#៹ 𔘓 pinkgic ! ꞌꞌ ࣪

[pinkgic]

ex-boyfriend fratboy!rafe. god help me!

cw. smut (mdni), fem!reader, toxic relationship, alcohol and drug use, mirror sex, degradation kink.

the music sounds distant, muffled by the white-tiled walls that appeared a light, smudged gray thanks to the alcohol fogging your brain—and the way his pelvis kissed your ass with each plap-plap-plap, echoing in the bathroom of a party you weren’t even supposed to be at. for this exact reason. you knew how it would end. with your lame coked-up excuse of an ex inside you.

and still, you couldn't even answer the big, ugly question sitting in your gut: why the fuck do i keep letting him do this? your body had betrayed you again, thighs spread wide and shaking as his cock hit that spot that made your toes curl against the cold tile. and, of course, your eyes met his in the large, square mirror above the sink. a voyeuristic form of self-loathing. as if you needed to confirm, once again, how the promises of, “no, i’m not gonna talk to him, not even look at him, i promise!” made to your friends, were entirely baseless.

perhaps even they had already accepted it—

“fuck,” he groaned, and a grin stretched across his stupidly handsome face as you let out another loud moan when his fat tip grazes your g-spot, bingo. thankfully, for the sake of your peace of mind (because he, more than once, hadn’t cared if the entire party heard how good his cock made you feel), the host’s house was massive. you’d ended up here with him because all the other bathrooms were occupied when the drinks you’d downed earlier hit, and that’s how you found yourself in the second-floor bathroom at the end of the hall. that's how “pee-and-leave” turned into this.

his right hand—the one not gripping your shoulder with his beefy arm wrapped tightly around your trembling torso—moved up, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look into the mirror at the two of you: sweaty, panting bodies. 

“fuckin’ look at that,” he panted, gaze flicking down. “hah, shit, look how those two bounce,” he slapped the side of your breast, leaving a hot, stinging mark. he was so mean.

and you hated yourself for clenching around him because of it.

his laugh was this low, mean sound, vibrating against your back as he leaned forward, his chest slick with sweat pressing into you like he needed to get as deep as possible. fucking gross. the thought was interrupted by the hot breath skating over the shell of your ear. “see that face you’re making?” he murmured. “‘s my favorite one. you look so—fuckin’—wrecked.”

and god, if he wasn’t right. your eyeliner had betrayed you hours ago, smeared into shadows that made your eyes look too big, too wide, like a haunted doll. your lips were red and swollen, half from the sloppy kiss that started this whole thing and half from biting down so hard to keep yourself quiet. the woman staring back at you was enjoying it, there was no way to deny that.

“shut up,” you hissed, you just wanted to look away. but his fingers curled tighter around your jaw, already marking his digits there.

“you don’t want me to shut up,” he taunted, his hips rolling deeper, lazier. like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. “you love it when i talk, when i tell you how fuckin’ good you’re taking it, like the slut you are.”

you hated him. you hated him so much you could cry—you were going to cry, but for different reasons. you hated the way he always knew exactly what to say, to keep you squeezing him between your slick walls, and getting you addicted every day a little bit more, increasing the dose.

but the worst part—the part that made your chest twist like a wet towel, wringing out something raw and acidic—was how he was right. he always was. every damn time. you hated how he’d figured you out. he was your ex, goddamn it!

because yeah, you did love it. loved the sound of his low voice dragging over your nerves like a matchstick ready to explode a bomb. loved the way his cock stretched you open until it felt like your brain short-circuited, leaving nothing but static between your ears. loved that stupid smirk, too. it wasn’t fair. he wasn’t fair. 

you tried to focus on anything else—the way the faucet dripped, the faint bassline pulsing through the floor beneath you, keeping your eyes open. “rafe,” you whispered in a treacherous moan.

his hand slid down your belly, splayed wide like he was claiming you, branding you his. “tell me,” his voice was almost tender now, mockery softened by the way he groaned as you clenched around him. “tell me how much you hate me while you’re drippin’ all over my cock.” 

you didn’t say anything. couldn’t. your throat tightened as your hips jerked back to meet his thrusts, sharp and desperate, chasing something you’d regret in the morning along with the hangover. or maybe right after you came. but right now, you needed it like you needed air. 

his laughter curled around you, mean and knowing, as his hand slid up your belly, splayed possessively just under your ribs. like he owned you. like he always had, no matter how many times you’d tried to scrape him out of your system. “that’s what I thought,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple like a kiss. like he thought he was being romantic, like he thought this was some kind of fucked-up love story. “hate me all you want, baby. but this?” his hand slid lower, between your legs, pinching your sensitive clit, making you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood as your legs buckled. “this don’t lie.”

