heated. “It’s because of Mark, okay? He said I’m a pillow princess. That I don’t, you know, do enough. So I’m trying to… learn stuff.”

Eddie sat up straighter the moment he heard the name of your boyfriend. That stupid name of that stupid, stupid man he hated with every fiber of him. That asshole who did the bare minimum, who forgot your birthday year after year, who stood you up just to post pictures at the club on his stories later, who stumbled into your apartment every Sunday morning, drunk and with hickies on his neck.

“He said what?” Eddie growled, narrowing his eyes with a mix of disbelief and fury.

“I just thought maybe if I see what other people do, I’d—”

He cut you off, incredulous. “Your boyfriend’s a moron. He should be thanking the stars you even sleep with him, not—what did he say again?”

“Pillow princess.” You muttered.

Eddie couldn’t believe it. That idiot had somehow managed to land someone like you, so beautiful, sharp, funny, and brilliant in every way that mattered. He should be on his knees, thanking the universe that you’d even glanced in his direction. And yet, you didn’t see it. You didn’t understand your worth, didn’t realize you deserved someone who’d truly take care of you, who’d love you, and give back as much as you gave.

And there he was, that prick, calling you a pillow princess, as if he even had a fraction of what it took to deserve you. So many men would kill to have you just for at least one night, and Eddie knew he would kill, too.

For a second, Eddie just blinked at you. “You have to be joking.”

“I wish I were.”

Eddie sat up like the words physically burned him. “That’s… that’s insane. Can’t believe he actually said that to you.”

From Eddie’s chest, a familiar rumble vibrated. Then Venom’s hulking, inky form emerged, curling beside the bed like a shadow. He narrowed his eyes, and his jagged grin gleamed.

“Your boyfriend is a fool,” Venom growled. “You are far too good for him. We should eat him.”

Your lips twitched into a half-smile. “Eat him? C’mon.”

“Yes,” Venom said simply. “Slowly.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie dragged a hand down his face. “We’re not eating anybody.”

“Why not? He insults her. He does not deserve her.” Venom shot back, looking at you as if he didn’t understand what you saw in that guy.

“We already established that we’re not eating anybody.” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if he deserves it.” He said lower.

“Pussy.” Venom mumbled under his breath. He tilted his head toward you. “Still. He does not deserve you. Insulting you like that.”

Your cheeks warmed. It was bizarre, being defended by a seven-foot-tall alien with a smile full of knives, and kind of sweet in its own terrifying way.

“Thanks, V,” you murmured.

“Do not thank me,” Venom said. “It is the truth. You are not boring. You are…” His head swiveled, his grin widening. “…delicious.”

Eddie smacked Venom’s forehead. “Venom.” He warned him as he rolled his eyes and looked back at you. “Seriously. He’s an idiot. You’re not boring. And if he can’t appreciate you—” He broke off, running a hand through his messy hair, trying not to say too much.

“But he’s right, I don’t do much when we’re in bed, maybe I should learn more.” You shifted, biting your lip, flicking your eyes back to the screen. The actors were tangled in some over-the-top position. “Do guys actually like this stuff?”

Eddie blinked. “What stuff?”

“Like…” You gestured vaguely at the screen, where the woman was making sounds that definitely didn’t sound real. “All that moaning. And… you know. Those positions that look like they’d break your back.”

Eddie made a strangled noise. “Jesus, you can’t just—” He waved his hand at the screen, then at you, then back again, like he couldn’t decide which was more dangerous to look at, like he couldn’t even understand how you two had come to this. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because you’re a guy!” You grinned at him, nudging his leg with your foot. “C’mon, Ed. Be honest.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Depends on the guy, I guess. Some dudes are into that whole… performance thing. But others…” He risked a glance at you, bobbing his throat. “Others just want… real. Like, if it feels good, you don’t have to… put on a show.”

Your brows shot up. “So… you’d rather the girl be quiet?”

“No!” Eddie’s voice cracked a little, and he coughed, looking everywhere but at you. “I mean… no, it’s not about quiet. It’s about… natural. Like… if you’re enjoying yourself, then yeah, that’s…” He trailed off, his ears going red.

“That’s what?” You asked.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat, shifting on the bed. But the way he pulled his pillow onto his lap was… telling.

The laptop kept playing in the background, but you barely noticed. Eddie was fidgeting beside you, trying desperately to hide the way his jeans had gotten uncomfortably tight, and every question you asked just made it worse.

“So… what about positions? Do guys like when girls do, like…” You pointed at the screen where the actress was frantically bouncing over a guy. “…that, on top?”

Eddie froze, feeling his brain short-circuiting. He made a helpless sound, muffled by his hands.

You smirked. “Come on, Ed. You’re the guy here. Do you like it when girls are on top?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “I—uh—that’s—” His voice broke again.

Venom cackled. “Yes. Very much. He loves it like that. He’s imagining y—”

“VENOM!” Eddie’s hand quickly moved, covering Venom’s toothy mouth before another word could slip out. “You said enough, pal.”

Venom’s grin widened. “She is only curious. You should answer her.”

You tilted your head, watching him with an amused grin. “You okay?”

Eddie peeked out from between his fingers. “Peachy.”

But the blue glow of the laptop screen flickered over Eddie’s face, and it was making the flush in his cheeks even more obvious. You leaned against the headboard, totally unbothered, while Eddie, on the other hand, looked like a man being interrogated under a spotlight.

And that pillow clutched in his lap… He kept adjusting it, like it was just a casual resting spot, but the way his knuckles were white from gripping the edge gave him away.

You grinned, flicking your eyes from the screen back to him. “You sure you’re okay there, Ed?”

Venom’s eyes were gleaming, blinking slowly with amusement. “He is not okay,” he announced.

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed without looking at him.

You bit your lip to hide a laugh, pretending to focus on the next video that auto-played after the last one. The woman lay on the bed with her legs pressed together, and a man was straddling her, his cock pressing and grinding against her thighs rather than sliding inside her pussy.

Your brows rose, you’d never seen that before. “Wait… is he…?”

Eddie coughed, nearly choking on his own spit. “Yep. That’s—yep. That’s what it looks like.”

You tilted your head, fascinated. “Is that… a thing? Why isn’t he just going in? Do guys actually like that?”

Eddie made a strangled sound. “Uh…”

Venom’s grin widened. “Come on, Eddie. Answer the lady.”

“I don’t have to answer everything she asks!” Eddie snapped, glaring at Venom, then whipped back to you with wide eyes. “I mean, not that your questions are bad. They’re not bad. They’re fine. Totally fine.”

You arched a brow. “So… have you ever done that?”

The room went quiet. Eddie’s jaw worked like he was chewing rocks, and his knuckles tightened around the pillow, his shoulders hunched, and his voice came out hoarse. “…Maybe.”

Your lips parted in surprise. “Really?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It was college, okay? Don’t make a thing out of it.”

“I can see his memories,” Venom tilted his head, purring. “He liked it.”

“VENOM,” Eddie barked, his face scarlet red from how hard he was blushing.

You blinked between them, your curiosity only growing. “So it feels good?”

Eddie looked like he was going to die. “Oh my God…”

You nudged his leg playfully. “Come on, Ed. I’m just asking. Does it?”

His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Finally, he mumbled, “…Yeah. It does. It’s… different. A lot of friction. Feels… It’s fine.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and the second they were free, he slapped his hand over his face like he could shove them back in.

Venom let out a low chuckle, the sound rattling through the room. “You should see yourself. Red as a tomato. Hiding behind a pillow.”

Eddie groaned, muffled behind his palm. “I hate this. I hate you. I hate everything.”

“Was it that girl Suzy you dated in freshman year?” you asked.

“Mhm,” Eddie groaned, like even the memory tasted sour.

And suddenly, the thought of Eddie, your Eddie, your best friend since forever, being with another woman didn’t sit right at all. Sure, he’d been with a few women over the years, but in your mind, he’d always been yours.

And you’d never liked Suzy. She had always been a bit of a bitch to him, controlling, complaining every time he wanted to hang out with you. You could see it in the way she looked at you, too, jealous, as if you were some threat she had to watch. And now that you thought it through, it had always been that way with every relationship Eddie had over the years. All his girlfriends had hated you, hated the way Eddie looked at you, hated how he’d cancel dates just to check on you when you were sick, hated how he spent more time and energy planning your birthday than their anniversary. How they always were number second in his life, because you’d always taken the first place.

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close you two were on the bed. “Huh,” you murmured. “Guess I never thought about it like that.”

Eddie peeked at you through his fingers. He couldn’t admit it, not with Venom looming and you looking at him like that, but his imagination had already betrayed him. He couldn’t stop picturing you, in different positions, straddling his lap, lying under him, naked, touching his body, moaning for real instead of the fake stuff on the laptop. And the pillow in his lap was doing a terrible job of hiding it. His cock was painfully hard, fighting to escape the confinement of his pants, begging for some release.

Venom leaned forward, flashing his teeth in a grin. “He is imagining you right now.”

“YOU BETTER SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW,” Eddie exploded, sitting bolt upright, nearly knocking the laptop off the bed.

You burst into laughter, clutching your stomach. “Oh my God! V, stop lying.”

Eddie sank back down, burying his face in the pillow this time. “Kill me. Just kill me now.”

“I’m not lying,” Venom’s purr was smug and satisfied. “Come on, Eddie. Tell her.”

“Please, just ignore him.” Eddie's voice was a desperate beg, proof of how aroused and ashamed he was at the same time.

You curled on your side, and you saw the way Eddie sat slouched against the headboard beside you, clutching that poor pillow to his lap like it was his lifeline. You smirked, nudging him with your foot. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“I am in pain,” he grumbled, eyes glued stubbornly to the screen.

“He is suffering. That’s what happens when you spend forty minutes hard. It’s hilarious.”

Eddie shot him a murderous glare. “Shut up.”

You grinned, leaning up on one elbow. “So you are turned on?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my God.”

Venom tilted his head. “She can feel it if she leans closer. You might as well admit it.”

“V!” Eddie barked, completely horrified. “It’s a very natural reaction. It’s— It’s not like I can control it. It just—“ He desperately tried to explain to you.

Venom wasn’t wrong. You could see it now, the way he kept squirming under the pillow, the restless bounce of his knee. And it made the heat pool low in your stomach. You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder, your thigh brushing against his hip, making him stiffen instantly.

You took hold of the pillow, slowly sliding it off his lap. Eddie tried to resist at first, gripping the pillow tight, but in one quick move, you removed it from him, and there it was. The truth he’d been trying so hard to hide. The big tent formed in his pants was impossible to miss, his cock straining against the fabric, twitching helplessly, so alive it looked like it might burst free if you stared too long.

Eddie’s face flushed hot as he scrambled through words, fumbling for some apology, anything that might cover the shame burning through him. “I—look, I didn’t—shit, I didn’t mean—” He wanted to tell you he wasn’t a creep, that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, that he just couldn’t control it, but his excuses withered before they even left his mouth, because you didn’t yell or shove the pillow back at him. You simply slid back down, lying on your side with your back to him, giving him the perfect view of your thighs, of the space between where he imagined sliding his hand, his mouth, his aching cock.

“You know…” You said softly, “It doesn’t look that bad. That thing… thigh fucking or whatever. You said it feels good, right?”

He made a strangled noise. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

You wiggled back against him deliberately, your ass brushing his erection just once, but it was enough to make him whimper. His hands twitched before he grabbed your hip to hold you still.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped into your ear.

You smiled faintly. “Let’s try it.”

“Right. And your boyfriend? Hmm? What about him?”

“My boyfriend? Probably out, screwing some barmaid like he usually does. Besides, you’re not putting it inside,” you cut in. “That’s technically not cheating.”

Venom purred. “She is clever. Do it.”

