#(if you inspected the clothes you wear day to day)

[rowanthestrange]

Finally the front and arms of the jacket are done, now just the back to do. …Which is going to necessitate a trip to the fabric shop because I made the mistake of trusting Hemline for fabric fuser. And tracing paper. And a fabric marker. Never trust Hemline.

[fayes-fics]

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When Benedict's wife tries on his clothes, things happen...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, cross-dressing, clothing kink, light biting, breast play, a smidge of intercrural sex, very mild exhibitionism, mirror sex, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Request fill for @d-caryophyllus (HERE) about Benedict being aroused by his wife dressing up in his clothing. I hope this fits what you were hoping for, my dear. Thanks as ever to @colettebronte for the beta read. Yes, the title is a nod to Season 3, lol. Err, enjoy! <3

It’s early in the morning on a mundane Thursday when a somewhat daring idea forms in your mind. 

Fresh out of your morning bath, you dismiss your maid quietly when usually she would assist you with dressing for the day. As the double doors click closed discreetly behind her, you glance through the open archway into your bedroom; heavy curtains still drawn there, obscuring the sunlight. In the darkness, you can just decipher the outline of your husband sleeping soundly after a late night of carousing with his brothers.

With a little secret smile, you decide that, yes, now is the perfect time. He is asleep, and you have a few hours to spare until your first social engagement - a ladies' luncheon - so why not use the time to satisfy your curiosity?

You stride to your husband's side of the dressing room, opening his wardrobe doors and running your fingers over the items within—a symphony of wools, silks and cotton, all luxurious to the touch. While he is arguably one of the more flamboyantly dressed men of the Ton, with eye-catching jewel-toned waistcoats and colourful cravats, the basics of his outfit are mostly the same every time: dark trousers and a white shirt. A large part of you is envious of that easier choice. Sometimes, it feels like a veritable minefield being a woman during the social season, the looming threat of an unintended fashion faux pas simply by wearing the wrong colour to the wrong event.

Upon a chair, you spy the outfit he discarded when he came home in the early hours, not yet tidied away by your staff. You decide this shall be your choice, a frisson that they are already worn.

Dropping your bathrobe from your shoulders, you grab the pair of his trousers and pull them on. The finely woven wool feels plush on your skin, and there is an undeniable novelty in having fabric between your thighs. They are, however, almost comically long for you, and you have to bend to roll them up a few times around your ankles. Bemused, you briefly catch sight of your reflection in the full-length dressing room mirror, topless in oversized trousers. 

You snatch his white shirt and pull it on, pausing to tug the ruffled lapels up to your face and inhale deeply, enjoying the flood of scent there. His woodsy citrus cologne, yes, but also that undercurrent that is all him. That tang you cannot help but bury your face into, be it upon his pillow when he is away or his body while you cling to him, moving together in ecstasy. 

You fasten a few buttons, then tuck the shirt into the trousers and loop the braces hanging loose around your hips up onto your shoulders, once again inspecting your reflection in the mirror with a wry smile, twisting this way and that, admiring how different you look dressed in his clothing.

“Wife, what are you doing?” 

You almost jump out of your skin as that velvet tone, slightly roughened by sleep, calls out from across the room. You twist to see Benedict leaning casually upon the archway into the dressing room, shooting you a look that is pure menacing intrigue while looking like sin himself—all riotous bedhead, and, as your eyes slip further down, gloriously naked. It makes you swallow hard.

“I… I was trying on your clothes,” you stumble sheepishly, a blush creeping over your cheeks being caught doing something perhaps rather bizarre. 

“Any reason?” he queries, bemused, that crooked smile claiming his features.

“They just seem so much more practical and comfortable—especially trousers. I would like to wear such things…” you confess, turning back to the mirror to appraise your appearance again, watching him prowl towards you in the reflection. “Are… are you vexed with me, husband? For taking such liberties?” Your words petering out, mildly abashed.

A large, warm hand wraps around your shoulder, yanking you back almost roughly, making you gasp as your shoulder blades collide with his chest.

“The precise opposite,” he rumbles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, a sudden burning intensity that makes your lungs feel tight. 

Long fingers spider down his brocade brace, draped down your chest, lingering where the strap rests over your nipple, swiping his thumb in a deliberate tease, his face triumphant as you swoon back into him from just this simple touch. 

