#soft dom!reader

Baran had been an absolute menace all day.

From the moment you sat down at your desk for your remote work calls, she’d been testing every last ounce of your patience. First it was “accidentally” brushing against you in the tiniest shorts and cropped tank top she owned, then “forgetting” to wear a bra underneath. She’d sprawled across the couch in your peripheral vision, sighing dramatically, whining about how bored she was, how neglected she felt, how mean you were for working when she finally had a rare day off from the ED.

Every time you tried to focus, she’d find a new way to push: stealing your coffee, “tripping” into your lap only to wiggle away with a bratty little smirk, pouting and calling you “busybody” in that sweet, spoiled tone she knew drove you crazy.

By late afternoon, you’d had enough.

You pushed your chair back from the desk mid-email, reached out, and grabbed her wrist as she tried to saunter past you again with that smug little sway in her hips.

“Come here, Baran.”

Before she could sass you, you pulled her down firmly onto your lap, straddling you, her knees bracketing your thighs. Her breath hitched, eyes lighting up with victorious delight. She thought she’d won. She thought she was finally getting what she’d been begging for all day.

You let her grind against you once, just once, feeling how warm and needy she already was through those tiny shorts. Then your hands slid under her cropped top, pushing it up to expose her breasts.

Baran shivered, arching into your touch with a soft, eager sound. “Finally,” she whispered, voice dripping with triumph. “Knew you couldn’t ignore me forev—ah!”

Your fingers found her nipples, already stiff and sensitive from all her teasing and you began to play with them. Gently at first. Rolling. Pinching. Flicking. Using the pads of your thumbs to rub slow, maddening circles around the sensitive peaks while your other fingers lightly tugged and stroked.

Baran’s hips jerked, a broken little moan slipping out of her. She tried to grind down harder, chasing friction, but your free hand gripped her waist, holding her still.

“Shhh, darling,” you murmured softly against her ear, voice low and sweet, the perfect soft-dom tone that always melted her even when she was being a brat. “This is your punishment. I’m only going to tease these sensitive nipples until you cum from it. Over and over again.”

Her eyes widened. “W-what? No, wait…please, I need-”

You pinched both nipples at the same time, a little firmer, and she whimpered, hips twitching uselessly in your lap. You kept your touch focused, deliberate, and relentless alternating between soft caresses, sharp little twists, and slow, wet circles after you leaned in to lick your fingers. Every time she tried to rut against your thigh for more, you held her firmly in place.

“Look at you,” you cooed, kissing the side of her neck while your fingers never stopped. “So bratty all day just because you wanted attention. Now you have it, baby. All of it. Right here on these pretty, needy nipples.”

Baran’s breathing grew ragged. Her cheeks flushed dark, lips parted in desperate little gasps. She was trembling, trying so hard to be good now that the game had turned on her, but her body was betraying her whining, arching, pushing her breasts further into your hands.

You felt the first orgasm build in her faster than she expected. Her thighs shook around you, nipples swollen and glistening under your relentless touch. When she finally tipped over the edge, it was with a shocked, humiliated cry, cumming untouched except for your fingers on her chest.

You didn’t stop.

Even as she twitched and gasped through the aftershocks, you kept playing with her over-sensitive nipples, gentler now but just as focused.

“Too much…fuck…please…” she whimpered, burying her face in your shoulder, but her hips were still rolling weakly, chasing the humiliating pleasure.

“Poor little brat,” you whispered lovingly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You wanted my attention so badly. Now you’re going to take every bit of it. Again.”

You rolled her nipples between your fingers, slow and steady, feeling her start to climb once more.

“You’ve been a brat for the past five hours now so I think it’s only fair that you cum that many times for me like this.”

Baran moaned brokenly into your neck, already falling apart for the second time, completely at your mercy.

“Oh wow,” he gasps, overwhelmed almost as soon as you get started. “Oh… wow…”

“That feel good?”

He nods, hardly able to reply as you lap the puckered bud of his nipple with the tip of your tongue, those big hands gripping the pillow at either side of his head. “W-oh- wow… yeah… ‘s good. Thank you.”

Though dauntless when facing villains, he surrenders to you so readily, that gentle, sweet man who has fought infinite bloody battles. His deep, comforting voice, so perfectly suited to reassuring, leading, and orating, is reduced to nothing more than fragmented, rumbling groans of pleasure and hoarsely whispered words of thanks. And his wounded, battle-scarred body, so accustomed to pain he hardly knows how to react to soft touches, is so sensitive to your every caress. And so very very grateful for them. 

“My beautiful man,” you whisper against his scars. 

And he laughs at that, breathlessly; in relief, in overwhelming gratitude, and happiness he never thought he could know.

When your kisses trail lower, to his hollow, undulating abdomen, he almost instinctively darts his hand down, his palm warm and heavy against your cheek, as if he has to check in on you, to make sure you really want to do this for him. It still floors him that you do. But of course you’re eager, kissing your way along the golden path of fuzz trailing down from his navel. 

His blue eyes widen, radiant amongst their surrounding shadows. “Wait… let me… I want you to feel good too,” he says, his voice gravely and thick with arousal. “You don't have to–”

“Toshi, hush. Just close your eyes and let me take care of you.”

Easier said than done. Toshinori’s career as a pro-hero, heck, his life has centered around taking care of others. So switching off that instinct, allowing himself to be selfish, to be indulged, is a battle in and of itself. But if he’s anything, Toshinori is good for you. So responsive, so satisfying to pleasure, and so eager to please.

So, he forces himself to switch off that part of his brain as you continue your kisses; trailing over his belly, the hills of his hips, to those long, lean thighs while he squirms and gasps and whispers your name. His inner thighs are a particular weakness, bordering on ticklish as you tease his sensitive skin with your lips, tongue, and ever-so-gently, your teeth. 

“Ohhh, love… my… goodness… you’re killing me…”

His head lolls back against the pillow as the sinews in his arms bulge from the strength of his grip on the pillow. And he’s so turned on, flushed and gasping, his abdomen beginning to glisten with a sheer coat of perspiration, lips parted in bliss. But these days it takes a little longer to get fully erect. Age and injury require patience from both of you.

A choked cry bursts from him as you take his semi-erect length into your mouth, sucking, licking, letting it harden against your eager tongue.

“Oh… jeez…” he groans, one hand buried in his wild golden hair. “Oh, I love you.”

The other hand instinctively seeks yours, your fingers interlacing across the fluttering plain of his stomach. You know him well enough to know he needs that. He needs your hand in his, he needs to hold on to you or he’s lost. 

And it’s that gesture which really gets him there. Maybe it’s the security and intimacy, but within moments his cock is hardening; until it’s so big and so damn thick you have to wrap your free hand around his base and jerk him off while you take him to the back of your throat.

His grip tightens as he cries out in pleasure, feet sliding against the mattress as he searches for purchase while you suck and lick, and fuck him with your mouth. “Oh God, thank you. Thank you…”

“Can you cum for me, Toshi?” you ask, stroking his cock as you drink in the sight of him; all flustered and falling apart. 

He nods, pulling in a breath. “Soon…huh- ohh close. S-oh close.”

So you suck, and lick, and stroke his heavy cock, feasting on the sight of him coming undone in the most delicious way. And before long his feet are lifting off the mattress, long legs quaking from the tension as he throws his arm across his eyes and gasps in pleasure. “Hah! Nghh– aha! Ha!”

And when he cums, he’s practically sobbing, so completely overwhelmed and grateful and so madly in love with you. He cums with his entire body, every inch of him dominated by sheer ecstasy; trembling, throbbing, tensing, his hand in yours the only part of him that remains steady. His orgasm is so strong, so consuming it’s as if he’s making up for all those decades he set his needs aside. 