“I don’t think that’s how cheating works.” Eddie’s voice trembled, trying to hold on and resist.

“Do you wanna do it or not?” You said a little more impatiently now.

“Yes, Eddie. You heard the woman. It’s not cheating if it’s not inside.” Venom encouraged him.

Eddie groaned, pressing his forehead into your shoulder like he was trying to pray the moment away. But his cock was throbbing against the curve of your ass. And finally, finally, he gave in. His hands shook as he unzipped his jeans, his breath ragged as he freed himself. The heavy press of him slipped against the back of your thighs.

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispered, almost to himself.

He settled his cock in that little space between your thighs, and you shifted, squeezing them together just enough to trap him there. He groaned, jerking his hips forward, sliding his member between the softness of your skin.

Eddie’s chest pressed to your back, and he began to move, slow at first, then harder, more desperate, gliding his cock between your thighs.

“Oh my God,” he choked out. “That… fuck, that feels—”

You arched back against him, your own breath catching. “Feels good, huh?”

He clenches his hand at your hip, pulling you closer, grinding into you with a needy rhythm. “You have no idea…”

Poor Eddie was trying so damn hard not to lose it. His big hand stayed firm on your hip as he thrust between your thighs from behind, the thick weight of his cock sliding in that hot, tight space you’d made for him. The head of it kept catching on your clit every time he dragged forward, and the friction made you moan shamelessly.

“Jesus Christ—” Eddie grunted against your shoulder, his cock twitched when you shifted your thighs just enough to squeeze him tighter. “You’re—fuck, you’re so soft there—”

Venom rumbled like he was amused. “She sounds delicious. And you sound pathetic.”

“Shut up,” Eddie growled through his teeth, but he couldn’t stop rutting into the slick heat of your thighs, couldn’t stop listening to the wet little sounds it was making as his pre-cum coated your skin.

You tilted your head back into the crook of his neck, brushing your lips against his stubble as you whispered, “Eddie, it feels so good… your cock, it keeps hitting me right there—”

His whole body shuddered. He hadn’t meant to touch you more than this, hadn’t meant to let himself need it, but the sound of your voice, the way your thighs hugged him… it broke something in him. He slid his hand down your stomach and cupped your pussy over your shorts, pressing his fingers right where you were throbbing.

You gasped and grabbed his wrist. “Eddie!”

“Yeah, I know,” he panted, sliding his hand under your shorts and panties, pressing two thick fingers against your clit while his cock pumped between your thighs. “You’re soaked, baby, you’re—fuck, you’re dripping for me.”

You whined and bucked into Eddie’s hand, letting your head fall back against his chest. “God… don’t stop, Eddie. Don’t you dare stop.”

The rhythm of his thrusts got messier, harder, his cockhead dragging perfectly against your puffy clit with every stroke. Your thighs trembled from the friction and the added pressure of his hand working your pussy in time with his hips.

Meanwhile, the porn kept playing on the laptop, low but not low enough to ignore. The wet slap of skin on skin mixed with your gasps and Eddie’s ragged breathing, and every now and then, Venom’s rumble cut through.

“She’s begging him,” Venom said, almost delighted. “She sounds like you.”

“Not—fuckin’ helping,” Eddie hissed, rutting harder between your thighs as you pushed back against him.

You tilted your head toward the screen. On it, the girl moaned while her partner spat right into her open mouth. Your brows arched. “Do guys… like that too?”

Eddie’s thrust stuttered. “Uh—I mean—shit, some do, yeah. It’s—it’s dirty.” His voice went rougher. “Real dirty.”

Venom chuckled. “You like it. Don’t pretend.”

“Shut up,” Eddie growled, but his cock twitched hard between your thighs, giving him away.

You smiled slyly, lifted your hand, and sucked two of your fingers into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around them slowly, letting spit pool, until they were dripping wet. Eddie watched as if he forgot to breathe.

“Jesus,” he rasped.

You brought your slick fingers to his mouth, brushing them over his lips. “Open,” you whispered.

His pupils blew wide, jerking his hips forward helplessly. But he obeyed, parting his lips as you pushed your wet fingers against his tongue. He sucked them in without hesitation, moaning low in his throat, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Good boy,” you teased, grinding your hips back against his cock as you let him taste the spit. “Knew you’d like it.”

His groan was muffled around your fingers, his thrusts getting rougher now, cock sliding hard between your thighs, the swollen head catching your clit again and again.

Venom purred, smug: “Pathetic. Look at him, sucking on your hand like a starved thing.”

Eddie tore his mouth off your fingers, panting hard, his chin wet. “Fuck, sweetheart—don’t do that, I’ll—I can’t—”

But he didn’t stop thrusting, didn’t stop grinding his cock against you like he was possessed, and he pressed his thick fingers harder against your clit while he rutted messily against you, drawing circles over the shiny pearl.

You gasped, half-laughing, half-moaning. “Eddie—it feels so good—keep going, please—”

Eddie groaned like he’d been punched, his free hand came up to spit right into his palm, and then slid it down his cock to lube it up. The sound of him slicking himself up was obscene, wet, and the next thrust slid so easily between your thighs.

“Fuck,” Eddie growled, pressing his forehead against your temple. “That’s—shit, that’s so much better.”

You grinned, loving how far gone he was. “Do it again, Eddie. Spit in my mouth.”

He froze for half a second. “Baby, you—”

Venom chuckled darkly. “Do it. She wants it.”

Eddie let out a wrecked noise and tilted your face up, his thumb hooking under your chin. His spit dropped heavy into your waiting mouth, warm and slick. You swallowed it without breaking eye contact, then moaned.

“Holy fuck,” Eddie groaned, his cock jerking between your thighs, grinding harder now.

“More,” you whispered with tongue out.

He spat again, messier this time, some sliding onto your tongue and down your lips. You swallowed again and then pulled him into a filthy kiss, his spit smeared between your mouths as he shoved his tongue deep, desperate to taste himself on you.

The sound of the porn was still going in the background, and it only egged him on. You slid your hand down, finding with your fingers the fat head of his cock where it thrust against your clit. You rubbed it slowly, spreading his pre-cum around, making it glide smoother against you. Every time you circled over the swollen crown with your fingers, Eddie choked on a moan straight into your mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted, rutting harder, his hand gripping your thigh to hold you wide for him. “Fuck—baby, fuck. Feels like I’m already inside you.”

You gasped, arching back against him, loving how wild he was getting. “Don’t stop, Eddie, don’t you dare stop.”

Venom rumbled, “pathetic. He’ll spill before you ever let him in.”

Eddie ignored him, too far gone. He pumped his spit-slick cock harder between your thighs while you rubbed his head, your mouth locked with his in the dirtiest kiss he’s ever had.

He was groaning into your hair. “Baby, I’m not gonna last—I’m not—fuck, you feel too good, I can’t—”

You pushed back against him, almost delirious from the way his cock rubbed you and his fingers circled your clit. “Eddie, please… make me cum. Please, I want it.”

That broke him. He swore loudly and rubbed your clit faster, almost desperately. The heat, the friction, the size of him pressing on you made your body arch as you came. Your thighs clenched around him, squeezing his cock so tight that he let out a strangled sound and thrust twice more before spilling messily all over your skin. Hot spurts painted you, shooting out of him, and dripping down your inner thighs, over your shorts, all over his hand where he was still cupping you.

“Fuck—fuck, look at that,” he gasped, jerking his hips through the aftershocks, as more of his cum leaked out, spreading everywhere between you.

Venom laughed. “Lame. He made a mess of you without even being inside.”

You ignored Venom, moaning and squirming at the obscene heat of it, at the way Eddie kept twitching against you, his cock still spilling, soaking your thighs until it was dripping down to the sheets.

“Oh my God, Ed,” you breathed, reaching down to smear it against yourself, rubbing it over your skin just to make him choke on another moan. “You came so much.”

He clamped his hand over yours, stopping you, desperate. “Baby, don’t—fuck, I can’t—” He kissed you again, sloppy and wet, still rutting weakly through the mess he’d made.

“Better than your boyfriend, right?” Venom said, but it sounded more like an affirmation rather than a question.

You laughed softly, still trembling from the aftershocks. “So much better.”

Updates account Check my Masterlist

A/N: We’re halfway through Kinktober! Hope you’ve been enjoying it!! Until now, every fic I’ve written with infidelity has been the guy cheating on his wife/gf with reader. BUT THE OPPOSITE??? SO HOT TOO, RIGHT??? RIGHT???

I’m obsessed with the idea of a desperate man who has to settle for dry humping/thigh riding/tight fucking because he can’t actually fuck you. And honestly… Eddie is the perfect man for that scenario.

I really hope you enjoy this one!! I think it was a pretty original idea, but I’d love to hear your thoughts on it🩷🩷

“Mm… yeah,” Harry muttered into the phone. He was gripping the phone so tight his knuckles were white. His other hand threaded into your hair, locking his fingers tight at the roots. He wasn’t pushing yet, not quite, just holding you, setting the rhythm that he liked, as if he let go for even a second you’d drag him under and he’d lose the façade completely. “I’ve got it handled. Don’t you worry, yeah? Everything’s movin’ smooth.”

You hummed around him, a deliberate vibration that ran down the thick length buried in your throat. The sound made his thighs jolt, and his voice cracked for half a heartbeat, before he cleared his throat with a laugh that didn’t sound like his own.

“Nah, nah. That’s nothin’,” he said, a little too fast, snapping his eyes down at you, rocking his hips forward with the smallest thrust, forcing his cock deeper into your throat. “Just the dogs barkin’, innit?” Right, if dogs was code for ‘my girl is chocking on my cock like she’s been starving for it’.

Your throat fluttered around him as you swallowed him down again, so deep your nose brushed the wiry hair at his base. You stayed there, gagging quietly, before pulling back slow. A thick rope of his pearly-white precum clung from your lips to his tip, and you let it fall across his lap before diving back onto him. This time you didn’t bother with neatness, you went sloppy on purpose, sucking hard, twisting your fist around the slick base, letting the saliva run messily down your chin.

Harry’s breathing grew heavier, audible between his words. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll, uh—fuckin’ hell—make sure he gets the message.” His accent thickened, and that low growl of his creeped through. He coughed into the phone, trying to smother the guttural sound clawing out of his chest.

You glanced up at him through wet lashes, hollowing your cheeks with every desperate suck, because you knew how insane it drove him to see your pretty face while you choked on him. The sight nearly undid him, and so he fisted your hair harder, guiding your head, forcing you to swallow him deeper, faster, thrusting into your mouth with more force.

Conrad’s voice rattled faintly through the speaker, asking another question, and Harry flexed his jaw so hard the muscle ticked, his answer came in broken gasps. “Yeah… yeah, it’s all—fuckin’—sorted.”

His thighs shook under your palms, and you took it as the sign to suck harder, dragging your tongue mercilessly under the head, until you felt him twitch on your tongue. With a hissed curse that he couldn’t bite back, his cock jerked against your lips, spilling thick spurts straight into your mouth. He tightened his grip painfully in your hair, holding you down, forcing you to take all his load.

“Mm… handled,” he ground out, half-choked as he came, “told you… trust me.”

His cock was still pulsing against your tongue, filling your mouth until you were struggling to swallow it all down. He always came so fucking much whenever you got him this worked up. You only gulped greedily, milking him with your throat, letting the bitter taste of his seed coat your tongue. You could have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Cum leaked past your lips, dribbling down your chin in big streaks, mixing with the spit already smeared across your face. Only when he’d finished spilling down your throat did you pull off, gasping. His cock glistened with spit, still twitching in front of your mouth, and you licked the mess from your lips before letting a trail of it drip down your chin, onto your tits.