“My clothes look much better upon you than me,” he opines duskily, his lips tracing your temple as his fingertips push the brace aside to capture your nipple through the thin cotton shirt, making you inhale sharply. “Perhaps we should attend a party with you dressed like this?”

“That would be a scandal!” 

There is a vault in your stomach at the idea of attending a social event dressed in his clothes, even as you melt under his questing touch.

“Not in the more… bohemian… circles that I know of…” he contends; his breath is a warm gust in your ear as his other hand does the same, fondling both nipples now.

He waits until you meet his gaze in the mirror again, then lowers his lips to your neck and bites gently. His incisors a faint scrape, immediately soothed by a wide, wet lathe of his tongue. A little crest of victory as something sizeable stirs against the cleft of your bottom. 

“If I were dressed as you, then what would you wear, husband?” 

“Whatever you would like, my darling,” he offers between soft, damp kisses, a tingle running up your neck from his lips to the top of your scalp. “I could wear your clothing should you wish it. Or perhaps just your corset and underwear?” He nuzzles into you, taking a deep breath. “Our little secret…”

Something about his tone, the images he concocts, makes your blood run warm, your hand reaching up and diving into his luscious hair, tugging gently upon his roots so again he feels compelled to use his teeth, a groan bubbling up from within as he does. With a flick of his wrists, the braces fall from your shoulders, and he cups your breasts through his thin cotton shirt. It makes you sigh his name, asking for more, arousal coursing thickly through your veins—a yen to be taken right away. 

“The thought arouses you, does it not?” he correctly surmises, trailing his touch down over the shirt, brushing your ribs and belly to the fastening on the trousers, making short work of the buttons.

You nod demurely, biting your lip as you watch his dextrous hands in the mirror, his arms encircling you; it is almost as if he is removing them from himself. The air feels heady as he pushes the loosened fabric from around your frame, and it hits the rug with an audible thump.

Standing before him in just his ruffled white shirt with only a few buttons fastened, you feel his weighted stare in the mirror, lingering on the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs peeking out between the shirt sides.

“I shall prefer you keep this on…” he asserts, popping open a button over your chest so the fabric opens enough for him to slide a hand inside, tweaking your nipple and pulling you back into his frame, rutting his now solid cock against your bottom.

You turn your head to press your lips to his, imploring for more of his touch in a fervent whisper before seeking a kiss. His mouth is hot on yours, rolling his tongue with yours, endless caresses of your breasts as you burn so hot you rub your thighs together in delicious anticipation of more, already more than ready for him, your clit pulsing with each tease of his tongue.

“Here?”

You know what he is asking—if you wish to have sex right where you stand, in front of your dressing mirror, his shirt loose around your body, him naked behind you.

“Yes. Yes please…” you murmur into his mouth, rolling your body against him, telegraphing unmistakable need.

“The window is open,” he points out with a smirk, nodding towards a high window that allows in light to the dressing room but affords you not to be seen; it is open this morning to let in the summer breeze. “What if we are heard?”

“I care not,” you confess, exhaling jaggedly, knowing he likes you in this state, desperate and debauched, uncaring if you may be overheard in your pursuit of pleasure. 

Rubbing yourself upon him akin to a feline in heat, moving so his cock passes teasingly between your thighs now as you writhe. He groans and tells you not to stop, hissing his approval. So you squeeze your legs together tightly, allowing him to rut between them, the pass of his cock glancing maddeningly over your engorged clit.

His touch becomes heavier, hands mapping your body as his hips surge, and you see the red, weeping tip of his cock emerging and disappearing in the mirror, an intoxicating sight. You moan lightly with every pass, a tantalising swipe, not enough to bring you real pleasure, just notching your want higher.

He finally takes pity upon you, angling his hips differently and driving into you; you, moaning at the invasion so deep and encompassing, rocked up onto your tiptoes. Every time he has entered your body, it's always the same: a force that steals your breath and makes your eyes roll. His hands are a firm grip around your waist as he withdraws slowly back, then surges in again, capturing your earlobe in his teeth as he does.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, you idly wonder how many other wives are watching themselves being fucked by a handsome husband like this; a bright weekday morning, birdsong wafting in on the scented breeze, body wrapped only in his shirt. You suspect none are quite so lucky.