[pinkgic]

tw: smut (mdni), drinking, casual car sex.

dean was never “relationship material.” blame it on his “hunter life” or his “mommy-daddy-and-family-in-general” issues. he couldn’t hold down a committed relationship for more than two months—and that would’ve been a new record.

so, instead, he’d stick to flirting with women in bars, making them feel really good, and then forgetting about them. love ‘em and leave ‘em!

this was one of those nights, after a long, brutal case, where he just needed to blow off some steam. and there you were, laughing with your friends, celebrating your birthday, looking sweet and carefree in your sparkly outfit, with that goofy birthday hat that made you look fucking cute. twenty-one.

he watched you downing shots like a pro. he wasn’t stalking you, of course—don’t get it twisted. he was just waiting for the right moment to make his move.

when your hips swayed their way to the bar where he was taking his whiskey, feeling bold (though it wasn’t like dean winchester needed alcohol to feel bold), you leaned against the bar with a big, bright smile. he knew that was his winner moment.

“happy birthday, sweetheart,” he smirked, nodding at your birthday hat as you gave him a puzzled look like, how does this guy know it’s my birthday?

you laughed, pulling the hat off awkwardly. “oh, right. thanks.”

“enjoying yourself?” he sipped his whiskey, watching you nod.

“yeah, i didn’t want anything too big...” you shrugged, a tipsy habit of yours—oversharing with strangers. “my boyfriend ditched me for someone else two days ago, awesome, right?”

what kind of idiot would leave someone like you? he needed to show you what a real man felt like—at least for tonight.

and that’s how he ended up with you in his lap, your ass jiggling with every spank he gave it, while his other hand gripped your hip to help you bounce on his cock. “there you go, pretty girl.”

baby’s windows were fogged up, streaked with the marks of your fingers as you struggled to match the rhythm of his hips thrusting up into you, the impala vibrating with the heavy metal blasting from the speakers mixing with your moans and dean's deep grunts.

this was easily the best birthday present you got this year. a welcome change from your lame ex, who didn’t even know what a clit was, and this man knew what he was doing, flicking your clit with his thumb, making your legs tremble just the right way.

a loud moan slipped from your lips as your back arched, your nails digging into his shoulders while he slammed the head of his cock against your g-spot. a smirk appearing.

“just like that, fuck,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck, your hips moving faster. your hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him into a sloppy kiss.

“mm, baby, ridin’ me like a fuckin’ cowgirl, huh?” he muttered against your lips, tugging lightly on your bottom lip with his teeth. “bet you’ve never had dick this good, all to yourself.”

[pinkgic]

after mass — charlie mayhew

cw. smut (mdni), religious themes and blasphemy, p in v, unprotected sex, choking, fem!reader

pairing. sweetgirl!reader x father mayhew

The key to Father Mayhew’s office turned, locking the door behind him. It was a regular Sunday ritual after every mass, as the parishioners slowly dispersed and headed home, comforted by the Father’s words.

And there you were, with your polished, modest look, arms folded behind your back, waiting for Father Mayhew to call you into his office. It was kind of odd that your parents never suspected anything. But then again, who would suspect him?

And who would ever suspect the golden child of the family? Please, with your doe eyes and warm smile, the worst sin anyone would think you could commit is being too kind to everyone.

Except your real sin was hidden inside those four walls of the Father’s office. When he approached you, brushing his knuckles across your cheek, it felt like his touch ignited the blush in your face.

"You were distracted during service," he said, his low voice carrying that almost imperceptible teasing note —one you’d only pick up on because you knew him so well by now. "What were you thinking about?"

His knuckles drifted from your cheek to your neck, the pads of his fingers feeling your throat, and you were sure he could feel you swallow like it would hide your guilty thoughts.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" his eyes traced from your neck back to your gaze. "Were you thinking about this? About me?"

His free hand found your waist, thumb stroking the soft, pastel fabric of your dress. You nodded, because there was no point in lying when you had already confessed every dark, dirty secret to him. His thumb slid to the right side of your neck, while the rest of his fingers gripped the left side. "I thought so," he hummed.

It had all started simple, routine even. You’d come to the confessional, he’d give you your penance, and you’d thank him. But now, things were twisted.

The worst part? You liked it. Craved it. Looked forward to it.

"Turn around, angel," he said, his hand on your waist guiding you to follow his command. And of course, you did. You couldn’t deny him anything. His hand moved from your neck to the back of it, softly but firmly pushing you towards the desk, your chest pressing against the wood.