“Thank you,” he gasps, for the hundredth time since you got him into bed. “Jeez… you’re so perfect. So wonderful. I love you and I– thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” you tell him, shuffling up the bed to smooth back the long, tousled tresses of his bangs and shower him in kisses. “I love you so much, Toshi.”

​The door chimes rattled again, much louder this time. At the exact same moment, a prickle of discomfort hit your neck. You could feel someone staring at you. Hard.

​You spun around on your heel, a "what the hell are you looking at" glare already locked onto your features. You were well-trained in the art of handling creeps. A man a few feet away, holding a shopping bag for his girlfriend, was staring wide-eyed, his mouth practically hanging open. But as you tracked the trajectory of his glazed eyes, you realized something humiliating—he wasn’t looking at you at all. He was staring directly past your shoulder, completely mesmerized.

​You turned your head.

​Framed in the doorway of the chic boutique was a sight that defied human physics. Rangiku Matsumoto was standing there, practically buried beneath a mountain of glossy, neon-colored shopping bags. There had to be at least fifteen of them dangling from her slender arms, overflowing with tissue paper, silk ribbons, and high-end logos from the luxury district down the avenue.

​Right beside her—or rather, completely obscured behind the towering wall of paper bags—was a very short, irritated spiritual presence. You couldn't see him through the luggage, but the sheer, icy-cold pressure radiating from the lower hemisphere of the pile told you everything you needed to know. It was Captain Hitsugaya.

​"Oh my gosh!"

​Rangiku’s eyes locked onto you through the racks of clothing. Before her captain could even utter a word of protest, she spun around and ruthlessly thrust the entire fifteen-bag payload directly into Toshiro’s small arms, burying him alive.

​"Hold these, Captain! I found her!" she squealed, her voice a high, joyful sound that shattered the quiet elegance of the boutique.

​She sprinted across the polished boutique floor, her strappy wedge sandals clicking loud against the tile. Before you could even brace yourself, she threw her arms around your neck. Your entire world was blacked out, replaced by the cloud-like, and suffocating warmth of her breasts pressing directly into your face.

​You were entirely smothered in her cleavage, inhaling the expensive scent of her human-world perfume—sweet jasmine and amber—mixed with the comforting caress of her spirit.

​You smiled against the soft fabric of her top, your voice muffled into her chest. "Hi, Rangiku."

​"I knew it was you. I could feel your spirit energy from three blocks away!" she cried, finally pulling back just a fraction, though she refused to let you go. Her manicured hands remained planted on your shoulders, her thumbs sliding down to stroke the bare skin near your collarbone with a languid touch.

​Up close, Rangiku Matsumoto was a staggering testament to physical beauty. In her human gigai, she had abandoned her standard Soul Reaper uniform for something more fashionable. She was wearing a low-cut coral sundress that clung to the curves of her hourglass figure like a second skin. The neckline plunged, barely managing to corral the abundance of her breasts, exposing a vast expanse of smooth, golden skin that glowed with a healthy, sun-kissed radiance.

​Her face was so perfect to you. She possessed sharp, elegant cheekbones and a rounded jawline that gave her an expression of mischievous youth. Her eyes were a piercing sky-blue—heavy-lidded, framed by thick, dark lashes. Her lips were full, painted in a glossy, berry-pink shade that perfectly matched her dress, curling up into a wide, smile that bared her white teeth.

​But her crowning glory was her hair. A cascading waterfall of thick, voluminous strawberry-blonde waves tumbled past her shoulders, spilling over her back and framing her face in a wild, beautifully unkempt mane that seemed to catch every single ray of light filtering through the boutique window. A few stray, golden-orange strands clung to the damp skin of her neck, a proof to the heat outside.

​You ignored the envious stares of the other shoppers in the store, as well as the muffled, furious grunts of Captain Hitsugaya, who was attempting to balance a designer shoe box on top of his head while trapped beneath her bags.

​"What are you doing in this part of town?" you asked, leaning back slightly against the clothing rack, though Rangiku’s arms just slid down to wrap tightly around your waist, pulling your hips closer to hers in a casual display of intimacy.

​"Oh, it's wonderful!" Rangiku beamed, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners as she leaned in close, her breath warm against your cheek. She played idly with the strap of your shopping basket, her long, painted nails brushing against your fingers.

"The Head Captain gave us special permission to stay in the World of the Living for an extra two days to monitor some anomalous hollow fluctuations in the sector. But the Captain finished all his boring data-gathering and paperwork early this morning! So, since we had the afternoon free, I told him he had to accompany his lovely lieutenant out for some much-needed summer shopping. And then I sensed you, and I just knew it was destiny."

​She squeezed your waist, her ample chest brushing against your arm as she looked down at the top you were holding. "Oh, that is so cute on you. Let me help you find bottoms. We are going to turn you into a total knockout today. Oh, get that too!"

"I’m just getting a few things," you said, offering a small chuckle as you lifted your woven basket. "I'm really trying to watch my spending today."

​Rangiku’s sculpted eyebrows knitted together into a frown. She let out a soft, sympathetic sigh, her lower lip pouting out just enough to make her look disappointed. "A budget? I understand, sweetie," she said, leaning in closer until the warmth of her shoulder brushed yours. "I am so glad I live in the Soul Society. Whenever my personal funds run dry, I just find a way to route my little excursions through the squad's administrative expenses. If the Captain doesn't notice the line items, it didn't happen."

​You couldn't help but smile, your eyes drifting past her shoulder to focus on the annoyed, burdened man standing by the entrance.

​"Hi, Captain Hitsugaya," you called out, raising a hand in greeting.

​Toshiro’s small, white-haired head peered out from behind a massive neon-pink luxury shopping bag. His emerald eyes were narrowed into a flat, exhausted glare, but his manners held firm. "Hello," he rumbled back, his voice carrying the exhaustion of a man who had been walking in circles for hours. "Don't let her pull you into her financial delinquency."

​Rangiku ignored him, her bright blue eyes lighting up as she reached out, her fingers gently touching the edge of your shoulder. "Your hair! It’s super different from the last time I saw you."

​You smiled, touching one of the neat, long braids resting against your collarbone. "Yeah, I have a lot of plans this summer and I really didn’t want to deal with my natural hair out in this humidity. So, I just went ahead and got braids."

​"That's is so pretty!" Rangiku beamed, her hand sliding down your arm in a warm gesture of approval. "The length looks amazing on you. It really frames your face."

​With a quick pat to your hip, her short attention span caught on something across the store. "Ouu, look at that black top over there. I'll be right back!" She drifted away, leaving you to finish your task. You located the matching shorts in your size and headed straight for the glass-topped checkout counter.

​While the cashier was ringing up your items, Toshiro walked up to the counter, his soul pager abruptly buzzing with a sharp, electronic chirp in his pocket. He looked down at the screen, his posture stiffening.

​"Matsumoto," Toshiro said, his voice dropping into his strict, commanding register. "Change of plans. We just received new orders from the Soul Society. We need to report to the local coordinate checkpoint immediately."

​A loud groan echoed from the clothing racks. Rangiku trudged over, the long black top dangling limply from her hand. "Are you serious, Captain? We just got here! Can't the anomalous fluctuations wait for like... twenty more minutes?"

​"No," Toshiro snapped cleanly, adjusting the strap of a heavy designer bag on his shoulder. "We'll come back later. Let's go."

​You couldn't help the amused grin that broke across your face. Even though Hitsugaya was technically centuries older than most humans and held one of the most powerful, respected positions in the military hierarchy of the afterlife, the dynamic between them never changed. To anyone else, he looked like a small kid, but standing next to Rangiku, she was unmistakably the chaotic child he was forced to babysit.