“Listen, Conrad,” he said quickly, impatient to finally put you on your hands and knees and fuck you senseless, “I’ll call you tomorrow. Right? Yeah. It’s all sorted.”

Btw I hope you know that when I wrote “that low growl of his” I was referring to this

I’m gonna be working on a headcanon idea for Alfie comforting you on your period and a threesome idea for Johnny and Benny you guys sent me, after Kinktober. They got kinda long and I won’t be able to finish them before. Same with the last part of the Eddie x Neighbor series and the second part of Best in Town, didn’t get them done in time, so those are pushed to November. I’m not writing the ideas you send me in the order I get them, I just work on whatever I feel like on the day. So sorry if some of yours take me a bit longer. I wrote this little drabble today because I was in the mood to write something quick.

I’m not doing taglists anymore, you can follow me on my Updates account

He called every week, because you were the one who never refused. No matter how strange the request, no matter how late the hour, you always answered. You had everything he searched for, and not just beauty. Your silence when told, your stillness under his hands, your willingness to kneel without a single question. Something more important than beauty: obedience.

You slipped inside his place quietly. Your shoes barely touched the floor before you were on your knees. You didn’t need a command anymore, you knew your role, knew what pleased him, he'd made himself clear the first time.

The floor was cold against your palms as you lowered yourself fully, spine bowed, head ducked. You were a dog at its master’s feet. You didn’t lift your head when you heard him approach, because good dogs don't look at their masters unless they're asked to.

The loud tread of his boots echoed in the room. “Good,” came the muffled rumble of his voice through the mask. “On your knees before I even command it. My little hound knows her place.”

You shivered. His gloved fingers closed around your jaw, tilting your face up so you were forced to look at him. His broad shoulders and hulking chest make you feel impossibly small. You loved feeling that way around him, small, at his feet, like you were insignificant.

From the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled the familiar strip of black leather. The collar. Your collar. You stuck your tongue out obediently, like a panting dog, as he buckled it snugly around your neck. The metal ring at the front clinked as he attached a short leash.

“There,” he rumbled, tugging sharply so you jolted forward onto your hands, your ass swaying up behind you. “My pet. Ready to be used.”

“Yes, Master,” you whispered.

He gave the leash another pull, forcing you to crawl forward. You padded on your hands and knees across the floor, thighs rubbing together with each shift. You could feel his eyes burning into you, savoring how quickly you submitted.

“Look at you,” he murmured, dragging you between his legs as he sat back in his heavy chair. “Collared. Crawling. A sweet little beast desperate to please.”

He guided your head to his lap, pressing your cheek to the thick bulge straining against his tactical pants. The hard outline of his cock was unmistakable. You whimpered and nuzzled against it, tongue darting out to lick at the fabric through the seam, just like a dog eager for attention.

“Hungry,” he mocked in that deep, distorted tone, petting the back of your head almost gently, contrasting with his voice. “Always hungry. My pup wants her treat.”

You moaned, nodding frantically, drool wetting the rough fabric as you mouthed him through his pants. His hand tightened in your hair and yanked you back.

“Crawl,” he ordered, pointing to the floor. “On all fours. Present yourself.”

Your body reacted instantly. He never liked to wait. You turned, lowering onto your hands and knees in the open space before him. Back arched, ass up, head down, you wagged it slightly like a tail. Your collar jingled as you panted, a little whimper slipping out of your throat.

“Head up,” he commanded, tugging the leash. His masked gaze moved all over you, and then he tilted his head. “Bark.”

The pull of the leash snapped your hesitation. “W–woof,” you whined softly. The first time you'd barked for him, you'd felt stupid, but now you were so used to it that the sound left your lips naturally.

Bane chuckled. “Pathetic. Again. Louder.”

You barked louder, a sharp, humiliating sound that echoed in the cavernous space.

“Good little hound,” he praised, petting your head roughly. He curled his fingers in your hair, tugging your head to the side so you were forced to look up at him. “On all fours, barking like a bitch for her master. You know your place.”

“Yes, Master,” you panted.

“Sit.”

You scrambled back onto your knees, spine straight, hands resting obediently on your thighs. You opened your mouth and panted like a dog, tongue out, collar gleaming in the light.

Bane tugged the leash taut, tilting your head back until your throat was bared. “Choke for me,” he ordered through the mask.

The leather was already snug, but when Bane wound the leash twice around his fist and pulled it upward, the collar bit hard into your throat. You gasped, your chest straining for air.

“Quiet,” he growled, his voice vibrating in your bones. “A pup does not whine. She submits.”

You whimpered, but the sound got caught in your throat as the pressure grew. The world tunneled at the edges of your vision, and you saw stars sparking behind your eyes. The only thing keeping you upright was his grip on the leash, holding you suspended by the throat like a tethered animal.

“That’s it,” he purred as he watched the way you trembled. “So fragile. So helpless. And yet you do not fight. You stay. Because you know you are mine.”

Your knees scraped against the floor as your body shuddered, your cunt was throbbing with heat even as panic and pleasure mingled in your chest. You tried to gasp, to whimper, but the only thing that escaped your lips was a strangled hiss.

Bane’s hand stroked the top of your head in an almost tender way, like a mockery of comfort. Then came another sharp tug, and your mouth fell open in a silent cry, the tears were streaming down your face. Your body sagged, your vision going white at the edges even more, and then, suddenly, the leash slackened, and the air rushed into your lungs in a gasp, your body convulsing as you gulped for breath.

He didn't give you any time to recover. “Lick me,” he commanded, as he yanked the collar again, guiding your mouth down his torso. You obeyed, dragging your tongue all over his muscled abdomen, lapping at the sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. The taste was salty, and it felt familiar after tasting it so many times before. You whimpered into his flesh, licking his body harder, sucking at the dampness along his chest, his ribs, his abs.

“That’s it,” he rumbled with approval, spreading his arms and letting his coat fall to the floor, as though offering himself to you. “Drink me in. My hound craves even my sweat. A loyal beast.”

You pressed your mouth to the curve of his pec, sucking the sweat from his skin, moaning at the flavor. His hand fisted in your hair, forcing your face against him, smearing your tongue across the trail of perspiration running down his chest. You sucked at the slickness like it was nectar, slurping greedily as though you were starved.

“You whine like a dog lapping from a bowl,” he tightened the leash again so you could hardly swallow. “So eager to have every drop I give you.”

You nodded frantically with your mouth glued to his chest, sucking the sweat from his skin, leaving wet streaks where your tongue had traced.

“Yes, Master,” you whimpered, the collar was making your words come out broken and breathless. “I’d drink anything you give me.”

He shoved your face higher, toward the damp hollow of his underarm. “You want to please me?” His voice dropped to a dark growl. “Then bury your tongue where I command.”

The musky tang of sweat filled your nose before your tongue even touched him. Still, you obeyed, pressing into the hot curve of his armpit, licking up the wetness clinging to the hair there. The taste was bitter, and it made you moan louder, lapping and sucking like an animal.

Bane laughed low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you. “Pathetic. My little mutt licks even the filth of my body and begs for more. Do you love it?”

“Yes, Master,” you gasped between licks, drool mixing with sweat as you sucked the hollow clean. “I love your taste, I love it, please—”

He pulled you away sharply, strands of spit and sweat clinging to your mouth. “Then prove it,” he growled. “Suck my cock until you choke. Drink me as you drink my sweat.”

Bane stood, towering over you, and unfastened his pants. His cock was as thick as the rest of his body, already hard, and you felt your cunt throb at the sight of it.

You opened your mouth instantly, and his cock filled you in one brutal thrust. The collar was still too tight, the leash was yanking your head in place, so you couldn’t move, only gag and drool as he fucked your throat.

Every slam of his hips forced tears from your eyes, spit spilling down your chin, your throat clenching helplessly around him. He kept you there, grinding deeper, groaning through the mask. Your nails clawed at the floor, your body was trembling as his cock battered the back of your throat. The collar cut off what little breath you could take between thrusts, leaving your lungs burning and your head dizzy.

You clawed at his thighs weakly, half in desperation, half in worship. Still, you moaned around him, sucking greedily, throat convulsing to swallow him down. Until he finally had enough of watching you choke on his cock.

“Good,” he hummed, yanking you away from his member and taking a few steps back, putting distance between you so he could take in the sight of you on your knees for him. “Now beg. Hands up.”

Your cheeks burned as you raised your hands like paws, curling your wrists in. “Please, Master,” you whimpered. “Please touch me. Please use me. I’m your good puppy, I’ll do anything you want.”

He growled, a sound coming from his chest, clearly pleased with the way you always obliged. He tugged the leash, pulling you forward onto all fours again.

“Crawl,” he ordered. “Heel at my side.”

You kept your head bowed, crawling slowly across the room. Each tug of the leash guided you closer to his leg, like a well-trained dog. You whined softly, rubbing your thighs together purposefully now, your cunt dripping onto the floor with each shift of your knees.

“Such a loyal bitch,” he taunted, glancing down at you. “On my command, you sit. You beg. You bark. All to please me. Say it.”

“I’m your bitch, Master,” you moaned, crawling faster to finally be in front of him. “I’m your pet, I’ll do anything you say!”

Once you were kneeling at his feet again, he tugged the leash so hard that you nearly toppled. “Present.”

You scrambled into the position you knew he wanted you in without any hesitation. You arched your back, raised your ass high, keeping your chest pressed to the floor, whining like a needy pup in heat. Because puppies like you always get fucked from behind, not on missionary, not riding his master.

“Spread for me, little bitch,” he growled.

You scrambled to obey, and you parted your knees wide to offer him your cunt, until you were open for him, dripping down your thighs. Bane stood behind you, towering over your small body, as he knelt down, gripping your hips in his massive hands, and you felt the head of his cock pressing between your folds, parting them, tapping his tip against your swollen clit just to watch you squirm.

“Bark,” he growled.

Your voice cracked, but you obeyed, you knew better than to make master mad. “W–woof!”

And then he slammed into you, his cock filled you to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You cried out, barking again as he commanded, but your voice broke into moans as he fucked you hard from behind. Your body was stretched around him, your tight hole was greedily swallowing every inch of his big member. He gave you no time to adjust. Bane never did, he thrusted mercilessly into you from the start. He slammed his cock deep with every stroke, making the collar bite into your throat.

“Louder,” he snarled, giving you a thrust that felt like being punished. Every time with him was a delicious mix of pleasure and pain.

“Woof— ahh— woof— Master!” you sobbed, dripping more drool onto the floor as he continued to fuck you raw. The sound of his hips colliding with your ass filled the room, mixing with your shameless whimpers. Bane didn't fuck slow, he didn't know about gentle. This was the only way he could ever give it to you, the only way he craved it.

“That’s my mutt,” he groaned. “Moaning, whining, barking like the filthy pup she is while I rut her, it’s all you’re good for.”

You couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, the only thing you could do was obey him, bark, whine, and drool. You were tail-wagging with your ass as he pounded again and again into you, and the humiliation of being his pet only drove you higher. Part of you craved like nothing else the way he treated you, and the proof of it was how tight your cunt squeezed him, clenching more and more every second. Nobody had ever fucked you like Bane, nobody could make you feel like him.

“Such a tight hole,” he said. “Taking me like the obedient pup you are. Mine.” Every tug on the leash forced your head back, exposing your throat like a submissive animal. You moaned louder, and Bane could feel the way your cunt was clenching around him, desperate to please him. “That’s it. Whine for me. Beg for your master’s cock. Show me what a good bitch you can be.”

“I’m— I’m your good bitch, Master!” you cried. “Your puppy! Please, please don’t stop!”

He laughed darkly as his pace grew even rougher. His cock was battering your cervix until the tears blurred your vision, until you finally came on his cock. Your climax ripped through you fast, making your entire body convulse as you wailed for him. But even then, he held you through it, forcing you to ride your orgasm on his cock, not slowing down for a second.