You moan his name and arch back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and watching yourself being taken, relying on him to keep your stance steady as he starts to fuck into you in earnest, large hands sliding up to cup your breasts, engulfing them in his warm palms.

Unable to stop the noises you make, each pass hitting all the spots inside that make your toes curl into the thick pile of the rug beneath your feet, your pussy clenching around his invasion, making him growl and move faster, taking you harsher, an onslaught that is as pleasurable as it is powerful.

His mouth is a breathy litany of praise into your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering closed to focus on the carnal moment - the sweat, the skin, the ragged breaths, the meeting of your bodies so primal and glorious, but he has other ideas.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs dulcetly, your eyes reopening to do as he asks, to watch this unrestrained moment of passion, to see the little marks blooming on your body from where his fingers dig into your flesh as he pounds into you now, a flourish of colour on your neck from his thorough attention.

You plead for more throatily, pushing back as best you can against his thrusts, wanting him to make you scream, uncaring of any audience inside or outside your townhouse, only craving the sweet, blissful release he always provides.

Abruptly, he wrenches open the shirt you wear, one button pinging forward and tinking against the mirror before skittering across the floor, your naked body framed by his crisp white shirt, the ruffled lapels tickling the sides of your breasts, catching sight of his handsome face in the mirror contorted in a passionate tempest.

Then one hand slides down your front, you feeling it rippling in your belly and seeing it in your reflection before you until those fingers slide between your legs and hook over your clit with a force that steals the air from your lungs, a sharp stab of pleasure that makes your knees buckle, him pausing in his motions briefly to brace your weight, keep you upright.

Then it is a blur as he restarts his motion, his fingers dance on your swollen pearl, slipping silkily over his touch as he grunts encouragements. It feels like you are circling for so long, so close to something mind-blowing, but then he flicks harshly with his fingernail and bites your neck, and you are hurtling. Everything is loud and quiet at once, no doubt your voice calling his name as you tumble over the edge, clenching hard around him as your whole body shatters and rebuilds in a blissful puzzle. Dimly, as you float, you feel his entire body tense, and with a roar, he follows you over, a warmth blooming inside you as he reaches completion. 

There are a few moments of panted breaths as you both recover from the intensity before he spins you around and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. There, he lays you down gently and proceeds to turn you into a molten, quivering pile, mapping your body with his lips and fingers until you are begging for him again, which he more than obliges. So much so you are almost late for your social engagement.

If there are a few derogatory looks as you swan into the ladies' luncheon with a blissful smile and a burgeoning mark on your neck from your husband's amorous intentions, well, so be it. You wouldn't change it for the world.

And it is also most definitely not the last time you dress up in his clothes…

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[laceyfawn]

warnings. farm hand!ellie, farmer’s daughter!reader, dom!ellie, bratty!reader, pure smut (rough-ish sex, use of strap-on, spanking, light degradation, squirting), ellie refers to her strap-on as ‘her cock’

words. 1.7k

mdni.

thinking about farm hand!ellie…

you’re the pretty farmer’s daughter and she’s the farm hand your father hired to help out with some of the things he can no longer do at his age. they’re simple tasks, things like milking the cows, cleaning the pens, watering the crops.

but you — god, you make the job ten times more difficult. you’re always there, prancing around the farm in tiny little skirts that ride right up your ass whenever you lean over, flashing ellie your panties as you pretend to be laser focused on inspecting how the freshly planted produce are coming along, paired with the tightest crop tops known to man that you never bother wearing a bra with, your nipples hard and inviting as they poke through the shirts.

you don’t even close the bathroom window when you’re showering either, knowing full well that it overlooks the field right where ellie is working, giving her a perfect view of the water sliding over your smooth, naked body, purposefully putting on a show for her by lathering your tits in body wash or pretending to drop the soap, slowly bending down to pick it up, your glistening pussy lips peeking out from behind your ass.

you’re a little tease, and you damn well know it. whenever you catch ellie watching you, you shoot her a wink or blow her a kiss, not bothering to cover yourself or fix your clothes, uncaring that she can see practically everything. she knows you like the attention; you like the way she reacts to you, the way she constantly looks like she’s on the verge of losing control around you, just one step away from taking you in the pumpkin patch and fucking that bratty streak out of you.

and don’t get ellie wrong, she tries her best to ignore it at first. she’s here to work, not play games. she’ll dig her heels into whatever task she’s doing; trying not to nick her fingers when she’s shearing the sheep and she suddenly catches a glimpse of you skipping past on your way to the stables, going full commando under your dress that the breeze graciously causes to flutter up; trying not to outright stare when you’re hanging the washing and purposefully peg your skimpiest pair of panties right above ellie’s head, the fabric smelling of lavender and roses, a scent that makes her clit throb.