“There,” he hummed again in approval, and your breaths came in shallow bursts. Now your cheek was against the desk, and you couldn’t fully see what he would do next, only able to glimpse him out of the corner of your eye.

It was almost mocking, how a painting of the Virgin Mary hung on the white wall, watching, judging from her place as the Holy Mother of God.

Unsettling—was the word. You silently asked for her forgiveness, hoping she’d understand.

That the dark eyes of the priest, and the feel of his long fingers sliding down the back of your dress, bunching up the fabric, wasn’t an act of rebellion against your faith.

That you weren’t some church slut, dragging him into sin or corrupting his vow of celibacy on purpose.

It was more complicated than that. Twisted together.

Your soft whimper broke the deceptively peaceful silence when the cool air hit your bare skin, and his hand grabbed your ass with the intensity of a man. Not a man of God, not the man who preached things he didn’t follow.

Just a simple man with so many desires of the flesh.

His hands lingered on your thighs, spreading them just enough before his fingers hooked under the edge of your panties, delicately pulling them to the side.

Oh, God. This is all your fault. Charlie thinks. Because why would your pussy be so wet if he wasn’t meant to be doing this?

Your hands clenched into fists, frustrated you couldn’t see his face. He had to snap out of his own trance to spread your folds with his fingers, muttering “shit” under his breath. That sound pulled a moan from you.

“You look so perfect like this,” he murmured. His right hand spreading your wetness, while his left came up to cup your head, his fingers gently yet firmly caressing your hair. “Face down, waiting for me. You’ve been waiting all day, haven’t you?”

You nodded like a good girl. “Yes, Father,” Oh, the irony of calling him that while doing something so sinful. It amazed him.

“Yes, Father,” he repeated, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Your forehead pressed against the desk, cheeks burning with shame and desire as his hand came back to grab your ass. Damned big hands. You knew you'd see the mark of them next time you looked at yourself in the mirror.

It wouldn’t be the first time. Definitely not.

Before you could catch your breath, you heard the quiet rustle of his belt, the sound of fabric shifting, and then the warmth of his body pressing against you. His hips shifting, his semi-hard length pressed against your lower back.

You closed your eyes and sighed, your pussy already clenching around nothing. But that didn’t last long. He wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes and sliding the tip through your wetness, pushing into you slowly, and pulling a soft moan from your lips, your brows furrowing in pleasure as his hand quickly covered your mouth. Leaning forward, his chest pressing into your back, he murmured, “Quiet, angel.”

He pushed in another inch, and he couldn’t tell what fascinated him more: the way your muffled moans vibrated against his hand, or the way your tight pussy squeezed around him.

You felt each inch stretch you further, making your fingers dig into the wood as a soft gasp slipped from your lips when he sank deeper, not stopping until he was fully inside.

“Look at you,” his breath hit your ear again, his chest flush against your back as he rocked his hips into you. “Taking me so well. Such a good girl.”

The first hard thrust made your eyes roll back. The way the head of his cock hit your g-spot—once, twice, three times. By now, you couldn’t hold back your moans, and he felt it, pressing his fingers tighter over your mouth.

"Ah— please," you mumbled against his hand. you didn’t even know what you were begging for. But he took it as ‘more,’ his skin slapping obscenely against yours, the desk rocking and the wood creaking—sinful and loud.

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back onto him, his moans hot against your cheek as he takes what he wants like it’s his God-given right.

"You like this, huh?" he breathed, his pace relentless, each thrust harder than the last. Your pussy swallowing him whole.

You nod, your voice barely functioning, a soft, desperate moan slipping from your lips. “Ah, there she is.” he says.

He straightens up, pulling you with him, your head falling limply back against his shoulder as you’re forced to stand on your tiptoes for the thrusts. “Say it,” he murmurs, nibbling your ear, his hand sliding to the front to wrap around your neck. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You choke on your breath, your mind dizzy and foggy—adorable. “I’m yours,” you gasp out, barely able to get the words out. “I’m yours, Father.”

The groan that rumbles through him is deep, almost animalistic, and his grip tightens around your neck as he slams into you one last time, sending you over the edge. Your legs tremble, and if he weren’t holding you up with those strong arms, you’re sure you’d have collapsed onto the floor by now.

A loud moan escapes your lips, free and unrestrained now that his hand isn’t covering your mouth. He can feel your juices spilling out, coating his cock as he pulses inside you, filling you to the brim. “Fuck, angel.”

He doesn’t pull out right away, staying there deep inside you, enjoying the warmth and hating that he had to wait a week to feel it again, one hand still gripping your neck, the other resting possessively on your hip.