It only took a handful of brutal thrusts for him to cum. His hot release spilled deep inside you, filling you until it leaked down your thighs. It was so much, the warmth of his cum invaded your insides, painting them and marking you as his.

You collapsed against the floor, still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. The collar dug into your neck like a mark of ownership you couldn’t ignore, and Bane crouched beside you, stroking your hair almost tenderly with his fingers.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “My loyal pup. You will return next week.”

And you knew that, just like every week, you would.

Updates account Check my Masterlist

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this first Kinktober fic!!! Also, my first time writing for Bane😌 Most fics this month will probably be around this length, if you were wondering. Pretty much straight to the point.

By the way, whatever time it is in your country when I post this, will be the time I upload all my Kinktober fics throughout the month. If you’re in Europe, it might already be October 2nd, but over here it’s still the 1st, so yeah, just trying to ignore the anxiety of being out of sync with half the world because of time zones.

Next Bane fic it’s gonna be a sweet one (kinky, cause it’s still Kinktober) but with a softer side of him for those who prefer it. Thank you so much for reading and supporting me, love you guys soooo much🫶🏻🩷

Nobody knew much about him, no matter how much you googled, or how hard you tried to find him on social media. No trail, no photos, no posts, just whispers. People just knew his name, and that he used to be a Marine. But after you saw that video you knew you had to see him again. It was like a moth to a flame, the attraction was undeniable, something magnetic, inevitable, like the pull of gravity. And so you started to follow him.

Now, Tommy Riordan had a lot of fans. A lot of girls who came to watch him fight. Screaming, drunk, euphoric, it was hard not to when he had that face. But none of them were as loyal as you. None of them went to every single one of his fights. You were there. Always. No matter the distance, no matter the cost, no matter the excuse you had to come up with to explain why you kept disappearing. You cancelled plans, cleared your schedule, lied through your teeth. Because you truly were his biggest fan.

And seeing him on video? It was nothing compared to seeing Tommy in person. Seeing the way he moved around any ring or cage was a unique experience. The heavy inevitability of him. Like a storm rolling in that nobody could stop. His body, built like a tank, still moved so gracefully every time. The violence that excelled in every punch. The way he’d throw guys over, slam them down, punch them ferociously until the referee had to pull him away. That look in his eyes… it was like fire. Not just anger, but something deeper, like he carried every mistake, every regret, every scar, and the only way he knew how to empty himself was by breaking someone else.

And you loved him for it.

Even if most of his fights lasted less than thirty seconds before he knocked out whichever poor bastard stood in front of him, just seeing him, just breathing the same air as him, was enough to make everything worth it. Maybe what you liked about him was that he wasn’t like the other guys who fought. No, Tommy Riordan didn’t make a show out of it. No cocky flex, no theatrics, no pandering to the crowd. He didn’t want their love. He didn’t need it. He just walked over, fought, and left. No music. No arms raised in victory. No smile, not even a flicker of pride in his eyes. Nothing but anger. Nothing but fury and violence. And to you? That made him perfect.

You found yourself every day chasing the announcement boards, scrolling late into the night, hunting for where the next fight would be. And every time, you made sure you were there. First row. Close enough to feel the cage rattle when fists hit flesh. Close enough that, if he looked, he’d see you. You screamed yourself raw, trying to outshout the rest of the crowd, cheering only for him, even if he never acknowledged you, even if he acted like the world beyond the cage didn’t exist. You dressed for him, too. The tightest outfits you owned. Short skirts that rode high the moment you sat down. Tiny tops that clung like second skin, so snug you swore he’d see your heartbeat if he ever let his eyes lift from the floor.

You sat in a place packed with rowdy men who devoured you with their stares, who looked at you like you were bait dropped into a tank of hungry sharks, you could feel every gaze. All of them but Tommy. He never did, not once.

You’d follow him after the fights were over, wait for him in the parking lot, always offering some words of encouragement, always with a bright, hopeful “congratulations, champ” or a breathless “Gosh, you were amazing out there, Tommy.” He never slowed. Never looked. Never even gave you the scraps of a nod, just kept walking, But it was worth it. Every ignored word, every brushed-off glance, every empty moment where your heart stretched out and got nothing back. Because you knew, deep in that stubborn, place inside you, that one day he would notice you too. You just had to try a little harder.

Tonight, the venue was packed. The roar of the crowd vibrated in your ears, and the scent of sweat and beer was impregnated on your clothes. And there you were, pressed up against the cold metal of the barrier, the best seat in the house. You wore a black dress so short it was practically a shirt, paired with heels you could barely walk in. You felt eyes on you, men from the crowd, hungry and obvious,but you didn’t care.

Suddenly Tommy made his way out, his shoulders rounded forward, his hoodie up, hands wrapped tight. He didn’t strut, didn’t wave. Just walked like he did every single time.

Your throat tightened instantly, and you leaned further over the barrier, ignoring the catcalls around you. Your voice cut through with excitement.

“Tommy!” Nothing, not even a flicker. His jaw was clenched, his gaze glued to the mat. “Tommy, over here!”

He passed right by you, close enough that you could’ve almost brush his arm with your fingers. You just gripped the rail until your knuckles turned white and screamed his name again.

The fight didn’t last long. He was brutal efficiency, no wasted movement, no mercy. The poor guy in front of him lasted maybe thirty seconds before Tommy had him on the ground, choked out cold. The ref raised Tommy’s hand, but he didn’t smile, didn’t celebrate. He just turned and walked away.

The crowd roared. You screamed his name again, pressing your body against the barrier. And this time… maybe he did look. Just for a second. Just a flash of those eyes sweeping over the crowd. And if you hadn’t been watching him so intently, if you hadn’t been holding your breath waiting for it, you would’ve missed it. But you didn’t.

You followed the flow of the crowd, your heels clicking against the cement, weaving through drunk bodies until you found the corridor that led to the back. Security stood there, looking disinterested. You stayed there, pretending to text someone on your phone, adjusting your dress, tugging at the neckline until it dipped just a little lower.

Minutes crawled, but then there he was. Tommy walked out, heading to the parking lot, his hoodie unzipped now, his chest damp with sweat, hair matted. He looked like he hadn’t even fought, like he could go ten more rounds without blinking.

“Tommy!” you called, stepping forward, like you deserved to be there.

He didn’t stop, just kept walking.

You matched his pace, your heels wobbling and your heart racing just from having him close to you. “You were incredible tonight. You always are. Honestly, you’re the only reason I even come to these things.”

Nothing. His jaw worked, muscles in his cheek tightening, but he didn’t speak.

You bit your lip, leaning forward a little, making sure he could see down your dress if he wanted to. “Don’t you ever get tired of pretending you don’t hear me?”

He grunted. A shrug, a muttered: “Thanks.” Just to try and content to, just so you would leave.

That should’ve been the end, he turned, started walking again. But something inside you snapped. Moths of chasing him, screaming for him, dressing for him, and getting nothing. Tonight, you weren’t leaving with nothing.

You hurried after him, matching his long strides, tilting your head up so he had no choice but to see the way your neckline plunged. “You know,” you said, teasing, “you could at least buy me a drink. I’ve been your biggest fan since the first fight. Front row, every time. I think I’ve earned it, don’t you?”

He stopped dead, and you almost slammed into his back, that broad, immovable wall of muscle. He turned slowly, and when his eyes locked on you, you felt your heart stopping.

There was no flicker of amusement, no softening at all. Just that cold, heavy stare.

“You follow me around,” he said flatly. “Every fight. Every night. Like a goddamn shadow.”

You swallowed, parting your lips in a nervous smile. “Because I admire you. Because I—”

“Because you don’t know when to quit.” His words cut sharp. “I’m not here for you. I’m not here for anybody.”

The smile faltered, but you forced it back, stepping closer, brushing your fingers along his arm. His skin was hot, damp from the fight. “Maybe you could be. Just once. We could… go somewhere else. Just you and me.”

For a heartbeat, you swore he might bend, that maybe under that iron mask, something stirred. But then he moved, knocking your hand away a little violently.

“Not interested.”

“Oh come on! You know what I think about when you’re in that cage?” you whispered, leaning closer. “I think about what it’d feel like if you put me on my back the way you put those men down. Strong hands on me. Pinning me. Taking what you want.”

That got him. His chest rose sharp with a heavy breath, his hand flexing tighter on the strap of his gym bag. You grinned, sliding your palm down his stomach until you felt the unmistakable hard line straining against his sweatpants.

“Mmm,” you murmured, pressing your body against his side. “I knew it. You like it when I talk to you like that. You like that I’m out here dripping for you while everyone else goes home.”

He shot out his hand fast, gripping your wrist like iron, yanking it away from his cock before you could stroke him through the fabric.

“Enough,” he growled.

But you only smiled reckleslly, drunk on the fact that you’d gotten to him. “You can tell me to stop all you want, but your body’s not lying. You want me to get on my knees right here? I’d do it. I’d take you so deep until my throat—”

That broke him, not the way you wanted, but it broke him all the same. In a blur, he shoved you back, not gentle this time, making you hit the cold metal of a nearby car door with your back, the impact shocking a gasp out of you. He still had a hand wrapped around your wrist, but now he slammed it against the car beside your head, holding you there. He was close, his eyes wild, his chest heaving like he was in another fight.

“You don’t fuckin’ get it,” he snarled. “I’m not some guy you can chase down and throw yourself at. I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”

The words cut deeper than the shove against the car, you could feel the heat of his body, the rigid press of him just inches away, and the furious denial in his voice didn’t match what you knew was straining against his sweatpants.

He released you abruptly, stepping back like you burned him, like touching you had been a mistake. “Stay the fuck away from me,” he bit out.

The words landed like blows. You stood there frozen as he turned, walking off without a second glance. He didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look back. And you were left there, suddenly feeling ridiculous in the heavy silence. But even as the sting spread through your chest, you knew that you weren’t done, if he thought cutting you cold would stop you, he didn’t know you at all.

By now, you were part of the scenery. Not to him, not that he’d ever admit it, but to the fighters, to the crowd, to the security guards who rolled their eyes when you swanned past, waiting at the exit like you owned the place. They’d stopped questioning you long ago, they knew you’d be there, leaning against the wall with your glossy lips and your hungry eyes, waiting for him.

And tonight was no different. Tommy’s fight was over in less than one minute. Another man folded in on himself under the weight of those fists, another crowd roaring his name. You screamed too, louder than the rest.

Tommy told himself he didn’t notice you, he didn’t even remembered you, you were just another fan in a big crowd. That’s what he repeated every time he walked out toward the cage and heard your voice through the crowd. He told himself he didn’t see you in the front row, didn’t register the way you crossed your legs high,with the hem of your skirt barely holding decency. He kept his eyes glued to the mat, locking his jaw so tight it hurt. But he noticed, because how could he not? He was only a man, and it wasn’t just your screaming, though you screamed louder than anyone, like you were trying to brand his name into the air. It was those tight dresses clinging to every line of your body, with the straps thin enough he wondered if they’d snap if someone breathed on them. And Tommy hated that his body betrayed him every damn time. He’d walk by, fixing his eyes forward, and the image would burn in anyway: the curve of your thighs when you leaned over the barrier, the way you pressed your tits forward, on purpose, like you were offering them to him. He tried not to look, tried not to think, but the memory of it crawled into him, unwanted.

Once the fight was over, you waited at the corridor. You smoothed your dress, adjusted the strap of your heel, reapplied your lipstick for the third time. And then there he was.

“Tommy,” you breathed, stepping into his path before the guards could block you. “Congratulations. You were unstoppable tonight. Like a beast, I mean, that other guy had no chance.”

He barely slowed, and just a grunt escaped his mouth.