​As you grabbed your small brown shopping bag from the cashier, you walked over toward Toshiro, extending a hand to relieve him of at least four of the larger bags hanging from his small wrists. "Here, let me help you with some of these."

​Toshiro looked up, a faint, genuine flash of relief washing over his stern features. "Thank you," he murmured, exhaling a quiet breath as his shoulders dropped.

​"Yeah. Thanks, doll. He could barely hold a few bags. Some captain he is." Rangiku chimed in, sweeping back into the huddle. She snatched the remaining payload from her captain, flashing you one last, smile as she walked toward the automatic glass doors. "Byeee. See you soon!"

-

The digital numbers on the clock glowed a dim green. 9:47pm. You were freshly showered, your skin smelling of your favorite body wash, and you were sitting comfortably in the middle of your bed in your modest apartment. The only real illumination provided by the shifting, colorful glow of the television screen playing a comforting slice-of-life anime. You sat with your legs crossed, picking at a bowl of fresh fruit with a fork. You had been craving dense, fudgy brownies all evening, but a thorough search of your pantry earlier had revealed you were out of box mix, leaving you to settle for the healthier alternative.

​Knock. Knock. Knock.

​A series of firm thuds rattled against your front door, breaking the stillness of the apartment.

​You paused, a piece of melon hovering halfway to your mouth, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. It was late. Your mind jumped through the alarming possibilities before settling on the most likely culprit. Rangiku. She probably needed a place to crash again to escape Toshiro's strict curfew or simply wanted a change of scenery from the Kurosaki residence.

​You set the fruit bowl down on the nightstand, slid off the edge of the mattress, and navigated through the familiar, dark hallways of your apartment.

​When you pulled the front door open, the bright, amber glow of the streetlights outside flooded the entryway, framing Rangiku against the night sky. She was leaning against the doorframe, a playful, slightly sheepish grin on her lips.

​"Hi," she purred softly.

​"Hi, Rangiku," you answered, leaning your shoulder against the door. "What are you doing here this late?"

​"I wanted to have a sleepover," she said, her blue eyes instantly dropping down to scan your frame.

​The television light from the bedroom cast a faint, angled glow down the hallway, catching the smooth, rich tone of your bare skin. You were wearing a matching pajama set—a lightweight, button-up top and a pair of matching shorts that rode up just enough to expose the full wealth of your thighs. Rangiku’s gaze lingered there for a beat too long, her eyes tracing the soft curve of your legs before traveling back up to meet your eyes.

​"Look at you," she murmured, a genuine warmth in her voice. "You look so cute and cozy. Are you gonna let me in?"

​"Of course, come on in," you said, stepping back to let her pass. As she walked past you into the cool air conditioning of the condo, you closed the door and slid the deadbolt into place. "Does Captain Hitsugaya need a place to stay tonight too? I can set up the couch."

​"Oh, don't worry about him," Rangiku chuckled, waving a dismissive, hand over her shoulder as she walked down the hallway toward your bedroom. "He’s staying over at the Kurosakis' place, doing some boring tactical review with Ichigo. I told him I was leaving... and honestly? I wanted you all to myself."

​She stepped into your bedroom, carrying a plastic convenience store bag that rattled with the distinct sound of chips and candy, alongside a much larger, heavy designer tote bag whose contents were obscured in the dim light. She set her things down on the corner of your dresser, her blue eyes taking in the atmosphere of the space. The room was dark, completely tranquil, with the animated characters on the TV screen casting soft blue and purple hues across your sheets.

​"Were you about to go to sleep?" she asked, turning her head to look at you over her shoulder, her strawberry-blonde waves shifting over her back.

​"Not for a few hours," you replied, walking past her toward your closet. "Let me get you something comfortable to wear."

​You opened the closet door, rummaging through your shelves until you pulled out an oversized, soft cotton T-shirt and a pair of loose, stretchy athletic shorts. You walked back over and handed the bundle to her.

​"Here, these should fit you well enough to sleep in."

​"Thank you," Rangiku murmured, her voice dropping into a lower, softer register that felt intimate in the quiet room.

​Without a hint of hesitation or modesty, her hand reached around to the back of her neck, unhooking the hidden clasp of her coral sundress.

You averted your eyes as the fabric slid down her hips, focusing your gaze on the television screen while she changed into the oversized shirt and shorts. The mattress dipped a second later as Rangiku slid under the cool sheets beside you, bringing that immense, comforting wall of warmth with her.

"What are we watching?" she asked, curling her long legs up beneath the blankets. You told her the name of the slice-of-life anime, your voice a little breathy in the quiet room. Leaning back against your pillows, you looked over at her.

"Did you and Captain Hitsugaya actually finish the mission?"

Rangiku let out a dramatic sigh and stretched her arms high above her head, the movement pulling the soft cotton of the shirt tight across her chest. "Yes. Paperwork is done, the spiritual coordinates are logged, and I am officially off the clock," she groaned happily, melting sideways until her shoulder and torso leaned against your side.

She had always been a physical, touchy person, but she possessed such a genuine heart that her constant closeness never made you feel uncomfortable. It made you think of the legendary sleepover the two of you had shared with Orihime a few months back—a night filled with absolute chaos, terrible kitchen experiments, and crying from laughing so hard. The memory kept the atmosphere in the room light, but as you looked down at her, an electric wave of tension rippled through the air. Rangiku had stopped looking at the TV. She was gazing up at you through her thick, dark lashes, her striking blue eyes reflecting the colorful, shifting light of the screen in a way that made your pulse hitch.

-

The lamp on your nightstand was clicked on now, bathing the bedroom in a golden glow that caught the empty snack wrappers piled neatly inside the plastic bag on your dresser. You sat there speechless, your jaw practically unhinged as you stared at what Rangiku was currently holding in her lap. Fished directly from the bottom of her designer tote bag were three very distinct, high-end human pleasure objects: a suction Rose toy, a thick silicone dildo, and a sleek, multi-speed rabbit vibrator.

A spike of embarrassment and sheer shock hit you, a rush of heat flooding your veins, and warming your cheeks. Rangiku, utterly unbothered, was beaming like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Don't look at me like that!" she laughed, her voice a musical, wicked purr as she shook the silicone toy at you. "Remember when we were gossiping at Orihime’s, and you said Ichigo was so oblivious that he wouldn't be laying a finger on her anytime soon, so she should just buy a toy? I looked into it! I am fully aware of all these modern human things now, but..." She shifted closer, her thigh pressing flush against yours as she set the items down on the blanket. Her expression became intensely enthusiastic, her blue eyes glittering. "I really want to try them out with you."

You hesitated, your fingers twisting into the fabric of your shorts, your throat feeling dry. "Umm... so... Rangiku, I don't know..."

Her lower lip instantly popped out into a pout. "Why not? You're my favorite human and you like me too, so it'll be better with you." Then, the playfulness vanished. Her voice dropped into a quieter, serious register that sent a shiver straight down your spine. Her eyes locked onto yours, refusing to break contact for even a fraction of a second. "Besides... I really liked making out with you that one time. And I think doing a lot more of it tonight would be nice. Can we?"

​You took a slow, deep breath, taking in the surrealism of the moment. You had gone from eating fruit, snacking, and gossiping about soul society politics to sitting inches away from a beautiful lieutenant offering a pile of erotica. The tension in the room was hot. "Okay," you finally murmured, an assured spark taking over your senses as you leaned slightly over her. "But you're not using them on me. If we're doing this, I'm going to use every one of them on you."