When he finally moves, it’s slow, almost lazy, as he pulls out of you, adjusting your dress back down over your legs. You’re still dazed, your body warm and spent, but his hands are already smoothing over your back, like nothing sinful had just happened between you.

“You can keep it,” he says, pushing his fingers in to make sure not a single drop of his cum spills out. He fixes the fabric back against your core, giving it a little slap before patting your ass. “See you next Sunday.”

[pinkgic]

tw: smut (mdni), degradation kink, rough and unprotected sex

he's been using you, at least partly. after all the drama with tashi's injury and art telling him to fuck off, he needed something to keep him around stanford, a way to stay relevant in their lives. he already felt like he was on the outside looking in.

but you don't really care. i mean... he's got that big dick, skilled hands, knows exactly how to use ‘em, and he's just as freaky as you are. it makes it easy to forget you're more of a trophy or a simple plaything to him. something to show off.

“oh, baby,” patrick wraps his arm around your lower stomach, thrusting deep, pulling a high-pitched moan out of you. “fuck, yeah.”

the bed creaks, slamming against the wall of your dorm room. lucky for you, your roommate isn't here tonight. but with the way you're moaning, everyone nearby knows exactly who's making you scream. and you know damn well the rumors (ones that fit into an entirely different category) will spread fast. it’s only a matter of time before art and tashi hear about it. checkmate.

he is a clever bastard.

“patrick, please,” you cry out, pressing your cheek into the mattress as he spanks you, grabbing a handful of your ass and leaving another red mark. you know you'll be sore after hours of this, and somehow, he's still got more in him.

“thought you said you could take it like the slut you are,” he sneers, grabbing a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, his hips pounding faster. your thighs are burning with each thrust. you’re exhausted, clenching around him, desperate to get him to cum, but he won’t stop. no matter how hard you try, he’ll keep going, leaving you wrecked.

you're barely able to catch your breath, the way he's pulling your hair, making every whimper, gasp, and moan louder. “ah—ha, p—patrick,” you cry out, your face flushed as he presses his sweaty, hairy chest against your back, sinking his teeth into your bare shoulder.

“yeah, feels good, doesn't it?” he grabs your chin, forcing you to nod, tears already blurring your vision. it’s too much, too good. your belly’s on fire, and your pussy is a slick mess, soaked with both your fluids and his. you should’ve thought twice when you told him he could fuck you raw!

he shoves his fingers into your mouth, that cocky smirk plastered on his face—the one that turns you on and pisses you off at the same time. oh, how he wishes you’d let him fuck your ass already. that would solve all his problems, getting the green light to fill every single one of your holes with his cum.

[pinkgic]

BOT RELEASE

rafe cameron — interruptions (doll!reader)

rafe cameron — star-sprinkles (doll!reader)

rafe cameron — baby daddy

check my moodboard for cute doll!reader ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

[pinkgic]

hey everyone...

BOT RELEASE

charlie mayhew — favorite muse

charlie mayhew — only angel (inspired by harry styles' song)

charlie mayhew — sinful scars

[pinkgic]

BOT RELEASE

rafe cameron — through tired eyes

kooks. pogues. hating each other. same old, same old. except when you both have big reputations in your respective sides of the island.

except when rafe cameron despises even the thought of pogues around him, and he could be a lot of things, but a hypocrite? well, yeah, he's that too. but he won't admit that, not even in a million years. you're still a pogue, no matter how many times he came over to your house because fucking you was the only thing that could calm him down when his dad was being too goddamn annoying, because it was always rafe doing things wrong.

at least when he's inside you, he can forget about it all. but he still has to keep a distance with you when other people are around, you both have reputations, and he can be an addict and a goddamn mess, but he would rather those whispers than the judgment of being seen with a pogue like you.

or maybe he doesn't give a flying fuck about what people say, but he cares (a lot) about the way you get him like no one does. and it's harder to see that he's scared of that.

[pinkgic]

BOT RELEASE

hearts get broken — art donaldson

art and you had something when you were in stanford. you could've been perfect for each other. both lovely and golden. you made sense. but he couldn't take his mind out of tashi, too in love and sparkly-eyed, and eventually he left you for her. chose her. you weren’t enough to drown out the noise of tashi in his mind.

he built his life around her after that—became hers to build and destroy, following her around like a puppy, saying “yes” to everything she wanted. but what happens when tashi leaves him alone when he needs emotional support?