You pressed on as you kept up with his long strides. “Can I get a picture? Just one, for me, your biggest fan?”

That made him stop, narrowing his eyes like he couldn’t quite believe you’d asked. But you were already sliding your phone from your clutch, stepping in close, so close your perfume wrapped around him, so close your body brushed his arm.

You lifted your phone, angled it, but you didn’t just pose, you leaned into him, your chest against his side, your hips grazing his.

You were warm, that was the first thing Tommy registered. Warm and soft, your body molding to his side, the curve of your breast brushing his arm. He went rigid instantly, every muscle in his body locking down. He kept his face flat, but inside, something snarled. Don’t look. Don’t you fucking look. But his eyes betrayed him just for a second. He dropped his gaze, flicking to the line of your neckline, the swell of your breasts pushed tight against thin fabric. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back up, but the damage was already done. His body responded, it was quick and humiliating. The press of your hip against his sparked a rush of blood he couldn’t stop, one he couldn’t will away. His cock stirred, and suddenly it was hard and heavy in his shorts, he cursed himself silently and shifted his stance, trying to disguise it, but the ache was there now, undeniable.

“Smile, Tommy,” you whispered, sultry. “Come on. You’ve got a fan here who adores you.”

He didn’t smile, didn’t move, just stood there like a mountain while you pressed yourself against him. But you felt it... the faintest twitch in his body, the hard line of tension that had nothing to do with anger.

“You know…” you murmured, lowering the phone, tilting your head so your mouth hovered by his ear, “a man who wins fights like that deserves a prize bigger than just the cash. Don’t you think?”

You felt the way he shifted, the sudden hitch of breath he tried to hide. A man like Tommy could clamp down on his face, his words... but not on that. His body flared with want, and for one terrifying moment he thought he might give in. That he might shove you against the wall, take what you were offering just to quiet the hunger you stirred in him.

You pressed closer, so your chest was full against him now. “I could give you something better than the prize.”

He flicked his eyes to yours, and there was heat there. Heat he couldn’t disguise. But then he clamped his hand around your wrist, and he peeled you off him like you were nothing more than a stubborn piece of tape.

“Enough,” he said.

“Tommy—”

“No.” His eyes cut into you with coldness. “You don’t get it. I’m not interested. I don’t got time for this. I don’t got time for you.”

The words hit harder than any punch you’d ever seen him throw. He dropped your wrist, turned, and started walking again.

You stood there, your body still buzzing from how close you’d been to breaking him. Your phone was still in your hand, the screen lit with the blurry picture you’d managed to snap: you, pressed against him, smiling, and him, stone-faced, staring past the camera like you didn’t exist.

He walked away hard, every step felt like dragging chains, his body at war with his will. He hated himself for noticing, for reacting. Hated that when he closed his eyes later, the first thing he saw wasn’t the fight, it was the curve of your tits brushing against him, the heat of your breath, the look in your eyes when you whispered about giving him the prize he deserved.

You weren’t just showing up anymore, you were plotting. Every fight, every exit, every chance to corner him, you thought about what you could do to get past that wall of his. He saw you before he ever stepped into the cage now. Front row, crossing your legs, skirt riding high, looking athim like he was the only man in the world. He’d tell himself to keep his gaze down, to ignore the way your body gleamed under the harsh lights.

That night, the fight had been brutal, his opponent had lasted longer than most, pushing him harder, dragging blood from his lip before Tommy finally crushed him into the mat. The crowd screamed. And then, after it, there you were. Not just waiting this time, but intercepting. You slipped past the half-distracted security, sliding right into his path before he could even make it to the locker rooms.

“Tommy,” you gasped, like you were breathless from the fight too. Your dress was black, skin-tight, the neckline plunging so low it looked painted on. You stepped close, brushing his damp hoodie with your chest. “God, you were like an animal tonight. Never seen you like that before.”

He grunted, trying to sidestep, but you mirrored him, blocking his path, smiling like the cat that had cornered the mouse.

“Well?” you asked, twirling a little on your heels, letting the hem of your skirt flutter up your thighs. “You like it?”

He frowned. “Like what?”

“My outfit.” You smirked, dragging your hands slowly down your sides, over the clingy fabric of your dress. “Picked it just for you. I spent a lot of time choosing it, champ. Least you could do is tell me if it’s working.”

He flicked his gaze down, just for a second. Fuck, your body was criminal, it looked as if your ass had been manually craved to destroy him, the way your dress looked like a second skin... he could almost imagine how you would look naked, how you'd look naked and under him, naked and under him and begging him to fuck you harder, and he would, he would give it to you so hard after you've been whorin yourself around him for months, practically begging for his cock. Stop, Tommy. He snapped his gaze back to your face.

“Go home.”

You laughed softly, stepping closer. “You keep telling me to go home, but here’s the thing, Tommy, I don’t want to go home. I want you.”

You pressed your body against his, hands sliding up his chest, curling your fingers into the damp fabric of his hoodie, feeling heartbeat thudded hard beneath your palms.

“You fight like a man who doesn’t feel a thing,” you whispered, tilting your head so your lips brushed the edge of his jaw. “But I bet you feel plenty. Bet you’d feel even better if you let me take care of you.”

“Shut your mouth,” he snapped, trying to shove past you.

“Wait! I got you something,” you whispered with your sweetest and most filthy voice.

And then you pressed it into his palm. He looked down and froze. A pair of panties. Black lace, tiny, still warm from your body. His fingers twitched around the delicate fabric, his knuckles whitening as he realized what it was. His chest went tight, heat flaring fast in his gut. He could’ve shown they were a little wet as well.

You leaned in, brushing his ear with your lips. “I wore them just for you tonight. Thought you might want a better prize.”

His cock surged hard in an instant. Fucking traitor, Tommy thought. And fuck you too for tempting him like this, for making him this hard imagining what you were hidding under that dress right now, your bare pussy, dripping wet after seeing him beat up some guy. The thought of you sitting ringside in nothing but that dress, bare underneath... it slammed into him like another punch to the gut. He shifted his stance, desperate to hide it, but you saw.

Your smile widened, wickedly. “Mmm. Knew you weren’t made of stone.”

For a moment, just a dangerous moment, Tommy almost broke. He tightened his hand around the lace, dropping his eyes to the curve of your breasts spilling forward as you pressed into him. His throat worked, his breath ragged, the image of you naked burning hot behind his eyes.

But then the brute in him snapped back, and with a curse under his breath, he shoved the fabric back into your hand, rough and final. “Keep it,” he growled. “I don’t want your fucking trophy. Get the fuck outta here.”

You blinked, but before you could answer he pushed past you, not gently. His shoulder knocked yours, his pace brutal, making you stumble backwards.

He didn’t look back, but his body was on fire, every step was agony, his cock straining, hard from the memory of the lace against his palm, from the sight of your daring little smile, from the smell of you clinging to the air. He hated it. Hated himself. Hated you.

The crowd that night was a little rowdier, a little drunker than usual. And as always, you were there. When it was over, another win, another storm of cheers, Tommy left the cage, ignoring the world, including you. You slipped from the crowd and followed him.

Down the narrow hallways, you found him pushing through the door of the changing room, a duffel tossed in the corner.

“Another win,” you purred, leaning on the doorframe. “You really don’t leave much for the judges, do you?”

He didn’t answer, just sat on the bench, tugging at his taped hands. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

“You’re really tense,” you said, circling around him. “Always so tight. You should let me loosen you up.”

Your hands landed lightly on his shoulders before he could stop you. His skin was hot through the fabric of his damp shirt, his muscles hard like stone under your fingertips. You kneaded gently, digging your fingertips into the knots at the top of his traps, sliding a little closer to his neck. For a moment, he froze. You could feel the way his breath stalled, the way his body went rigid under your touch. And God, you knew it wasn’t just from anger.

He tells himself not to react, not to feel anything. It’s just touch, that’s all. Pressure on his traps, thumbs circling into the knots at the base of his neck. He’s taken worse, punches, chokes, joints twisted to breaking point. This is nothing. He can ignore this.

But it’s not nothing, because it’s you, and because his body keeps betraying him in ways the cage never did. Don’t. He wants to say it, but the word lodges in his chest, because the truth is he doesn’t want you to stop, not really.

He feels his pulse pick up, blood rushing hot, a pressure he can’t ignore. You shift your weight, leaning closer, and the faint brush of your chest against his back makes his stomach clench. His cock stirs, hardening before he can wrestle the thought down. Fuck.

Then he moved, a violent shrug, shoving your hands off with so much force it nearly knocked you back.

“Don’t,” he barked.

But you just smiled, tilting your head, your hair spilling over one shoulder. “Don’t what? Don’t make you feel good?”

His jaw locked as he stood, looming over you, that terrifying frame filling the little room. For months he’d brushed you off, his coldness like a wall of ice. But as you looked at him now, you saw the flicker of heat in his eyes, the strain in the way he held himself.

You stepped closer, toe to toe with him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his chest. “I can see it, you know,” you whispered. “The way you look at me, trying not to stare. I know what I do to you.”

You turned your body slightly, brushing your hips against his groin as you leaned up, sensing his erection under his shorts. It made your mouth water, because there was nothing you wished more than to know what was hiding underneath them. “Why don’t you let me be your prize tonight, Tommy? Forget the cash, forget everything. Just take me.”

The contact of your hips made his cock swell painfully against the confines of his shorts. He locked his knees, wills himself not to react, not to fucking grind into you like some animal. He clenched his fists at his sides, but didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just breathed hard through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

You smirked, started to step back. “Fine. If you don’t want me, I’ll just leave. I’ll see you next week.”

You turned toward the door, reaching for the handle...

“Stop.” The word ripped out of him like a snarl. You froze, and slowly, you looked back.

His eyes were on you now, no longer cold, no longer empty. They burned. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, his knuckles white from the fists he still hadn’t unclenched.

“You wanted me,” he growled, vibrating with rage and hunger all at once. “Followed me, teased me, put your tits in my face every fuckin’ week.” He took a step forward, his shadow swallowing you. “Well, you found me.”

Your back hit the door.

“Now you’re not leavin’.”

He dragged his eyes down your body, slowly, finally giving in to the stare he’d denied himself. His lip curled, almost a snarl, almost a groan. “You hear me? You wanted this. You wanted me. Now you got me.”

And the truth crashes over him like a wave: he can’t hold on anymore. He’s hard, so hard it hurts, his cock throbbing against the fabric, screaming for release. His chest heaves, the fight not against you anymore, but against himself, and he’s losing. Before you could smirk, before you could slip through the door with another teasing promise of next time, his hand shot out, wrapping his fingers around your arm. Not gentle, not asking. A grip that told you there’d be no leaving.

He yanked you closer, so close your chest hit the solid wall of his. His cock pressed against your stomach, thick and hard as steel, proof of everything he’d tried to deny. He tangled his other hand in your hair, rough, forcing your head back just enough so he could see your face, your lips, the curve of your throat. “On your knees.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because you were savoring the sight of the man who’d rejected you week after week finally unraveling. He tightened his grip in your hair, and he shoved, forcing you down.

Your knees hit the tile with a dull thud. You looked up, and the sight above you was something out of every forbidden fantasy: Tommy Riordan, a man undone against his will.

Up close, the bulge in his shorts was obscene. He swore under his breath, dragging the waistband down just enough to free himself. And oh fuck, his cock was as thick and long as you had imabined it all those nights. It sprang out, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He cursed under his breath, darting his eyes away for a second like he couldn’t bear to look at what he was doing. But the way his fist tightened in your hair said otherwise.

“Open.” The word was barely a whisper, but his tone left no room for anything else.

You parted your lips, and he thrust forward immediately, sinking past them with a desperate groan. The sound he made... it wasn’t controlled, wasn’t restrained. It was a guttural, broken thing, ripped from the core of him after weeks of denyal.