A pleased, triumphant look washed over Rangiku's face, her lips curling into a wicked little grin. "Yes, please," she whispered.

You didn't waste another second. You leaned in and caught her mouth in a slow, deep kiss that fractured into a heavy rush of tongue. Rangiku let out a soft gasp against your lips, her mouth parting to welcome you as you pulled her body flush against yours. One of your hands slid directly under the hem of her oversized shirt, your palm gripping the curve of her hip, while your other hand came up to cradle the side of her jaw, your fingers tangling into the thick waves of her hair. She felt so soft and smooth all over.

The kiss soon degenerated into something sloppy, wet, and fervent. Rangiku pushed herself closer into your space, her tongue sliding deeper into your mouth with an eager, needy hunger that proved she had been thinking about this for a long time. Your hand left her hip, traveling slowly up the warm expanse of her ribs beneath the cotton shirt until your fingers cupped the weight of her bare breast. The supple flesh spilled over your fingers, and a loud, breathless moan tore from the back of Rangiku's throat, her body shuddering against yours. You made out for several minutes, the quiet comedy on the television drowned out by the sound of your tangled breathing and wet, gasping sighs, before you gripped her shoulders and pushed her flat back onto the mattress.

You lean down, pressing your lips back against hers, drinking in the quiet gasp that escapes her mouth. Rangiku’s hands come up to roam over your body, her warm palms tracing the curve of your waist before her fingers dig into the fabric of your pajama top for leverage. You break the kiss, dragging your lips down the smooth line of her jaw to press wet, bites onto the sensitive skin of her neck, right where her pulse jumps. A low hum vibrates deep in her throat as you work your way lower, shifting your weight between her thighs until your hand slides down her torso to find the waistband of the shorts you lent her.

​Your thumb presses firm through the grey cotton, finding the exact spot where her arousal is already gathering into a hard, swollen nub. Rangiku’s hips jerk up against your hand, a sharp, involuntary twitch that betrays how ready she is.

​You hold her down with the weight of your palm, a small smile brushing against her collarbone as you feel her breath hitch.

"Did you actually finish your work today, Matsumoto, or did you leave the captain stranded and run over here because you wanted to play with toys and sleep with me?"

​Her chest rises high as she tries to find her voice in the quiet room. You trace a lazy, grinding circle with your thumb over the fabric, pressing directly into her heat.

​"I actually helped this time," she pants, her blue eyes dark with as her fingers grip your shoulders. "I swear I did."

​You let out a quiet, knowing hum, letting the disbelief hang in the air as you offer her an elusive smile. With a smooth drag of your hands, you hook your fingers into the elastic waistband of her shorts and pull them down her long legs, tossing them over the edge of the bed to leave her bare. Your eyes rake over her form in the glow of the lamp. Her trimmed pubic hair is a soft patch of strawberry blonde, a flawless match to the thick waves spread out across your pillows. The heat between her thighs is already glistening with a heavy sheen of slick moisture. You use your fingers to gently part her labia, exposing the wet pink flesh.

​"Look at that," you murmur, staring at the sight as the fluid pools between her folds. "You're so pretty, Rangiku. Look how wet you are just from a little kissing."

​She shifts on the sheets, her inner thighs clamping against your ribs as she tries to hide from your intense gaze. "Stop staring and stop teasing," she whines, her voice thick, eager, and entirely willing.

​"Sorry," you whisper, though the amusement stays in your voice and you make no effort to hurry.

​Instead of going down right away, you dip your index finger into the pool of her slickness, coating the digit before rubbing it slowly up and down her pussy, spreading her own moisture over her clit until she is slick from top to bottom. You watch her face twist, her lips parting as you toy with her. Only when she begins to roll her hips in a silent beg do you lean down, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. You slide your arm beneath her knee, lifting her leg high and locking your fingers into the meat of her thigh to hold her open.

​You bring your tongue down to her center, licking upward in one long, deliberate stroke. Her folds spreads wide over your tongue. She tastes nice—a clean, salty tang mixed with the calm, cool essence. You open your mouth wide, gathering her sensitive clit between your lips, and suck.

​A loud, ragged moan breaks from her, her back arching clear off the mattress. The sheer sensitivity of her body catches you off guard; for a woman with such a formidable military presence, her flesh responds to the slightest touch. Her long fingers reach down, threading into your long braids, her palm pressing against the back of your head to hold you close to her. You look up through your lashes, taking in the view of her face—her lips parted and swollen, her hair wild across your pillows. She looks breathtaking. You keep eating her out, taking your time with slow, heavy laps simply for your own enjoyment, listening to her shaky breaths echo in the dark space.

​Rangiku’s voice gets louder, turning into a string of cries as her hips lift off the sheet, grinding her wet center straight against your mouth in a desperate search for more pressure.

​You pull back just out of reach, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "Which toy do you want first?"

She looks up at you with eyes bright and brimming with adoration, her gaze locked onto yours. "The rabbit," she gasps out.

​"Open it," you command softly.

​You keep your hand resting on her thigh, your thumb maintaining a steady, firm rub over her wet clit to keep her on the edge while her fumbling fingers strip the plastic packaging away. A dark rose flush steals across her pale cheeks, her gaze fixed on yours the entire time. Once the toy is free, you take it from her grip, clicking the power button until the motor wakes with a low, soft hum—the lowest setting. You bring the vibrating tip down, pressing it right onto her wet clit.

​Her spine arches, her entire frame jolting against the mattress. A surprised laugh leaves your chest as her features twist with the sudden shock of the pleasure, her eyes rolling back. Down between her thighs, her tight opening is overflowing, leaking a steady stream of slick fluid that glistens against her skin as the rabbit works. Smiling, you slide two fingers deep into her slick heat, curling them upward to hook against her g-spot.

​Rangiku shrieked against the pillows, her hips jerking wild as her internal muscles locked around your fingers like a vice.

​"You're so tight, Rangiku," you murmur, leaning down so your breath hits her ear. "Relax for me. Don't cum yet. We’re going to take our time."

​"Please," she whimpers, her hands dragging up to grip your forearms. "It's too much with the buzzing, just let me do it to you."

​"No," you tell her, not letting her back out just to turn around and toy with you. "You said you wanted to try it, right?"

​You hold her hips still with one hand, your fingers inside her slowing down into a torturous, deep 'come here' motion, stretching her walls while the vibrator keeps up its steady rumble against her clit. You talk her through every single sensation, keeping her balanced right on the brink of ruin. "You're so loud, Rangiku. Wet too. Feel how my fingers are stretching you out. Look down at my hand. Look at how easy it is. You can take it."

​She lets out a broken whine, her head tossing from side to side as she forces herself to look down at where your hands join her flesh. Her pink folds are swollen, gripping your fingers tight. "I see it... god, it feels so good. Your fingers are s-so deep—ahhn-ghnm. The vibrator's—O-oh... let me cum, please, I can't hold it."

​"You can hold it," you whisper back, your thumb pressing the vibrator a little harder against her while your fingers execute a sharp, cruel flick inside her. "You're doing so good, baby. Just a few more seconds. You can do that for me, yeah"?

"Yesss," ​She draws, making needy little noises in the back of her throat as she tries to follow your instructions, her internal walls pulsing and clamping around your hand in an effort to control the mounting pressure. You keep her there for several minutes, manual exploration combining with the steady buzz until her skin is hot to the touch and her breathing is a ragged mess of half-formed words.

​Only when you feel her entire body go rigid with tension do you decide she's had enough. You reach down and click the button, kicking the vibrations up a notch, matching the rapid pulse with a fast, ruthless plunge of your fingers.

​"Good girl. Now cum for me, Rangiku," you coax her, your voice a proud murmur against her skin.