[pinkgic]

BOT RELEASE

charlie mayhew — when the night falls (succubus!user)

note: requested by lovely 🎀 anon

lately, you were bored out of your fucking mind. men were too easy, too... eager. they’d practically hand themselves over on a silver platter before you even fully showed up. (where’s the fun in that?) you needed something more—something with a little bite, something that made you work for it.

you craved a challenge. not someone impossible to crack—just enough fight to make it interesting. someone who’d hold out long enough for you to enjoy the game, but weak enough to crumble when it mattered, leaving a taste so sweet, so damn satisfying, you’d be replaying it in your mind for weeks.

you're best option: father mayhew. the first time was so good that you had to come once more, to have one more taste of him.

[pinkgic]

BOT RELEASE

rafe cameron — lookin' dolly

IMPORTANT: i used one of my old bots (from other character) and modified it to make this one because i tried every single way and still was banned, so i was so stressed and decided to use one of the old bots that i put in private long ago... that bot wasn't coming back because it was shitty anyways

[pinkgic]

BOT RELEASE

stu macher — bratty, huh?

note: DEDICATED TO MY LOVELY 🦝 ANON!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT BABE

ovulation week is right here. and even (specially) bratty crybabies need to get their proper treatment, right? and the first person you can call is your ex-boyfriend, the bastard that makes you cry just for his sadistic fun? the one who couldn't commit fully to you? yeah, yep, that's stu.

but that look you give him with your puffy eyes? you can't tell him that you're not begging for his dick. okay... he'll give it to you, what a chore! (he's been waiting to catch you being so needy and whiny like this)

[pinkgic]

know more ʚ ɞ masterlist about me recent

she/her. twenty. 💥 this is an strictly +18 account. please, if you are a minor do not follow/interact with my content.

[pinkgic]

cute doll!reader moodboard ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

how i (personally) envisioned the !user/reader vibes for...

these bots:

ʚ lookin' dolly ɞ

ʚ interruptions ɞ

ʚ star-sprinkles ɞ

[pinkgic]

playing now 💿 — juno by sabrina carpenter

warnings: smut (mdni), p in v, oral (f!receiving), fingering, handcuffs, breeding kink, dirty talk, no use of yn, pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart), unprotected sex.

pairing: stanford!sam x fem!reader

　　　⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀💌⠀ ⠀⠀

stanford was good—great. you were such an a-grade student, sweet and kind to everyone. you were popular, but not in the stereotypical, intimidating, "i'm-better-than-you" kind of way.

everyone genuinely admired and liked you.

the guys definitely tried to win you over, but you only had one person in mind: sam winchester. that guy had you sighing like a schoolgirl, batting your lashes whenever your eyes met his. god, it was so adorable how he got all nervous and clumsy around you.

three months of playing cat and mouse later, you were now wearing his hoodies—ones you had to roll up so they wouldn't completely cover your hands—and cuddling up in bed next to your—how you called him—giant puppy-faced teddy bear.

he was everything you wanted in this world, leaving little notes in his locker every morning so that when he opened it while you chatted with your friends, you could watch his dimples deepen and his cheeks flush pink.

you couldn’t spend much time away from him; it felt like your heart would shrivel up like a raisin if you did. your body craved him, and he was more than happy to fulfill your every desire. thank the fairy godmother who sent you the whole package.

today's little note, written in cursive with a glitter gel pen, read: “Sammy, I’ll wait for you tonight in my dorm. I have a surprise for you! Love ya. XOXO.”

and you saw how he blushed and smiled, folding the note and slipping it into his jacket pocket. he couldn’t even wait for tonight. you always got him going just at the thought of you.

“Bab—,” His words got stuck in his throat when he stepped into your room, stopping dead in his tracks, his body wobbling a bit from the shock. “Wow.”

His eyebrows shot up, eyes wide as he took in the view of you propping your back in your elbows. A sheer silk nightgown clung to your figure, with fuzzy pink handcuffs lying beside you. And those eyes you made when you tried to seduce him? Now it was just for fun because you had already won him over long ago.

“Baby, oh, just—” Don’t blame him for being speechless and unable to think straight. When you have someone as stunning as you in your bed, how could he not be affected?

“C'mere, Sammy,” your seductive voice and a beckoning finger commanded him to step further into the room, closer to you, to the scent that drove him wild every time. You were a dream—a fantasy that some kind enough entity (if there was one) had gifted to flustered Sammy's heart, in the flesh.

“Do you wanna kill me or something?” His knees sank into the mattress, making it dip under his weight. His eyes couldn’t decide where to focus on your body; you were simply the living portrait of a goddess.

“Just wanna spoil you a li'l bit,” you giggled, your teeth catching your lower lip. “Is that bad?” You fucking tease.

“No, no, it—it’s not bad at all, baby, I just—” He wanted to say so many things at once that they all tangled up in his mind, leaving him unable to choose any one of them.