The heat of him filled your mouth immediately, stretching your lips wide, sliding across your tongue. Your throat stretched around him as he pushed deeper, as he pressed his cockhead against the back of it, using your mouth with rough, jerking thrusts. He was too big, too hard, the salty taste of his sweat after the fight was sharp on your tongue. You braced your hands against his thighs, but he didn’t give you time to adjust, didn’t give you gentleness. This wasn’t about tenderness. It was about need, about rage, about a man breaking under the weight of his own repression.

“Fuck,” he snarled, snapping his hips, his cock sliding wet and fast between your lips. He pressed his knuckles until they were white against your scalp, holding you still.

Your throat tightened around him, gagging, tears stinging your eyes, but he only groaned louder, shoving himself deeper, grinding his hips against your face. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.

Every muscle in his body strained like he was in another fight, veins standing out along his neck. Tilting his head back, clenching his teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn’t crack. You felt him twitch against your tongue, pulsing.

“Goddamn it—” His voice was strangled, furious at himself as much as at you.

He pulled back just enough for you to drag your tongue along his length, coating him with more of your saliva, making it easier when he thrust forward again, harder this time.

You dug your nails into his thighs as he fucked your face, each thrust rougher than the last, his body shuddering with the effort not to lose it too fast. You moaned around him, the vibration making his grip in your hair convulse.

“Don’t—fuckin’—” He hissed through clenched teeth, tilting his head back, sweat dripping down his temples. “Don’t… do that.”

But his cock throbbed against your tongue, leaking more pre-cum, betraying him. Drool spilled from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin, dripping onto your chest. He looked down finally, eyes burning as he watched you kneel there, mascara smudging, lips stretched around him.

The sight made him groan, an animal noise.

“Christ—” His hips stuttered, jerking forward in shorter, needier thrusts. His abs tightened, every muscle in his torso flexing like he was straining against an opponent. “Fuckin’ mouth… you don’t quit, do you?”

You tried to speak, but you only gagged around him. The sound was filthy and obscene, and it only spurred him harder. His cock slammed against the back of your throat again and again.

You moaned around him again, on purpose, sending vibrations down his shaft. His knees buckled a little, and he snarled, yanking your head tighter against him until your nose was pressed to his pelvis. You choked, but the twitch of his cock in your throat told you how close he was.

“You like that, huh?” you managed to garble around him, words muffled but dripping with filth. You pulled back enough to suck air into your lungs, saliva stringing from your lips to his cock. “You like my mouth, Tommy? Bet it’s better than fightin’. Bet it’s better than winnin’.”

He swore, the word ripped from deep in his chest. His hand trembled in your hair as if he was fighting a losing battle. “You… fuckin’… shut it,” he snarled, but he bucked his hips forward again, shoving himself back past your lips.

You smiled with your eyes, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongue over his length. He was right there. You could feel the pulse of his cock, the way his thrusts grew erratic, desperate. He was seconds from spilling hot down your throat, from losing the control he clung to so fiercely.

But then, he ripped himself away. His cock slid wet from your mouth with a pop, strands of spit connecting it to your lips. You gasped, but before you could tease him again, he grabbed you.

He clamped his hands onto your arms, rough and unrelenting, and he hauled you up off your knees like you weighed nothing. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the cold metal lockers with a dull clang. He pressed into you, his cock still rock-hard and slick, pinned between your stomach and his.

His eyes were wild now, dark with something feral. “You wanted this?” he growled, almost breaking, sliding his hand down to your hip, gripping it hard enough to bruise. “All them weeks, you wanted this cock? You were begging for it, now you fucking got it.”

He shoved your dress up with no finesse, bunching the fabric around your waist. He hooked your panties with his rough fingers and yanked them down in one swift motion, the elastic snapping against your thighs before hitting the floor.

Your breath hitched, heat pooling in your belly as you looked up at him, letting him see your lips swollen and spit-slick from his cock. “Finally,” you whispered, taunting him. “Thought you’d never—”

He cut you off by slamming his mouth against yours. Not a kiss. A claiming as he pressed you harder against the lockers. His cock throbbed against your bare thigh, and suddenly he shoved his hand between your legs, finding you soaked, dripping for him.

“Fuck,” he hissed against your mouth, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re wet from sucking my cock like a little slut... you wanted it bad, huh?”

He slid his fingers through your slick folds, spreading you, making your hips buck. But he didn’t linger, he was past the point of teasing. He needed it, needed you, now. He grabbed himself, dragging the head of his wet cock across your soaking entrance, and he screw his eyes shut as he pushed it, forcing his way into you in one rough and desperate thrust.

You cried out, arching your back against the lockers, making the metal rattle. He groaned, a broken sound, twisting his face in something between pain and ecstasy.

“Goddamn it,” he snarled, driving in deep, filling you to the hilt. Grabbing you by your hips and pinning you against the lockers as he started to fuck you hard and brutal, the kind of rhythm that said weeks of repression were finally, violently breaking loose.

The sound of your wetness was mixed with the sharp clang of metal and the slap of his hips against you, every thrust rougher than the last.

“Wanted me so bad,” he grunted, every word punctuated by another hard slam of his cock into you. “Kept comin’ back… tight little dresses… cheerin’ louder than anyone… You fuckin’ asked for this.”

You did. And you were loving every second, because Tommy was driving into you like he had something to prove, like every buried thought, every hidden look he’d stolen at you was finally being purged in the most primal way possible. The way he rolled his hips, the rhythm he held, the width of his cock dragging up and down your gummy walls, the tip hitting that sensitive spot inside you... it was as if he had been mechanically designed to wreck you.

He was stretching you wide, the kind of size that made your pussy squeeze down tight around him without even meaning to. He held you tight by your hips, because the way you gripped him, wet and clenching, was nearly enough to undo him right there.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned, hauling you against him harder, deeper. “You’re so goddamn tight… takin’ me like this—”

“Fuck, Tommy—” you cried, digging your nails into his shoulders. “So big—feels so good—”

He growled, clenching his jaw as if he were still trying to keep control, but the sound of your voice, so wrecked, and desperate only drove him wilder.

His eyes flicked down, couldn’t help it, and he groaned your tits were bouncing between you, every slam of his cock making them sway and jiggle, dragging your nipples against his chest through the fabric of his shirt. He buried his face against your neck as he fucked you harder, slamming you into the lockers until they shook.

Your pussy clenched down, spasming around him, sucking him in deeper, tighter, and he cursed, biting your skin. “Goddamn… you’re squeezin’ me… can’t—fuckin’—” His voice broke into a ragged growl, his thrusts losing rhythm for a moment as your walls milked him mercilessly.

“Best I’ve ever had,” you gasped into his ear, your voice thick with moans. “Tommy—fuck—you’re the best—”

That did it, something snapped in him. He pulled back just far enough to look you dead in the eyes, and the his hand came up, cupping the back of your neck, holding you still while he pistoned into you with brutal force.

You screamed it this time, your voice echoing off the tiled walls. “You’re the best—fuck—you’re so good—Tommy—”

He let his head fall back. He rammed into you, merciless, every thrust jarring your body so hard your tits bounced wildly, nipples hard and aching. The sound was obscene, the slap of his cock into you, the wet squelch of your pussy sucking him in, and over it all, your moans, his grunts, your breathless praises.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your heels into his back, pulling him deeper, making him groan as his cock bottomed out in you again and again.

“Goddamn, girl,” he rasped, his voice breaking as his hips faltered, losing rhythm to the need. “You’re killin’ me… squeezin’ me so tight… ain’t never—fuck—”

And then he kissed you again, messy and rough, shoving his tongue into your mouth as he fucked you harder, so loud you were sure someone might overheat it, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way his cock filled you perfectly, stretched you, hit places you didn’t even know could ache so good.

“Best,” you moaned against his mouth, your voice breaking as you squeezed him tighter. “You’re the best I’ve ever had—fuck me, Tommy—don’t stop—”

The lockers slammed behind you one last time before Tommy suddenly yanked free of your body. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, about to protest, when he seized your hips with his big hands and spun you around.

“Bend,” he growled as a command.

You barely had time to brace yourself before your palms hit the metal of the lockers. His hand flattened between your shoulder blades, forcing your spine to arch, your ass jutting out toward him. The position made your back curve beautifully, your tits swaying heavy beneath you, nipples aching in the open air.

Then he shoved back inside, making you cry out, thumping your forehead against the locker, because he was deeper now, so much deeper. His cock drove straight into that sweet spot inside you, an electric jolt that ripped through your body.

“Fuck!” you screamed, screeching your nails against the steel as he pistoned into you from behind. “Tommy—oh my God—”

He wrapped one rough hand around your hip, using it like a handle, dragging you back to meet every brutal thrust. Your pussy clutched at him helplessly, milking him with every slam. The angle was devastating, each stroke rubbed that tender bundle of nerves inside you, over and over, until your legs shook and your arms trembled trying to keep you upright.

“You feel that?” he grunted, slamming his hips into you so hard the lockers rang out in protest. “You’re fuckin’ gushin’ all over me. Can’t even hold it back, can you?”

“’Cause you’re so—big—oh God—Tommy—” Your voice cracked into a sob, your body clenching down, building fast. You could feel the pressure tightening in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust that hit that spot dead on.

He slid his hand up your back, fisting in your hair, yanking your head back so your spine bowed even more. The new angle had his cock spearing your g-spot like a hammer, every stroke a brutal, perfect hit.

You broke. Your scream echoed in the room, as your pussy convulsed around him, squeezing so tight he cursed loud against your ear. Your legs gave out, but he held you upright by your hair and your hip, fucking you through it, dragging your orgasm out until your whole body shook.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, as he tried to hang on. “Fuckin’ squeezin’ the life outta me—”

You whined, overstimulated but still desperate, your ass bouncing back against his hips with every punishing thrust. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

He didn’t. Couldn’t. He rammed into you until his rhythm faltered, until his groans were something guttural and broken. And then, with a harsh growl, he yanked himself free at the very last second, shoving your back down with his hand so you stayed bent for him.

You heard the rhytmic wet sound of his hand stroking his cock, and in a matter of second, thick ropes of cum splattered across your ass, painting your skin, dripping down your thighs. His breath came in ragged grunts as he worked himself through it, stroking out every last drop, making sure none of it was spilling inside you. Because Tommy wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t about to risk it. He wasn’t about to let you walk away carrying something that could tie you to him forever.

He looked down at you, bent over, skin glistening with sweat and his spend, pussy raw and used still clenching around nothing, and his jaw clenched tight, his chest heaving.

“You wanted me?” he rasped as he gave your ass a sharp smack, watching it jiggle under the streaks of his cum. “There you fucking go.” And then he stepped back, tucking himself away like it meant nothing, though his cock was still throbbing, still slick from how hard he’d just used you.

The locker room went quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as you fixed your clothes. Tommy stood a few paces away, still catching his breath, the veins in his forearms standing out as his fists flexed and unflexed. He hadn’t moved since pulling out of you, hadn’t said another word, but his eyes were on you still.

You smoothed your skirt back down over your hips, brushing the faint smear of his cum you hadn’t managed to wipe away yet. Instead of embarrassment, a giddy thrill rushed through you. You couldn’t stop smiling, the corners of your mouth ached with how wide it stretched, and you kept sneaking little glances at him as you tugged your top back on, nipples still stiff under the thin fabric.

Tommy noticed, of course he noticed. That smile... that goddamn glow. Like you’d just won something, like you thought you’d conquered him. He looked away, pulling his hoodie back over his shoulders with rough, jerking motions.

Christ. She’s smiling. Grinning like a kid at Christmas.