​With one violent heave of her hips, she breaks. Her internal walls clamp down around your fingers in a hard, crushing orgasm, her fluid soaking your hand as a loud, frantic string of cries tears from her throat. You don't stop moving. You keep your fingers pumping deep inside the tight squeeze of her climax, the rabbit maintaining its steady buzz against her clit while she rides out the aftershocks. Only when the pulsing slowly subsides do you slide your hand free, lifting your glistening fingers to your mouth to suck them clean right before her unraveled eyes.

​Rangiku's thighs tremble, small tremors writhing through her legs. "Oh god," she breathes, her hand flying down to weakly grip your wrist to pull the toy away.

​Instead of letting her find relief, you reach down and click the switch, ramping the vibrator up to its highest, most aggressive speed against her raw nerves. The harsh, loud buzz fills the quiet bedroom. Her grip on your wrist tightens into a panicked squeeze as the heavy vibration hits her overstimulated flesh.

​"Do you want me to stop, Rangiku?"

​She can't form a real response. She lets out a fractured whine, her body squirming in a vain effort to escape the intense, stimulation of the machine, yet her hips still tilt instinctively toward the touch. You cup her jaw in your hand, tilting her head up to press a firm kiss to her wet lips. She instantly tries to deepen the touch, her tongue searching for yours in a gamble for comfort, but you pull back just out of reach, a smile breaking on your face at the deep, pouty look that forms on her full lips.

​"You need to talk to me," you murmur against her skin. "Tell me what you want."

​Her blue eyes are dark, glassy, and completely unraveled by the pleasure. "Slower..." she gasps out, her voice a faint whisper as she pleads with you. "Please, drop it down."

​You click the button, dropping the device back down to its lowest, gentlest hum. You lean down and lick her up with soothing, wet drags to cool the raw heat of her skin, before turning the power off and tossing the toy onto the sheets.

-

Rangiku rests her full weight in your lap, her bare back pressed flush against your chest as her frame trembles from the heat of the bedroom. The air is thick, holding the heavy scent of her jasmine perfume and the musk of her arousal. She keeps her legs draped over yours, her thighs spread wide to expose her slick center. With one hand, she clamps the Rose toy flat against her swollen clit, the soft silicone mouth pulsing with tight waves of air pressure. Your hand is wrapped firm around the base of the dildo, sliding the thick shaft deep into her wet channel in a slow, unwavering rhythm.

​Both of your eyes are fixed on the view between her legs. You watch her drenched pussy stretch open, greedily swallowing the silicone before letting it slide out, only for you to plunge it right back in. Her cream is thick and off-white, bubbling around the base of the toy from the friction.

​Your free hand slides up her ribcage, your fingers spreading wide over the wealth of her breast before you trap her hard nipple between your fingers, giving it a firm tug. Rangiku lets out a high whine, her head rolling back against your shoulder. Her appetite hasn't slowed down, even after three shattering orgasms.

​"Look at how open you are for me," you murmur against her ear, your voice low and rough. "You're dripping all over my thighs, just taking every inch. Tell me how it feels inside you."

Rangiku shifts her weight, her hips attempting to grind back against your pelvis in a brief show of defiance. She tries to force a faster pace, eager to hunt her own release against your rhythm. "Feels r-really good," she pants, her voice a gravelly, ragged mess. "You're doing this on purpose. Pushing it in so deep and slow… until I can't even breathe. Go faster."

​You tighten your grip on her hip, pinning her pelvis flat to prevent her from taking control of the stride. "Shh. No dictating the pace, Matsumoto," you murmur, your voice calm but absolute. "You're too demanding."

​She lets out a frustrated huff but keeps her eyes glued to the slick junction of your bodies, watching the dildo slide home. You guide her through the overwhelming sensation, your thumb smoothing over her hip bone. "Hold the toy still, Rangiku. You keep begging for speed, but you can't even handle what you're already being given. You get a bit dumb after cumming so many times, hmm? It's okay, baby."

​"You're mean," she whimpers, though her internal walls clamp down on the silicone shaft in a tight, desperate squeeze that completely betrays her words. Her chest heaves as she tries to follow your command, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "The Rose is buzzing too fast... I can't stay still for you."

​"You can," you tell her, leaning forward to press a warm kiss to the side of her neck, right where her pulse thumps hard against your lips. "Be a good girl and stay still for me. It's better when it builds up."

​The fluid strings between your flesh with every retreat, leaving a messy trail across your lap. The silence of the room is long gone, replaced by the sound of skin striking silicone and the steady hum of the toy. The cotton sheets beneath you are thoroughly ruined, soaked through with sweat and her previous releases.

​Rangiku tilts her head back, her mouth open as she gasps for air. You lean across her jaw and catch her lips in a sloppy, deep kiss. Her tongue tangles with yours in a slick, wet slide that matches the motion of your hand below. She moans into your mouth, the sound growing louder, turning into a desperate vibration as her inner thighs begin to shake uncontrollably. Her internal muscles lock around the toy like a vice, tightening so hard your knuckles ache from holding the base.

​"I'm gonna cum," she gasps into the kiss, her toes curling. "I'm going to squirt all over you, honeyy—"

​Suddenly, a heavy, hot gush of fluid erupts from her. She squirts hard, the sheer pressure of the release trying to push the dildo straight out of her body. You don't let her escape the fullness. You lock your wrist, forcing the thick shaft forward, plunging deep into her core and fucking her right through the peak of her release. Rangiku screams into the kiss, her eyes rolling back as she curses through her teeth, her fingers digging deep into your thigh as she cries your name over and over into the dark room.

​You gradually slow down, letting the dildo slide out with a soft, wet sound. You lean forward, pressing a tender kiss to her damp forehead. Her long waves are a wild, matted tangle around her face, and she looks undone, her blue eyes glassy and unfocused as she catches her breath.

​"Flip over onto your stomach," you murmur, your fingers trailing down her stomach.

​She blinks, looking a bit dazed by the sheer exhaustion of her climax, but she takes a breath and rolls over onto her chest, burying her face into the cover while keeping her ass tilted up toward you.

​She lets out a muffled, breathless chuckle into the fabric. "This position is kind of embarrassing, you know. I'm a lieutenant, I should be aloud some dignity."

​You get up on your knees behind her, your eyes raking over the gorgeous curve of her backside. "You'll like it like this."

​A shiver ripples through her shoulders, her hips giving a small, eager wiggle of anticipation as you run the flat of your thumb over her drenched folds from behind. A wave of pure satisfaction washes over you, your own arousal spiking purely from the sight of her. You decide you're going to eat her pussy from behind until she's begging again, then you'll drive the dildo back into her, spending the rest of the night exploring where else that vibrator can make her scream.

​·⭑·𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅·⭑·

тαgℓιѕт: @aizawash0e , @h3avenlyglory 💞

·⭑· ─────── ·⭑· ─────── ·⭑· ─────── ·⭑·

Dividers by @hannabannachana

You set it down next to his keys and the spare ring he uses to fidget when he’s anxious. The apartment is too quiet; the clock ticks like a metronome for a song you refuse to learn. You don’t chase him. You know him.

He’s not leaving. He’s hiding.

You find him on the stoop two floors down, elbows on knees, jaw shadowed, the line of his mouth carved mean on purpose. The night has that damp, city smell, and the streetlight stains his hair copper. He doesn’t look up when you sit. He’s practicing detachment, rehearsing indifference to spare you the live show.

“Your note’s dramatic,” you say softly.

“I meant it.” He stares at his hands. “I keep… I keep breaking things. It’s what I do.”