“Just go with the flow, Sammy,” Yeah, yeah, Sam, just get it together, man. He nodded several times, sighing as he tried to shake off his nerves before leaning forward to kiss your shin, slowly making his way up to your knee, adjusting his lower legs on the mattress and placing his hands on your calves, pulling them up to your chest to get a peek at your underwear.

Oh.

His breath caught again, his brain short-circuiting as his eyes landed on your skin, completely uncovered, your bare lips on full display. God, if he was already hard when he walked through that door, now he was aching with how much blood had rushed to his dick.

“Baby,” he said, looking at you as if he were begging for mercy, while your smirk only widened. You were enjoying the show, one hundred percent. Poor thing! You never let him have a moment of peace.

“You like it?” you purred, tilting your head to the side on the pillow, your eyes locked on his expressions.

“Like it? You're making me drool right here.” He shook his head, grabbing the thin fabric of your gown and bunching it up. He had never felt this way in his whole fucking life. It was like his stomach was tightening combining with the fluttering of his heart, and his mind was drifting to forbidden places he clearly couldn’t go.

But having you like this, so precious and sweet just for his eyes? It was making him wanna run to the nearest jewelry store in the city and buy you the prettiest ring to put on your finger, and fuck you until you were full of his load over and over again. Marking you as what you were—his.

“Can I?” Sam snapped out of his thoughts as he kissed his way from your inner thighs, your sighs mingling with the way your fingers tangled in his brown hair, finally reaching your outer lips, his breath hitting your labia.

“Don’t ask, Sammy,” you said in a breathy voice, tilting your head up from the pillow to watch the exact moment his tongue traced a path against your folds, making them part as you threw your head back again, this time arching your back. “Yeah—yeah, like that.”

He groaned in response, his arms wrapping around each of your legs, spreading them wider as his tongue danced from left to right and up and down on your clit.

The taste of your juices against his tongue as he lapped at your folds and the moans escaping your lungs, filling the room, were too much for him.

“Feels so good,” you moaned, the arch of your back getting more pronounced, your hair getting messy from the way you squirmed against the pillow. He had to dig his fingers into your skin to resist the urge to palm himself through his pants because it would never get old, the way he got so hard just from eating you out.

It got messy as he grew more desperate to make you cum on his tongue, the sound of slurping filling the room as he practically made out with your soaked lips. One of his hands traced up, groping one of your boobs as he pushed the fabric of your gown down, making your brows knit together in pleasure, your nails scraping the sheets and his hair.

His nose bumped against your bundle of nerves as he took in your scent before pressing open-mouthed kisses to your lower stomach, replacing his tongue with his thumb, jiggling it so nicely that it was already sending you to heaven, making you see stars.

It couldn’t get any better—until two of his long fingers pressed against your entrance, pushing inside, your thighs trapping his hand as he moved his fingers in and out.

“Fuck, look at you, sweetheart,” You love when he looks at you like this, still so sweet and enamored but with a hint of pride in his chest, knowing he’s the one making you feel this way. And he hits deeper, his fingers curling to reach the sweet spot that makes you bite your lip. “So pretty for me, yeah?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yeah, God…”

“Yes, baby, I feel you.” Of course, he does. He always knows. Because he’s felt countless times how your legs start to shake slightly, and your moans turn into pleas when your pussy clenches around his fingers and your juices coat them. Wet and soft. For him and because of him.

And he can’t think anymore. He needs to be inside you. But he also needs you to cum first before he fucks you. He needs his girl all needy and dumb for him.

So he grabs the hem of your nightgown and pulls it down, freeing both of your breasts and attaching his mouth to left one. Circling your nipple with his tongue and grazing it with his teeth. “Mmph, Sam, I—get me there, please.”

The pace of his fingers increased, going fast and hard, his thumb circling your clit, and the room was filled with the sound of your juices hitting his fingers.

“C'mon, baby,” Sam's voice hit against your breast as your fingers tightened in his hair. He grinded himself against your thigh, not wanting to seem pathetic for attention, but damn, he just couldn’t help it. “Give it t’ me, wanna fuck you s’ bad.”

And just like that, with those words, you came undone on his fingers, a loud moan escaping your lips, your legs trembling uncontrollably as your juices spilled all over Sam's hand.

He moaned at the same time as you, rushing down again to drink it all. “Oh, shit, Sam…”

“Taste it, baby, you taste just so right,” Sam said, guiding his ring and middle fingers to your mouth, making you clean them for him while his other hand fumbled to unbutton and unzip his pants with a stupidly urgent need, like if he wasn’t inside of you in the next few minutes, he’d die a torturous death.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, and you whined at the loss. It was such a calming presence, having his skin on your tongue, what you needed to come down from your orgasm. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched as he wiped some sweat from his forehead and threw off his pants and boxers all at once before positioning himself between your legs.