He yanked the zipper up with a harsh tug, but it didn’t block the image of you burned into his mind, the way your body bent for him, the way you had clenched your pussy around him, the sound of your moans echoing. He swallowed hard, shoving the thoughts down. But then you giggled under your breath, and he snapped his headback to you.

You caught his glare and only smiled wider, biting your lip in that way you knew drove men insane. “What?” you teased, smoothing your hair back into place like nothing about this moment was out of the ordinary. “You look like you’re mad at me.”

He snorted through his nose, shaking his head once. “Mad? Nah. Just wondering when you’re gonna fuck off, yeah?” His voice was rougher than it needed to be.

But you only laughed, that knowing laugh, the one that told him you’d seen right through him. You bent down to grab your little purse, deliberately slow, your skirt riding up your thighs again, and he had to look away before his cock started stirring again.

Fuckin’ hell. This girl’s in love now. I can see it. Smilin’. Jesus Christ.

He curled his fists tight at his sides. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want someone hangin’ around, makin’ eyes at him, thinkin’ there was more than what just happened. Because what just happened was weakness. Him givin’ in after weeks of your teasing, your little outfits, your dirty words. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t wanted to.

You stood there, slinging your purse over your shoulder, still looking at him like he’d just hung the moon. It made him restless. It made him angry. It made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. “Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, pacing a few steps.

“Like what?” you asked innocently, cocking your head. “Like I’m happy?”

He turned back to you, scowling. “Ain’t what this is, yeah? Don’t get fucking ideas. Was just… just a thing. You don’t go smiling at me like we’re something.”

Your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew softer, more amused. “You think I’m in love with you, don’t you?”

That made him freeze. He clenched his jaw, refusing to answer, but the silence was answer enough.

You stepped closer, just one teasing little step. “Maybe I am,” you whispered.

His stomach knotted. His cock gave a dull, traitorous throb. He jerked back a step, shaking his head violently. “Just finish getting dressed and fuck off.”

But even as he turned away, grabbing his gym bag and throwing it over his shoulder, he couldn’t shake it... the image of your smile burned into him, carved deep.

Fuck. This girl’s in love now.

A/N: I wasn’t even planning on writing this yet because I’m already swamped, but everybody say thank you to @mapping-out-skies cause she dropped this idea in my dms and it got stuck in my brain until I had to write it. So here we are. The writing might feel a little rushed since I went on a full-on frenzy getting it out, but I hope you enjoy it!

Tagging the girlies who are on all my Tom Hardy tag lists, but no preassure: @ducksareswagy @conrzd @potter-solomons @bhyunrosies @freyadronning @moonbeamott @ohthisisanna @moonlightbored345 @faithhhhhsblog @sweetnspicychicken @marisolpusheen @alexxavicry @tr199yc0841n @serenity-1221 @feveredvisions @frenchaurora @glowingtoenails @jujuthepooh15 @multireality @liliac-dreamer @millysfavfics @almodovarispunk @alwaysanundertone @hehehehesecwet @aerangi @gen-lecter

You blinked at him. “You didn’t even—”

“Didn’t need to, did I? You said ‘Mary’s pregnant’ and then you got that tone, that soft little tone like you’re about to hit me with a bloody landmine. So, yeah, no. Absolutely fuckin’ not. Don’t get any ideas, darlin’.” He cracked one eye open now, pinning you with it. “We’re good the way we are.”

You frowned, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You didn’t even think for two seconds—”

“Don’t need two seconds,” he cut you off, rising his voice. “Took me less than one. The answer’s no.” He jabbed a finger at your chest, then at his. “You. Me. Perfect marriage, right? Fuckin’ brilliant marriage. Why the fuck would we go and ruin it by addin’ a screamin’, pissin’, shittin’ little demon to the mix?”

You stared at him, half-shocked, half-indignant. Was that really how he saw children? As burdens, as noise, as nothing but trouble? You’d never talked about it before, not properly, and maybe that was your mistake. Alfie was a complicated man, you knew that, but you thought that every man wanted kids to carry their names. “Ruin it? People have children, Alfie, it’s not—”

“Yeah, they do, and then what?” he interrupted you again, sitting up now, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You don’t shag for five years ’cos the bairn cries every time the mattress squeaks. House stinks of sour milk and nappies, and we start lookin’ at each other like duty inspectors instead of lovers. That’s the end of it. And I ain’t havin’ that, no. Nah, not in my house.”

You opened your mouth but he barreled on, voice booming. “Listen, right, when I married ya, I promised ya the moon. An’ I’ve given it, haven’t I? Gave you the best cock, best dresses, best house, the whole bloody show. But babies? Nah. That’s where I draw the line. That ain’t addin’ to the marriage, love, that’s torchin’ it.”

You sagged back against the pillows. “So you don’t even want to think about it? Not even—”

“No.” He cut you again, firm and final, though his voice softened just a touch when he saw your expression. “Don’t need to think, ‘cause I know. We’ve got it good, you and me. Don’t fuckin’ mess with that. You’re my wife, my life. That’s enough. That’s everything.”

Silence stretched between you. Alfie sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, then reached out and grabbed your chin, tilting your face back to him. “Oi. Don’t give me that look, yeah? Don’t start thinkin’ this means I don’t love ya enough, ‘cause it’s the bloody opposite. I love ya too much to wreck what we’ve got. That’s the truth.“

He kissed you then, rough, scratching you with his beard. When he pulled back, he muttered against your lips, “We’re good, darlin’. Just the two of us. And Cyril. Perfect. Don’t need nappies and teething to prove it.”

You sighed, curling back into his chest, though your mind still spun.

After that night you couldn’t take the thought away from your mind, and life wasn’t making it easier. Everywhere you went it followed you, kids running down the street, mothers carrying their babies bundled up in strollers, their little hands sticking out reaching for the world. Even your cousin had given birth recently, and when you held that baby, so impossibly small, warm, and real against your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to hold one of your own. One that was yours. Yours and Alfie’s.

Alfie found you one evening curled up on the couch with Cyril. Your eyes were red and heavy from crying earlier, though you’d long since run out of tears.

He caught sight of you immediately, narrowing his eyes. “Right, well, that’s a sight, innit?” he muttered, pulling at his gloves. “Me wife sittin’ there like a ghost at her own funeral.”

You blinked at him, too tired to snap back. He frowned, softer now, and crossed the room with his heavy tread. The couch dipped under his weight as he sat, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Oi,” he said, tilting his head to look at you. “What’s all this, then? You down in the dumps again? Eh? You want somethin’, love, you bloody say it. Anything you want, I’ll sort it. Name it.”

Your hand stilled on Cyril’s back. The words burned your throat before they tumbled out. “A baby.”

Alfie froze. Then let out a sharp bark of laughter, incredulous. “Christ Almighty, still with that?” He rubbed both hands over his face, groaning. “Woman, I already fuckin’ told ya, right? That’s not on the menu. Not now, not ever.”

You sat up straighter. “Why not, Alfie? Why’s it such a crime for me to want that? Everyone else is having babies. My friends, my cousins… everyone. And here I am, married, and all I’ve got is a dog.”

He squinted at you. “Right, yeah, and what’s wrong with that, eh? You’ve got me, you’ve got the house, you’ve got Cyril, well, bit dodgy, him, but he’s ours. What more d’you want? We’ve got a good marriage, don’t we? We laugh, we fuck, we argue, we make up, we’ve got food on the table, roof over our heads. Why would you go and ruin a good thing, eh?”

“Ruin” You stared at him, his words felt like a cut to your chest. “A child is not a ruin.”

Alfie flinched, just slightly, then covered it with a scoff. “I think, love, that a child is work, right? Endless, screamin’, nappies, expenses, all that. I’m already married to you and the distillery, ain’t I? Got the Italians breathin’ down my neck half the time, coppers watchin’ the other half. You want me to bring a babe into that? Be walkin’ round like a bloody target, cradle in one hand, revolver in the other? Not happenin’.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, but you turned your face away, burying it against Cyril’s fur. “You don’t understand me at all, Alfie. You don’t even try.”

For a long moment he didn’t speak. Then his hand landed heavy on your knee. “Course I understand you, woman. I ain’t daft,” he said, softer. “I just don’t agree with you, right? There’s a difference.”

“Just imagine it, yeah? Me full of your baby. My belly all round. Everyone knowing it’s yours.” Your pressed your hand to your stomach as you spoke, almost pleading. “Don’t you ever think about it? Don’t you want to see me like that?”

Alfie froze, then his face twisted in slight disgust, as if the thought alone was unpleasant to imagine. “Nah. Nah. Don’t want it.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

“I said,” he drawled, “I don’t want that. I don’t want you waddin’ around, puffin’ like a bloody goose, feet swollen, tits sore, cryin’ at everything. Nah, love. Don’t fancy it. See your body? Right there, perfect, like that. I want it like this. Don’t want it stretched out, don’t want you worn down. Don’t want to lose what’s mine.”

You shook your head, voice breaking. “I just… I want something to love. Something that’s ours.”

Alfie sighed, leaning back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as though it could save him. “Love, listen… you think I’m a cruel bastard, right? You think I don’t give a toss. But truth is… truth is I can’t. I can’t do it. Not in this life, not the way it is. You deserve better than worryin’ if your kiddie’ll get caught up in all the shit I swim in. You deserve better’n me, if I’m honest.”

The words caught you off guard. You turned to look at him. “Don’t say that,” you whispered.

He huffed a bitter laugh. “Well, there it is. You ask me for anything, I’d give it. Gold, diamonds, a bloody new car if you fancy. But this?” He shook his head slowly. “This I can’t give. Won’t give. I’d sooner have you hate me for it than watch the whole damn thing tear us apart. Better you curse me than watch it kill us both.”

You pressed your lips together, trembling. Alfie shifted closer, wrapping one heavy arm around you at last, dragging you against his side. “Now stop bloody cryin’, right? You’ll set the dog off, Cyril’ll think you’re dyin’.”

“You’re scared,” you said softly, refusing to accept his excuses.

“Scared? Nah, love, that’s not it. I’ve had half of Camden want me dead. I ain’t scared of babies.”

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes bright with stubbornness. “Yes, you are. You’re terrified.”

Alfie squinted down at you. “Right, listen, stop tryin’ to psychoanalyse me like I’m sittin’ on some bloody doctor’s couch. It ain’t fear, alright? It’s sense. I’m not built for it, our life ain’t built for it. That’s the long and short of it.”

You pressed. “You’d be a good father. You would, Alfie.”

“Fuckin’ Christ, don’t you dare say that, eh?” He threw his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a groan. “I wouldn’t. I’d be a terrible one. I don’t like kids, alright? I don’t want ‘em. Sticky hands, loud voices, always screamin’, never fuckin’ shut up. And I’ll tell you another thing—” He sat up a little, gesturing with one broad hand. “I like shaggin’ my wife, right? Proper shaggin’. What happens when you’re waddlin’ round with a great bleedin’ balloon for a belly, eh?” he held his hands wide, “—moanin’ and tired, no shaggin’ for months. Then after? Forget it. Kid in the bed, cryin’, you too knackered to even look at me. Whole marriage goes down the drain. I’ve seen it, darlin’. Kids destroy marriages.”

Your mouth fell open. “Alfie—”

“—Don’t ‘Alfie’ me, right? I know what I’m sayin’. You think I ain’t watched it happen? Blokes, good men, yeah, they had wives they adored. Then came the babies. Now they’re either pissin’ their wages at the pub or havin’ it off with some tart while the wife’s stuck at home. That ain’t gonna be us. We’re good, you and me. Why fuck it up?”

Tears pricked your eyes again at the sheer cutely of his words. “So that’s it? Because you like shagging, I can’t have a baby?”