(she always ends up stealing them off the washing line when you’re not looking and tucking them away in her back pocket to get off to later, pretending that it’s actually you she’s grinding her pussy against and not just the now soaked fabric of your panties.)

but as the days pass, it gets harder and harder to ignore you, to act like what you’re doing isn’t affecting her. wherever ellie is, you’re not far behind. whether she’s stacking barrels of hay, feeding the livestock, or mending a hole in the chicken wire, you’re right there with her. and as much as ellie tries not to let her mind wander, her thoughts are never on work when you’re around; they’re on you.

she ends up fucking you in your room one day when your father goes into town to pick up a few things. it’s one of very few times she’s been inside your house, because your father doesn’t like her trekking mud through the halls after she’s been outside working all day. she had been looking for the bathroom when she passed by your room, where the loud sound of moans and whimpers were coming from. unable to stop herself, she’d looked in, and there you were — on your bed, knees drawn and spread, two fingers pumping rhythmically in and out of your pussy.

ellie was about to walk away, reminding herself that you’re the daughter of her somewhat boss, but that was when you’d looked up and seen her, and with a teasing smile, you’d tilted your head, batted those pretty lashes, and purred “why don’t you come help me, ellie? i bet yours would feel so much better…”

that did it. that crossed the line. and now—

she’s practically splitting you open on her strap, the curved tip of it slamming against your cervix and sending bursts of pleasure up your spine, her sweaty chest pressed against your even sweatier back. there’s nothing gentle about it. this is her getting back at you; finally teaching you a lesson for how much you’ve been pushing her buttons.

“this what you wanted, huh?” ellie growls in your ear, delivering a firm smack to your ass that has you squealing and rutting back against her. “this why you’ve been acting like such a needy fuckin’ slut? think i don’t know what you’ve been doing? if you wanted me to fuck you so badly, you should’ve just asked.”

the hand on your ass moves around to your front, finding your clit — red, swollen, and crying out for attention — and giving it a hard pinch between her middle and pointer finger, making you gasp sharply, before soothing it over with some quick, gentle rubs of her thumb.

“n-not a slut, els,” you pant out. “just… just wanted your attention… ngnhh.”

“that right?” ellie rasps. “well, you’ve got it now, baby. you’ve fuckin’ got it alright.”

she pushes down on the middle of your back, causing your knees to give out beneath you and your body to slump forward so that your chest is pressed against the mattress, face squishing into the pillows. ellie’s fingers dig into your hips, lifting them higher for her, her strap rabbiting in and out of your pussy at a pace that makes your head spin, like she’s seriously trying to rearrange your guts.

“ellie, ellie, ellie,” you mewl, eyes rolling back. “gonna— gonna cum. oh god...”

“no, the fuck you’re not,” ellie hisses, slapping your ass again, squeezing the fat of it firmly in her hands just for good measure. “not till i fucking say you can. slut.”

she pulls out then, and your pussy tries to protest by tightening around her strap as she moves back, the wet pop of your pussy reluctantly releasing her echoing through the room. you glance over your shoulder at her, face twisted into a desperate look, eyes begging with her not to leave you on the edge like this.

“ellie, please—”

she grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your back, then tugs you up and forward until you’re straddling her, your sticky folds sliding over the glossy tip of her strap, bumping against that swollen bundle of nerves at the top of your pussy entrance. “there we go,” ellie murmurs, more to herself than to you. “you’re gonna do the work now, baby. make it up to me for all your teasing.”

with a whine, you line yourself back up with her and sink down, both you and ellie letting out a low moan at the feeling of her filling you again, the bottom of ellie’s strap brushing deliciously against her own neglected clit. you grind against her desperately, no pausing or hesitating; just the pure, unbridled need to cum. ellie eyes the way your pussy swallows her up greedily, fitting so perfectly around her, tight like a glove, as if you can’t get enough.