“Feel that, hm?” He pressed his lips against yours in a messy, sloppy kiss, grinding his dick against your pelvis. “You did that, baby. Got me so hard I can only think about filling up this pretty pussy of yours.” You loved how filthy he got when he was so turned on that every trace of his usual shyness just vanished.

You nod, unable to process what he’s saying, just loving the way he says it, his voice dropping a little darker, a little lower.

So, you grab the hem of your robe and toss it aside, just to give him the pleasure of seeing you naked. He deserves it—after all, he’s not like the jerks you’ve had before. He knows how to treat you, how to put your needs first.

And just like that, he’s crashing his lips against yours again. Roughly, but with a tenderness hidden in the way he brushes some strands of hair out of your face. Because he loves you, and you make each other so fucking horny.

You reach for the handcuffs lying beside you, breaking the kiss for a moment to hand them to Sam with a grin. “Wanna try ‘em?”

He hesitates for a second. You’ve never added anything like toys into the mix before, but it’s tempting. He nods nervously, taking them from your hands, unlocking one, and watching your excitement grow.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he gently grabs your wrist, wrapping it in the handcuff and locking it to the bedpost before doing the same with your other wrist. “You like this, huh? Kinky girl. ’m gonna make you feel so good.”

He taps your clit with his tip before wrapping his hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes. And you can’t take your eyes off it. He’s so… ugh. You’d put his cock in a frame just to kiss it every damn night.

“Someone’s staring,” Sam chuckles, noticing how you press your thighs together, already so needy. He dips the head into the wetness from your earlier orgasm. “You’re so ready for me.”

His big hand cups your cheek, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as he finally slides inside you, making you both moan low. He’s in full control now, with you unable to move a damn finger.

He’s big. The kind of big that stretches you so good you forget everything—except his name. “Ah, hmm, Sammy.”

“There, doll,” he hums, pressing deeper, stretching you wider. His thumb flicks your clit, making it easier for him to fit. “So warm, aren’t you? Fuck, you hug me so good.”

Poor Sammy. The way his words come out all tangled is your fault, for having such a tight, needy pussy for him. He bottoms out, squeezing the cheek in his hand as you close your eyes, your hips lifting to adjust him deeper.

“Shit… Oh, Sam,” His thrusts are slow, deep. In and out. Feeling you clench around every one of his inches like the good girl you are. It turns almost animalistic. It’s instinct and connection. You’re both soft-spoken and well-mannered around others, but in this position, the words flow effortlessly.

He grips your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he shifts his angle to hit deeper and faster.

“Nggh, so—” thrust “—fucking” thrust “—tight, baby,” he groans in your ear, and you struggle against the handcuffs, desperate to touch the muscles on his back. The ones you love to dig your nails into and leave red marks.

So you clench your fists and throw your head back against the pillow, lips parted, moans pouring out from the center of your lungs and the heat building in your gut.

Sam wants to see the fire in your eyes, the spark that ignites with the feeling of his cock speeding up and his balls slapping against your skin in a messy, sloppy rhythm.

His palm cups your nape, tilting your head up so your eyes stay fixed on where his cock disappears inside you. “See that, baby? See how good I’m making you feel? This pussy's all mine.”

“Yes, yes, so good… Yours—”

“Mhm, I’m gonna cum in this pussy, nice and deep,” he groans, his hips stuttering. The bed rocks against the wall harder, and you’re sure you’ll get some complaints tomorrow. But it doesn’t matter—it just feels too good.

“Fuuuck. Oh—you're gonna milk my cock, take it all, yeah?” He says, pulling his hand off your nape, your head dropping back to the pillow as you feel the warmth of his fingers wrapping around your throat.

“Yes, Sammy. Give it to me, wanna have your babies!” Your heels dig into his round ass, the deeper, the better. Both of your breaths coming in shallow, unsteady gasps.

“Fuck, yeah. Just cum for me, and I'll knock you up. Gonna look so pretty, make you a mommy.”

One more slam of his hips against yours, and you’re cumming again around him, squeezing him like you really want him to make you a mommy. Like you’d live forever for and with him. And that’s the whole point.

Sam feels your legs tremble, your pussy clenching tight around his throbbing cock. “Mm— ah,” His cock twitches inside you as he presses his whole body against yours, hiding his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead in your soft neck. He’s cumming, sliding out of you slowly, and just as you’re about to complain, he thrusts back in with more force, filling you with white spurts of cum. “I love you.”

He might make you Juno.