“You’re not a weather pattern,” you murmur. “You’re a person. And you don’t get to evacuate me for my own safety, Buck.”

“That’s not what—”

“You’re trying to decide for both of us.” You tap his knee. “Not your decision.”

His throat works. “You’d stay with a man who forgets to answer texts for hours because he’s spiraling? Who flinches at the doorbell? Who wants you until wanting hurts and then pushes you away because the hurting feels like proof?”

You take a breath. Honesty is the only thing that doesn’t rot. “I’d stay with you.” You nudge the note against his thigh. “But if you’re going to leave me, you’re going to have to look me in the eye and say it. Say you don’t want me.”

He finally looks. Those ocean-dark eyes are already wet around the edges. “Don’t—” He swallows. “Don’t make me lie like that.”

“Then stop lying like this.”

Silence stretches, taut but unbroken. Passing cars paint his knuckles with moving light. He’s trying to hold the story together—the one where he’s the poison and you’re the glass he’s trying not to crack—but the seams are showing.

“Bucky,” you say, gentler now, “you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I’m not going anywhere. And I—hey.” You catch his chin when he flinches away. “I love you.”

The words land like a match on wet wood: a hiss, a stubborn glow, a slow catch. His mouth trembles. “You shouldn’t.”

“That’s also not your decision.”

He laughs on a half-sob and drops his face into his hands. When he looks up again, he’s raw. “I don’t deserve—”

“Stop.” You thread your fingers through his hair, tug until he shivers. “Then earn it. With me. Not by leaving, by staying. You want to make this right?”

He nods once, helpless.

“Okay.” You stand and offer your hand. “Upstairs.”

—

You don’t kiss him at the door. You don’t soothe him with your mouth and let him pretend the apology is a thing that lives in a kiss. You walk him to the bedroom and turn on the small lamp, warm and low.

“Clothes off,” you say.

Color rides high in his cheekbones. He undresses like he’s confessing: shirt first—shoulders, scars, a horizon of muscle mapped by your hands a hundred times—then jeans, then shy where he’s never shy, like the shame tries to sit in his skin. You step closer and help with the last of it, steady, practical, unhurried. He’s already hard, humiliation flickering behind his eyes; you catch his jaw again and make him meet you.

“We’re not punishing you,” you murmur. “We’re correcting you. You don’t run when it’s hard. You kneel.”

His knees hit the carpet with a soft thump. He melts down so beautifully your chest aches—six feet of tension folding to devotion at the hinge of your words. You sweep your thumb across his lower lip and he parts for it, breath hot, pupils blown.

“Use your words,” you say.

“Yes.” He swallows. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” The two words make him shiver like you’ve pulled a wire in his spine. “Hands behind your back.”

He obeys, wrists crossed, every muscle singing restraint. You take your time undressing, letting the whisper of fabric, the slide of straps, the shape of you in the lamplight, turn the screws. He watches you like worship. When you step close, he noses the inside of your knee without being told, and you cradle his face.

“You tried to leave me with a letter,” you say. “So now you’re going to make it up to me with your mouth.”

A broken sound escapes him. “Please.”

“Ask better.”

“Please let me make it right.” He’s breathless. “Please let me—let me taste you. Please let me stay.”

The knot in your chest loosens. “That’s better.”

You guide him forward, one hand in his hair, and he surges like he’s starving, like all that self-hate has been alchemized into need. He starts too greedy, tongue frantic, and you clutch the back of his head and slow him down.

“Gentle,” you warn. “You’re not taking. You’re giving.”

He whines into you, corrects, learns, relearns. You tilt your hips and rock him where you want him until the apologies turn to moans and the moans turn to prayer. He keeps his hands laced behind him even when he shakes; the discipline makes your teeth sink into your lip.

“Look at me.” His eyes flick up, glassy. “You’re doing so good, baby. So good.”

He whimpers—high, desperate—and you ride his mouth until the ribbon of heat inside you pulls tight and snaps. You let yourself fall into it, loud and honest, and he swallows every tremor like penance, like proof.

When you pull him back by his hair, his chin is slick, his mouth pink and swollen. You stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Up. Bed.”

He climbs onto the mattress and you climb after him. You straddle his hips and sit heavy on his cock without giving him relief, the slick head framed against you, the threat of you everywhere. His hands twitch like he’s fighting muscle memory.

“Touch me,” you say, and his hands fly to your thighs, reverent. “Not yourself. You don’t get that until I say.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice is paper-thin.

You rock. He breaks. Soft, sweet sounds spill out—whimpers, bitten-off pleas, the kind of begging you only get when a man hands you the reins and keeps his eyes open for the ride. You lean forward and catch his mouth; he moans into you, obedient, adoring.

“Say it,” you breathe.

“I’m yours,” he gasps. “I’m—please, I’m yours. Don’t leave me.”

“Never.” You take him then, a slow slide that steals both your air. He sobs on the first thrust, the metal hand fisting in the sheet like he needs something unbreakable to hold while you break him open.

You set the pace and keep it, a firm, rolling rhythm that leaves him wrecked beneath you. You talk him through it, the way he likes, the way he needs when his thoughts go dark—good boy, stay with me, breathe, you’re doing so well, you’re mine—and every word unspools another knot. He starts to come apart properly, back arching, voice gone ragged.

“Please,” he begs. “Please, I—can I—please let me—”

“Not yet.” You brace your palm over his throat, gentle pressure, a reminder of surrender. His eyes flutter. “Ask again.”

“Please let me come in you. Please let me stay. Please let me be good.”

You kiss his eyelids, his temple, the scar along his cheek. “You are good.” You rise and drop, and his hands bruise your hips with devotion. “Give it to me.”

He obeys like it’s a vow. You ride him through it, take it, praise him for it, and when you finally follow, he gives you a sound that’s nothing but relief and adoration. You keep moving until the shudders fade into aftershocks, until the only thing left is breath and the hammering of two hearts in the same room.

You go still and feel him soften inside you, his hands smoothing mindlessly over your thighs like he’s petting a frightened thing calm. You bend down and press your forehead to his.

“Look at me,” you say again, softer. He does. Those eyes are clearer now, the storm blown past. “I love you. I’m not something you protect from yourself. I’m someone who chooses you.”

He nods, a shaky, boyish thing. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” You kiss him, slow as summer. “You’re going to keep telling me, not with notes, but with this.” You tap his chest. “With showing up. With talking to me. With staying when it’s ugly.”

“I can do that.” He swallows, and his eyes go bright again, but this time the shine looks a lot like hope. “Will you—” He clears his throat. “Will you tell me when I start to go? Pull me back?”

“Every time.”

You slide off and tuck yourself into his side, and he curls around you like a shield that finally understands it’s allowed to be held. His breathing evens. The room smells like sweat and skin and the smallest kind of miracle.

When you’re almost asleep, he murmurs, “Not my decision, huh?”

You smile into his chest. “Not even a little.”

You continued to take care of them in lots of little ways: reminding them to drink water, making Dean eat vegetables, keeping snacks for them in your bag, cleaning and dressing their wounds, calling on leads, making appointments, and probably more. 

You don’t think anything of it, it’s just how you care for the people you love. 

The boys don’t stop calling you ‘mom’. Earning them a glare or a flick to the ear most of the time. If you’re being honest you don't really mind. If you’re being really honest it warms something in you. To be needed. 

It became a bit. A running joke. You’d feed them or scold them and they’d call you mom. 

So when you found matching “I ❤️My Mom” t-shirts in some middle of nowhere town, you had to buy it for them. 

They both scoffed at you, but they’ve worn it. Dean more than Sam. The first time they both pulled it on you cooed at them and pinched their cheeks and made them smile for for a picture.