“that’s it,” she hums approvingly. “ride me, baby. fuckin’ ride me. show me how bad you want it.”

you begin bouncing up and down on her strap so fast that the headboard slams against the wall. she groans, planting her feet flat on the bed so that her strap angles just right, reaching even deeper inside you, spearing you. a gasp flies from your lips and you throw your head back. ellie’s hands come up to cup your tits and play with your nipples. all the times she’s seen them poking through your shirts or silhouetted in the steamy bathroom window, now she’s finally getting the real thing.

“gonna cum, huh?” she breathes out, when your bouncing starts to get sloppier and your thighs begin to quiver. “gonna cream all over my cock, pretty girl?”

you nod frantically. “y-yes, ellie. oh, fuck, gonna—” you don’t even get to finish your sentence before you cum, mouth open in a silent scream, clenching around her strap, soaking your thighs, her abdomen, and the sheets beneath you in your release, pussy gushing like a waterfall. the force of your orgasm hits you so hard that you swear you nearly black out. you don’t even realize you’ve squirted until ellie chuckles and slaps your thigh, bringing you back into the moment.

“ffuckkkk, that’s it,” she mutters, still bouncing you, still chasing her own pleasure despite the fact that your overstimulated body has gone limp in her grasp. you’re too fucked out to be embarrassed by neither your pussy’s reaction nor the disgusting squelching sounds it makes each time ellie slams you down to the hilt. “squirting all over my cock like such a good girl. knew you had it in you.”

when she cums too, she holds you down on her strap for a good while longer, keeping the pressure of it against her clit and imagining for a moment that she’s filling you up with her cum. then she lets you off and smirks when you immediately collapse into a boneless pile next to her, curling into her side like a cat in the sun.

“s-so good,” you murmur, voice shaky and uneven, slowly coming down from your high, the thrumming between your thighs where her strap had just been lodged unrelenting, as if it’s shaped itself a home inside your womb. with a sigh, you bury your face in ellie’s neck, planting a soft kiss on her pulse-point. “that was so good, ellie.”

“yeah?” ellie responds, her hand coming down to spank your ass again, smirk widening at the little yelp you make into her neck. “you learned your lesson? gonna continue fucking with me or you gonna be a good girl from now on?”

you shake your head, though a small smile tugs at your lips. “gonna be a good girl for you, els. no more teasing, promise.”

“that’s what i thought.”

let’s just say — you’ve never been one to keep your promises. it’s not your fault ellie is so fun to mess with.

please do not steal, copy, translate or repost anywhere else ♡

[munivrse]

cw: perv!sunghoon. sunghoon does your laundry so: panty sniffing.. and licking, possessiveness, exhibitionism, praise, overstim, hands free orgasm again (?), dry humping but solo (???), sunghoon creams his pants twice lmfaoooo what a loser.

a/n: nastiest thing i've ever written so if it isn't for you, i get it 😭

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

sunghoon knows its wrong. he knows its gross, a little fucked up but he can't help it. especially not when you ask him to wash your laundry with his to save on some money.

he couldnt help but dig through your pile, searching desperately for it and- oh! he's found it.

a worn pair of your panties. they're different than he imagined. he's spent hours thinking about it before. he thought they'd be plain, no lace, no pattern. multiple pairs but not alot of difference in color. mainly ones that match your skin tone. you wear alot of light clothing and he sees nothing when his eyes scan your body, spending more time on your ass than anything else. he knows that you dont wear low rise anything so they must be high cut? maybe hipsters? he's sure its nothing out of vanilla for you.

so why would you own a pair of white, bikini shaped, lace trim panties? this soils the picture he had of you in his head. all of his research- all of this knowledge he had of you.

he inspects the garment in his hand. this can't be yours right? sunghoon brings the thin, thin piece of clothing to his nose. it's definitely yours. he can smell the faint scent of your body wash on them.

now he's upset; nearly distraught. why would you own a pair of panties like this? who would you need to impress-

were you fucking other men? were you- sunghoons stomach drops- were you letting them taint you? a different, even more devastating thought springs forward and sunghoon is nauseous. are you not a virgin?