[cattordi]

i would do anything to be in bed w this man

ex-boyfriend fratboy!rafe. god help me!

cw. smut (mdni), fem!reader, toxic relationship, alcohol and drug use, mirror sex, degradation kink.

the music sounds distant, muffled by the white-tiled walls that appeared a light, smudged gray thanks to the alcohol fogging your brain—and the way his pelvis kissed your ass with each plap-plap-plap, echoing in the bathroom of a party you weren’t even supposed to be at. for this exact reason. you knew how it would end. with your lame coked-up excuse of an ex inside you.

and still, you couldn't even answer the big, ugly question sitting in your gut: why the fuck do i keep letting him do this? your body had betrayed you again, thighs spread wide and shaking as his cock hit that spot that made your toes curl against the cold tile. and, of course, your eyes met his in the large, square mirror above the sink. a voyeuristic form of self-loathing. as if you needed to confirm, once again, how the promises of, “no, i’m not gonna talk to him, not even look at him, i promise!” made to your friends, were entirely baseless.

perhaps even they had already accepted it—

“fuck,” he groaned, and a grin stretched across his stupidly handsome face as you let out another loud moan when his fat tip grazes your g-spot, bingo. thankfully, for the sake of your peace of mind (because he, more than once, hadn’t cared if the entire party heard how good his cock made you feel), the host’s house was massive. you’d ended up here with him because all the other bathrooms were occupied when the drinks you’d downed earlier hit, and that’s how you found yourself in the second-floor bathroom at the end of the hall. that's how “pee-and-leave” turned into this.

his right hand—the one not gripping your shoulder with his beefy arm wrapped tightly around your trembling torso—moved up, cupping your jaw and forcing you to look into the mirror at the two of you: sweaty, panting bodies. 

“fuckin’ look at that,” he panted, gaze flicking down. “hah, shit, look how those two bounce,” he slapped the side of your breast, leaving a hot, stinging mark. he was so mean.

and you hated yourself for clenching around him because of it.

his laugh was this low, mean sound, vibrating against your back as he leaned forward, his chest slick with sweat pressing into you like he needed to get as deep as possible. fucking gross. the thought was interrupted by the hot breath skating over the shell of your ear. “see that face you’re making?” he murmured. “‘s my favorite one. you look so—fuckin’—wrecked.”

and god, if he wasn’t right. your eyeliner had betrayed you hours ago, smeared into shadows that made your eyes look too big, too wide, like a haunted doll. your lips were red and swollen, half from the sloppy kiss that started this whole thing and half from biting down so hard to keep yourself quiet. the woman staring back at you was enjoying it, there was no way to deny that.

“shut up,” you hissed, you just wanted to look away. but his fingers curled tighter around your jaw, already marking his digits there.

“you don’t want me to shut up,” he taunted, his hips rolling deeper, lazier. like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. “you love it when i talk, when i tell you how fuckin’ good you’re taking it, like the slut you are.”

you hated him. you hated him so much you could cry—you were going to cry, but for different reasons. you hated the way he always knew exactly what to say, to keep you squeezing him between your slick walls, and getting you addicted every day a little bit more, increasing the dose.

but the worst part—the part that made your chest twist like a wet towel, wringing out something raw and acidic—was how he was right. he always was. every damn time. you hated how he’d figured you out. he was your ex, goddamn it!

because yeah, you did love it. loved the sound of his low voice dragging over your nerves like a matchstick ready to explode a bomb. loved the way his cock stretched you open until it felt like your brain short-circuited, leaving nothing but static between your ears. loved that stupid smirk, too. it wasn’t fair. he wasn’t fair. 

you tried to focus on anything else—the way the faucet dripped, the faint bassline pulsing through the floor beneath you, keeping your eyes open. “rafe,” you whispered in a treacherous moan.

his hand slid down your belly, splayed wide like he was claiming you, branding you his. “tell me,” his voice was almost tender now, mockery softened by the way he groaned as you clenched around him. “tell me how much you hate me while you’re drippin’ all over my cock.” 

you didn’t say anything. couldn’t. your throat tightened as your hips jerked back to meet his thrusts, sharp and desperate, chasing something you’d regret in the morning along with the hangover. or maybe right after you came. but right now, you needed it like you needed air. 

his laughter curled around you, mean and knowing, as his hand slid up your belly, splayed possessively just under your ribs. like he owned you. like he always had, no matter how many times you’d tried to scrape him out of your system. “that’s what I thought,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple like a kiss. like he thought he was being romantic, like he thought this was some kind of fucked-up love story. “hate me all you want, baby. but this?” his hand slid lower, between your legs, pinching your sensitive clit, making you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood as your legs buckled. “this don’t lie.”