“This is so cute!” You squealed as you took their photo, arms around each other.

“I feel ridiculous," Sam muttered.

“Shut it Sammy, just humor her alright?”

“Okay Okay thank you! You two can change now”

“Nope! We’re wearin it all day.” Dean grinned at you

“Awe proud mama moment” you coo at them, playing into the bit. But warmth spreads through your bones, the affection making them feel too soft to hold you up.

A few weeks and a few towns later, the Winchesters returned the favor. 

You were doing research in the motel room while they were out following a lead. When they returned, each of them were hiding something behind their backs. 

“We got you something” Dean said with a mischievous smirk. While Sam looked like he was trying to hide a smile. 

They both pulled out their tshirts with a flourish. One said “Boy Mom” the other says “Hot Moms Read”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them. 

You pulled one on over the tanktop you had one right away.

“How do I look?” You asked with a smile

Dean looked at you with soft eyes. 

Sam grins like a fool next to him. “Like a mom”

————

Months went by, you continue to ‘mother’ them. They continue to tease you about it, followed by kind smiles and thank yous.

Your relationship with Dean grows over the months too. 

Sharing beds when necessary turned into all the time. You two started cuddling on couches. Fingers lingering when they brushed. 

Now you're in the back of some dive bar, wearing your “Hot Moms Read” shirt. Which admittedly has seen better days. There’s a few holes in it (definitely not from a knife) and the bottom hem is got ripped off, so it frays and exposes just a hint of your stomach. It’s your favorite shirt. 

Sam left hours ago, you can’t really remember why. You can’t think of anything to be honest, too focused on Dean's warm callused hands dragging over your exposed waist. Or on the way his warm breath on your ear, sends shivers down your spine. 

The bar is crowded. You two had moved closer to hear each other but with the tension that’s been building and the alcohol making you feel braver, now you are practically in his lap. Your stool touching his, your legs draped over his thigh. His arms around you holding you close. 

Your eyes watch as his plump, pink lips move when he pulls back to ask you something. You can’t hear his question over the noise in the place though. Or is that just your thundering heart?

“Huh?” You tilt your head at him

Those tempting lips curl into a smirk as his big hands drag you closer. His lips tickle your neck, making you shiver. 

“Can I kiss you?” His question is pleading and growly and delicious. 

Your breath hitches. You and Dean have bcoming increasingly more flirty and touchy lately, but he never crossed that line. You were beginning to feel like it was more of an impenetrable wall than mental boundary. 

So you don’t answer with your words. You pull back just enough to crash your lips against his. 

It’s not pretty. It’s not romantic nor gentle. It’s passionate. Messy. The long building tension finally snapping. Teeth clacking, tongues battling, lips sliding against each other. He swallows your moans, you swallow his groans. 

He drags you off your stool and onto his thigh. Lips only leave yours to drag down your throat. You sigh and tip your head back as he nips and kisses back up to your ear. 

“Goddamn honey, y’re perfect” it comes out a growl, lips and stubble sliding against the sensitive skin behind your ear

“Dean” you gasp out as he bites on your earlobe, teeth tugging on the jewelry just a little “let’s get out of here”

You’re not sure how you make it back to the motel. It’s a blur of messy kisses and his massive rough hands against your skin. 

Dean’s stripped down to nothing leaning against the headboard, you straddle his hips still in your panties. 

“You feel so good baby” you moan, head tipped back. Rolling your hips over his thick cock

Dean groans, clutching at your hips. Helping you move over him. “Y’re killin me here”

“Youre being so good to me baby” you coo, nails dragging up over his chest, up his throat, to pull at his short hair. Dragging him up to you

His lips latch on your nipple, groaning immediately into your breast. Hips thrusting up into your clothed core. 

You whine at the way his mouth works you. “That's it baby, just like that.” One hand slips from his hair to the back of his neck, holding him in place

He pops off your tit, looking up through his thick lashes. Something soft and needy in his eyes. “Please, Mommy. I need you… please” he pants before switching to your other breast

Fuck his plea. His name for you. It was powerful. Intoxicating. You whine and grind your clit down on him. Your pussy clenches on nothing, dripping more of your arousal through your already soaked panties onto his throbbing cock. 

“Say it again baby” you whimper “beg for me again”

You feel him swallow around your nipple, eyes flick to yours with uncertainty and need.

“Come on baby, be good for your Mommy. Beg for me and you can finally sink that fat cock inside me”

He groans into your soft skin before he releases your nipple. “Mommyy pleaseee” it was a low whimper, breath tickling your saliva drenched breast “Mommy I need you. ‘Ve been so good. Been waitin months for ya” each sentence a soft whimpering plea. Sending shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck baby” you sat up just enough to tug your panties to the side and line him up with your dripping cunt. 

He groans at the feeling of your warm wet heat against his tip. Hips thrusting up. Fingers digging into your soft hips. 

“Mommy’s been waiting a long time for you too, baby. Let me take my time to feel you” you push down just a little, popping just that massive tip inside you. 

You both moan at the feeling. “Fuck baby you feel so damn good inside me” it’s a breathy pant as your swivel your hips around him. Hips fingers gripping harder on your still panty-clad hips. 

You sink down little by little. Stopping to roll your hips. 

He feels incredible. Stretching you wide. Wide and long and perfect. Your gush and flutter around him. Even as you desperately try to slow your impending orgasm. Needing to take care of him more than anything.  

He’s gone almost nonverbal as you work yourself into him. Just groaning and whimpering at you. His lips latch back on to your  nipple, messier and harder. All teeth and tongue. Drooling over you. 

You sink down the rest of the way, unable to help yourself. He fills you completely, more than you've ever been before. You tip your head back in a moan. Arching your back. Pushing your full breast farther against his head. 

You rolled your hips, frantically. Your legs quivering, pussy walls fluttering. As you split yourself open on his fat cock, grinding him into your sensitive cervix. You’re not gonna last long. 

“Come on baby. Cum for me. Let me hear you”

He whines and whimpers into your chest. Mumbling something into your skin. Hips frantically bucking up to meet yours. 

You drag his head back, making him release you tit again to look at you. 

You lean down, crashing your lips to his. It’s not quite a kiss. You’re both too busy chasing your orgasms. “Tell me” you pant against him. 

“Fuckkk. Mommyyy” he whimpers against your lips. As you roll your hips a little harder. His words become a chant as his hips falter. Pulling your even  closer as he buries his face in your cleavage. He grows impossibly bigger inside you , throbbing, twitching. The feeling of his seed spilling inside you drags you over the edge. You collapse over him as the waves of pleasure you’ve been holding back overtake you. You grind lazily down on him through it, trying to prolong both your orgasms. 

“Fuck” you finally gasp as you catch your breath

Dean shudders against you, head still buried between your tits. 

“So good De” you coo at him, trying to gently encourage him to say something 

A wrecked muffed sound leaves him instead as you feel an undeniable wetness on the soft insides of your breasts. 

“De” you whisper “baby what’s wrong”

He doesn’t answer right away, and you don’t push him. Letting him cry and sniffle into your cleavage as you rake your fingers through his short hair and rub soft circles into his back. 

Eventually his tears slow and his looks up at you, those green eyes watery and nervous and a little bit ashamed as he blinks those full lashes. 

“You’re okay baby, I got you” you coo as you continue petting him. 

His eyes flutter shut, leaning into your touch as he admits in a gravely whisper, “I didn’t mean f’tonight to go like this. Honey ’ve thought bout being with you at least a thousand times. And none’ve them had me cryin and callin you…” his voice catches. The word stuck in his throat. 

You don’t push him, just waiting it out as you gently caress him. 