Alfie groaned, exasperated after having to explain himself once again to you. “Don’t twist me words, woman. It ain’t just about that. It’s everything. It’s our life, right? You think I want a child growin’ up watchin’ his dad get hurt? You think I want his name in the bloody papers when some bastard comes after me? Nah. I won’t do it. Not to you, not to me, not to some poor little sod who didn’t ask for it.”

Your lip trembled. “But you’d deny me that? You’d deny me something I want so badly?”

His jaw worked, and for a long moment he said nothing. “I’d deny you anything that’d break you, yeah. Even if it means you hate me for it.”

That silenced you. Finally, Alfie exhaled, shaking his head. “Look, love, don’t mistake me, yeah? I’d give you the world if I could. But this? This ain’t a gift, it’s a curse in our world. You want someone to love, you’ve got me. You want someone to hold, you’ve got Cyril. Don’t need no little screamer wreckin’ what we already got. We’re good. Best, even. Let’s not fuckin’ ruin it.”

He looked at you then, waiting for your response, his beard shadowing the furrow between his brows. “Alfie,” you said softly, tracing your finger along the line of his jaw. “Can’t you see? That I… I love you so much… so much that I want a piece of us together. I want something… something that’s ours.”

Alfie’s eyes darkened in a mix of gruffness and tenderness, he reached out, dragging a rough hand down your shoulder, gripping you tight. “I know, love,” he murmured. “I know you do. And I love you just as much. Too much, even, yeah?That’s why I won’t let you go and ruin what we’ve got. That’s why I don’t want it.”

You frowned, pushing gently against him. “But… Alfie, it doesn’t have to ruin anything. We could—”

He slammed a hand down on the couch, making Cyril jump. “No fuckin’ way!” His face twisted in desperation. “I told ya. Not gonna talk any more about it. Not gonna bloody think about it. We’ve got what we’ve got. And that’s enough. You hear me?”

Tears fell down your eyes, but you nodded, feeling the wordless acceptance burning in your chest. Alfie softened only slightly, dragging you against him, placing his heavy arm around your shoulders. “I’m sorry, love. I love you so much, you know that, yeah? And that’s why I can’t give you this. I’d rather see you angry at me than see somethin’ ruin us. Understand that.”

You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “I understand,” you whispered, though your throat felt raw and tight.

“Good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Now let’s drop it. I’m done talkin’ ‘bout babies. I’ve got a wife, a dog, a distillery… that’s enough. That’s all I need.”

And if you manage to get pregnant…

warning: smut

In my head, if Alfie is somehow convinced (or maybe the pregnancy is an accident) he would change his mind a thousand percent. He’d go absolutely insane with a mix of tenderness and desire the moment he sees that round pregnant belly for the first time, whispering that you’d never looked prettier or sexier than while carrying his child. “All ripe, ain’t ya? Like a fuckin’ peach ready t’burst. Proper harvest time. Full tits, round belly, you’re like… like one o’ them fertility statues, yeah? Proper ancient goddess sort of thing. Makes a man feel primitive, I tell ya.”

He’d be a sucker for pregnancy sex. Even he was surprised at first about the fact that your sex drive hadn’t decreased a bit, if anything, it had spiked. He’d been getting friendly with the idea of not shagging for at least a year, maybe more. But you… you had other plans. Maybe it was your hormones, maybe it was just how much you loved him, how much you desired him, the joy you felt because he’d given you a child, that had you feral over him.

Alfie devours you, and swears you taste different now. “Fuck me, woman,” he growls into you, pulling back just long enough to smear his beard across your thigh. “Sweeter, yeah? I’m not makin’ it up. Your cunt’s sweeter now. Must be the baby, eh? Changed the recipe.” He chuckles before diving back in, sucking your clit so hard your hips jerk. After a while, he lifts his head just enough to glance up your body, his eyes get caught on the swell of your belly. “Oi, can’t even see your fuckin’ face from down here anymore, can I? Belly’s in the way. Talk to me, love, so I know you ain’t died of pleasure yet.” He gives your clit a quick slap with his tongue, smirking. “Still breathin’, yeah?”

And when he tries to fuck you? He pushes forward, his instinct taking him straight toward your heat, but the swell of your belly presses between you. He groans in frustration. “For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I can’t even get close, can I? That bloody bump… like a fuckin’ wall between us.” You giggle hard, cupping his jaw, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Then stop fighting it. Let’s move.” He sits back on his knees, his cock straining. “Alright then, clever girl. Where d’you want me?” You roll to your side, guiding him behind you, tugging him down so his chest pressed against your back, his arm circling under your belly protectively. He groans when his cock finally finds your entrance, sliding in slow, so tight and deep that he curses against your ear.“Fuckin’ hell, there she is,” he growls. “Tight as ever. Thought I’d lost this bloody war to your bump, but nah… me cock still knows the way home.”

He wouldn’t let you lift a finger throughout the entire pregnancy, making sure every craving and whim is fulfilled, I can even imagine him waking up some poor French baker at three in the morning, threatening him to bake pastries for his wife.

“For fuck’s sake, woman,” he grumbles, thumping the jar down on the table. “Two o’clock, innit? Middle of the bloody night, yeah? What’ve I gotta do? Drag me arse halfway across Camden, bribe some poor sod to open his shop after hours, all ‘cause you’ve decided that the only thing that’ll stop you sobbin’ is pickles and peanut butter—together, mind you, not separate. Nah. Together.”You were sitting perched on the edge of the table, your round belly peeking out from under your nightdress. “Thank you, Alf,” you say sweetly.“You’re not right in the head,” Alfie declares, leaning against the counter, watching you dip the pickles in the peanut butter jar, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Christ, I married a bloody madwoman.” When you’re full, he scoops you up with a grunt and carries you back to bed. He sits you down, and gets to work on your swollen feet, kneading them gently with his big hands, and you practically melt with relief. “That’s it, innit? Soon as I sit down, ‘Alfie, rub me feet. Alfie, get me pickles. Alfie, run me a bath.’ I’m not your husband, I’m your bloody butler.” “You love it,” you mumble sleepily, sinking back into the pillows. He snorts. “Do I fuck. Love’s got nothing to do with it, yeah? This is slavery, straight up.” Still, he shifts lower on the bed to get both feet in his lap, working over every tender spot. “You’ll owe me, you hear? When this whole… parasite stage is over, you’ll owe me months’ worth of shags, woman. Months.” You open your eyes enough to smirk. “You’re still shagging me every night.” “Yeah, well,” Alfie says, “double shagging it’ll be.”

In conclusion, I personally think Alfie wouldn’t have kids, he wouldn’t want them. Just him, his wife, and Cyril. But a girl can dream, so in my head Alfie is 100% a baby daddy. Also, this was only supposed to be the first part, but like an hour before posting I ended up writing the whole pregnancy part too, because, like I’ve said, I’m a total sucker for Alfie and pregnant!wife and I just can’t help myself. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this, I’m sure you were expecting a simple “no, I think he’d have kids” or “yes, he wouldn’t have them,” and instead I went and wrote this long-ass thing 🧍‍♀️

tags: @ducksareswagy @conrzd @potter-solomons @bhyunrosies @freyadronning @moonbeamott @mani-pedro @ohthisisanna @moonlightbored345 @faithhhhhsblog @sethell @sweetnspicychicken @marisolpusheen @blamepotter @crimsonxcobra @twigleektribute23 @alexxavicry @tr199yc0841n @tearsweetenedtea @serenity-1221 @feveredvisions @hauntedbymiller @18lkpeters @frenchaurora @mslxsx07 @glowingtoenails @jujuthepooh15 @multireality @dummylovewp @alexxavicry @imjustaprettyyprincess @kxnnxy @liliac-dreamer @fandom-puff @millysfavfics @queenbrownie18 @whydoicryy @rottensage @minedofmoria @almodovarispunk @alwaysanundertone @macbaetwo @hehehehesecwet @aerangi @mrsnms @gen-lecter

༺♡༻ You always ignore the grumbling, the swearing, the I don’t need nothin’ that comes out of his mouth the second you suggest he sit still. You go get the warm compress, your good balm, the bottle of pills he refuses to admit helps. Alfie softens the second you touch him, he always said you had magic hands, and part of him enjoys the attention, even if he won’t admit it, just knowing that his beautiful wife is looking after him, fussing over him like he’s worth the trouble. “That’s it, innit? Christ…” he exhales, as your fingers press into a tight knot of muscle. “You’ve got magic fuckin’ hands, woman.”

༺♡༻ Whenever his psoriasis flares, he goes relentless. He gets patches on his elbows, his neck, shoulders, and face. You’ll be reading, cuddling against him in bed, folding laundry, just minding your own business, and suddenly his big hand closes around your wrist. He drags your hand straight to the itchy patch on his shoulder or back, plants it there, and immediately starts using it to scratch himself. “Alfie!” You try to protest. “Don’t fight me on it, love, I need it. Ohhh, fuck me, there it is. Right fuckin’ there.” His head tips back. “You see, it’s like a wank, love, I could do it meself, but someone else’s hand always feels better.” He says it with that look of a man who knows exactly how much he’s getting on your nerves and enjoys every second “Romantic, Alf,” you shoot back, full of sarcasm. He grins without shame, still grinding your fingers over the spot that itches.

༺♡༻ You always try to pull away, but he’ll clamp his massive hand around your wrist, forcing you back in. “Don’t be cruel, darlin’,” he mutters. “I’m fuckin’ beggin’ you here, treacle… just… right there, yeah, don’t fuckin’ move. Ohhh, God… that’s, Jesus Christ—that’s better than sex… well, almost better, right?” You hate doing it, hate the idea of breaking skin or hurting him more, but the sound he makes when you hit just the right spot is almost obscene. “Stop, you’re gonna make it worse, it’s gonna bleed! I have a cream for this, Alfie.” You try to make him stop, but he won’t have it. “Treacle,” he grunts. “At this age everything’s worse anyway. Might as well go out enjoyin’ meself.”

༺♡༻ Sometimes when you’re scratching him he’d look up at you with a wide grin on his face. “Y’know, if you slide that hand down, yeah, we could sort out my other fuckin’ itch at the same time. Kill two birds, innit? Back’s sorted, cock’s sorted, everyone’s happy.” You snort and give him a playful nudge in the shoulder. “You have to make everything about your cock, don’t you?” But then he drags your hand down until your palm is resting over the hard, heavy outline in his trousers, the thick weight of his hard cock impossible to ignore. “Yeah… there’s my good girl. See? Feels better already.” He rolls his hips forward just enough to make sure you feel him. If you start moving your hand, even the smallest squeeze or drag of your palm along his length, he lets a guttural groan out. “Ffff—yeah, just like that. God, you don’t even fuckin’ know, I’ve missed your hands on me.”

༺♡༻ Alfie’d look at himself in the mirror, at the shell of the man he used to be, and he couldn’t help but feel like you deserved better. You were still so full of life, and he was… him. “And what about when me back’s completely fucked, eh? What then, treacle? You still keepin’ this old bastard ‘round?” He tries to make it sound light, like a joke, but it was a possibility that terrified him. “Then I’ll ride you every day, Alf. I’ve already told you.” Your tone was matter-of-fact. There was no one else, there never would be, you wanted him, even more now than when you first met him. “Yeah, and what about when I can’t even get it up anymore, eh?” He says with a grin, but his eyes flicker like he’s checking to see if you’ll flinch. “Then I’ll ride your face,” you say without hesitation, and you watch the grin crack into a real laugh, shaking his head. “Alright then, jump on, woman.”

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A/N: Thank you so much @lafrancak for sending me this idea!! I hope you enjoyed it🩷

If you’re reading this and you’re the person who sent me an ask a few days ago about whether I thought Alfie would have kids or not, I’m not ignoring you, lol. I’m actually writing a little something for that (even though you didn’t ask me to).

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