“Mommy” he finally gets out. “Ya probably never wanna touch me again after that”

You half to bite back a grin. You are literally stuffed full with his cock, running your fingers over every inch you can touch while he clutches at your hips and your tits are still wet from his mouth. 

“Why would you think that baby?”

Dean scoffs, opening his eyes back to look at you smiling down at him. 

Whatever he was going to say got lodged in his throat at the sight. 

“You’re balls deep inside me baby and I haven’t stopped touching you. If you couldn’t tell, I loved when you called me Mommy. I asked you to keep using it.” 

Those big green eyes blinked at you. Too many emotions swirling in them for you could tell whets he’s feeling now. 

“Did you not like it?” Your voice is softer now, vulnerability creeping in. You didn’t want to be a mistake. 

He swallows hard, “Definitely love it honey, I just…” he sighs, “What kind of fuckin man am I? Havin a damn mommy kink and cryin durin sex”

“Mine” you answer automatically before he can say anything else. 

“Y’ don’t mean that” He gruffs out quickly trying to cut me off. 

“I want you to be mine, Dean. And me to be yours.” Your words come out soft but serious. “If you want that, of course.” 

“But-”

“I’ve been wanting this. Wanting you” your clench your pussy around him for emphasis and he groans. Head falling back against you cleavage “The more parts of you that show me just makes me want you more.  And the fact that my protective, tough, kindhearted, badass crush likes to get a little soft and needy for me? Baby, I fucking love that”

Dean groans again. And you’re not sure if it’s your words or the way your pussy started fluttering around him as you worked yourself back up again as you talked about him like that. 

He starts to kiss at your skin. Warm mouth leaving a trail over your breasts. Your neck. Shoulders. Collarbone. “What if I don’t only want to be soft n’ needy under ya?” Dean’s question is low, muffled by your skin. 

You chuckle softly, dragging your nails a little harder against his back. “I’ll love that too, baby. As long as I still get you like this sometimes.” 

“Honey y’re fuckin perfect.” He sighs, tilting his head up for a sweet kiss against your lips as you hold each other close. 

Eventually, he pulls out of you. Making you both groan at the loss. Dean’s warm rough hands are so gentle as they move you. Stripping your ruined panties off and laying you back against the pillows like you’re made of glass. 

He follows you down, laying between your spread legs and resting his head back against your chest. Your fingers make their way back into his hair automatically, running against his scalp in a soothing rhythm.  

He’s quiet for a while. Breath steady and hands still on your skin. Probably asleep. You’re not far behind him, eyelids heavy as his warmth and weight press you perfectly into the mattress. 

“Did you mean it honey?” Dean asks in a low whisper. Breath tickling your breasts. 

“That you’re mine? That I’m yours? That you…that you like me calling you…Mommy?” He continues before you can ask what he means. 

“Yeah baby. I meant what I said. You’re mine. I’m yours.” You lean down enough to press a kiss against his head. “And I definitely like being your Mommy”

He sighs out a breath, “Mine” he mumbles into your skin. Right out the edge of your areola. 

You smile when you realize what he wants. 

“Go on baby. Drink your milk before bed” you cup his neck and drag him over just a bit til his mouth is hovering over your nipple.

But when the time finally came, when you finally had him tied to that chair for the first time, at your mercy, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t tug out of the rope just to tease you.

He just looked at you. Real quiet. Real still. His chest rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. Like it was all sinking in at once. That this wasn’t a joke to you. That you’d been training, planning, working to make this good for him.

And it was.

It was good.

Too good.

He swears his cock jumped the moment you knelt between his thighs, all soft and confident. Your voice sugary sweet, but firm. Your hands warm against his skin as you dragged your nails down his thighs.

He looked up at you from the chair, wrists bound, chest heaving—and for the first time, he felt small.

You stood over him, thick thighs soft and strong, your curves spilling out of the little number you’d picked just for tonight. And God, he can’t stop staring. Not at the ropes, not at the way your fingers tighten around his jaw—but at you. The way you take up space. The way your confidence wraps around him like a second set of binds. He’s massive, but right now, he feels like putty in your hands.

You’ve never looked more powerful.

“You gonna be good for me?” you’d asked, voice low.

“Ja…” His voice cracked. “Yes—yes, ma’am.”

That had made you tilt your head. Smile.

“No, baby,” you corrected gently, trailing your fingers up his chest, “Not ma’am.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“Try again.”

And when he said it—whispered it like a confession, eyes fluttering shut with shame and need—you felt him twitch against the ropes.

꩜ Faust having a soft dom partner does not sound like that far of a stretch to me at all. It takes a lot of his focus not to turn into a whimpering, desperate puddle a lot of the time when the two of you are fucking, so I could see him falling into a subby role quite easily. ꩜ You'd take care of him after shows or long days in the studio. Run him a hot bath and wash his hair, which is easily one of his favourite things you do for him. He loves feeling your fingertips working shampoo into his scalp. It feels so intimate and loving that it can be overwhelming at times. ꩜ You'd massage those broad shoulders of his, sore from hours of banging on his drums, and press your lips to his warm skin every so often. You'd work your way down his arms, kneading the skin until you reached his big, calloused hands. ꩜ You'd worship them, peppering soft kisses over his knuckles while your thumbs pressed into his palms, working out any cramps or tension left from being wrapped around his sticks all night. ꩜ You'd get him dressed after his bath just to help him get them back off, gently guiding his hands away when he gets impatient and tries to do it himself, tutting at him when he persists. ꩜ Realistically, you probably wouldn't be able to restrain him, not with your hands, but I'd like to think that he needs this so bad. For you to take care of him, that he'll do pretty much anything you ask, if if he's panting desperately, waiting for you to touch him. ꩜ By the time you get him undressed, Faust would be begging, his voice whiny as his hips bucked up off the mattress. "Please, Angel" He'd all but whimper "Need you-" You'd shush him and wrap your hand around his cock. "I've got you. Relax, my love. Let me take care of you." ꩜ God, the sounds this man would make while you caressed him would drive you wild. Little groans and gasps. Maybe he's muttering under his breath, cursing in his mother tongue, voice thick with need. ꩜ You'd undress yourself a little faster, knowing full well that he never lasts long when you go down on him and he'd appreciate you riding him more. He'd be shaking with anticipation as you ran his ruddy tip through your folds, lining it up with the dripping entrance of your cunt. ꩜ The moment you slide down onto him, as much as you can take of him at least, his breath would hitch and a low, broken moan would fall from his lips. Wounded, almost. "Is that good, baby?" You'd coo, grinding yourself down on him, letting out a few sweet sounds of your own as his tip nudged your cervix. "Being so good for me. So patient." "Fuck, Angel-" He'd groan, fingers digging into your hips in a desperate attempt to stop himself from flipping you over and slamming into you "Feels so fucking good- oh-" ꩜ If he's good and lets you set the pace without bucking up into you or pulling you down further, you'd eventually let him loose. You'd let him roll on top of you and pound into you until you're both coming undone. ꩜ He'd bury his face in the crook of your neck when he cums, muttering and whimpering into your skin. "Thank you Angel, Thank you-fuck." "Love you so fucking much" ꩜ Afterwards, you'd wait until you've both completely come down from your highs, gently trailing your fingers along his spine while he shudders in your arms, muttering how he'd done so good and that he'd fucked you so well. ꩜ You'd go get a washcloth and gently clean him up, pressing your lips to his skin as you went, telling him you loved him. ꩜ You'd fall asleep tangled in the sheets together, you, stroking his hair, and him with his cheek pressed against your tits, clutching your waist to his chest like a tether.

Dividers and Banners by me on my side-blog @dividers-are-us