the sadness fades and is replaced by wild, unadulterated anger. his fist closes around the flimsy cloth. god hes upset, frustrated nearly to tears but never at you. never at you. you could never do wrong, his perfect angel. his pretty princess would never do wrong. he knows this, but he's got to take action. do something to solve this issue, make you clean again.

sunghoon brings the panties up to his nose and lets out a whimper at the scent, its tangy but theres a hint of sweetness. fuck, he's hard now. he palms the outline of his cock through his sweats; you smell so good. he knew it, knew that you'd smell good. he tracks what you eat, when you eat it, how you eat it. he makes sure to prepare good, balanced meals for you. he buys you all of your multi-vitamins, tracks the amount of water you drink to make sure you're never dehydrated. he knew you'd smell good, he made it that way.

he feels his cock leak into his underwear. he knows its wrong, knows its fucked up and dirty, but he does it anyway. his tongue pokes out to lick the center of your panties- oh. oh. his eyes roll to the back of his head. it tastes- no, no. you taste good. he feels precum dribble out of his cock and now he feels his underwear get a little damp.

he presses his palm harder against his crotch and takes another, more confident lick at the spot where your pretty pussy would've laid and now he's whining and humping into his hand like a fucking dog. he stumbles at the sensation and catches himself on a washer and he's reminded that this is a public laundromat on campus. a more secluded one, but public nonetheless. the thought of someone catching him makes his head spin.

everyone knew you were roommates. you were so, so popular amongst your peers. so sweet and kind, a smile that lights up a room, an infectious, contagious giggle. and sunghoon, who was so, so handsome but as much as he was handsome, he was shy. didn't talk much to anyone. except for you. he'd stroll with you as you bounced next to him, talking about your day as you both walked back to your dorm.

what better way to claim you than for someone to walk in and see him fucking himself and holding your panties up to his face. the thought turns him on so much that he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a strangled moan.

god he needs it. he needs to fuck you in front of the whole campus. all of those men that violated your princess parts- he needs them to watch as he stuffs his girthy length into your pussy. he wants them to watch as he stretches you out. he's sure you'd struggle against him as what he had in girth he also had in length, but he knows you'd like it. he knows you'd love being filled up by him. by him.

he's so fucking mad. how could they? he slams the fist holding your panties on the washer as he continues to fuck and grind into his hand.

fuck those men that defiled you. fuck them for touching you that way, putting their filthy hands on your precious body. he'd fix that. cleanse you. cum all over your pretty frame, cover you in it. your face, your tits, cum on and in your tight little cunt. he prays you'd let him fuck your ass too so he could fill that up as well- shit.

he feels it coming. he feels the onslaught of pleasure start to pour into his body. he wants to hold off- wants to hold his cum until he can spill it inside of you but he cant. he's gonna cream his pants like hes a teenager again.

he laps at your panties again and he cant wait to taste your pussy. he can't wait until he can eat you out for hours, have you cum on his tongue over and over and- oh-

his eyes squeeze shut again and he bites his lip to try and conceal his moans. he can't tell if its working though, his ears are ringing and the only thing he can think of is roughly humping his hand to get off.

he whines and whines and whines as he feels himself let go, ropes of cum seeping through his underwear. its spurt after spurt and now his hand is wet and its starting to stain his sweats but he cant stop. his cock has a mind of its own, twitching and jumping and fuck- he's so sensitive.

he stops cumming, stops shooting his load into his underwear. he whimpers and removes his hand from his pants but his hips are still stuttering against nothing.

god he wants to feel it. he wants to know how it'll feel when he slides his cock into your warm, tight, wet cunt. he wants to feel his balls slap against your ass from how hard he's fucking you. he wants to feel your pussy gush around him, cover his cock and balls in your juices. he hopes he can make you squirt so you can drench him in you and- no. no no no-

sunghoons knees knock together as he feels himself cum in his pants again and he might actually pass out this time. its dry, nothings coming out but he feels euphoric. his hips fuck into the air and its so fucking gross, he feels so gross and so dirty but its only for you. only for his pretty princess.

[hurthermore]

»»------► 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 (18+)

▻ 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸 (18+) ▻ 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹 (18+)

Summary: 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚘 𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜?

Word Count: 𝟸.𝟼𝚔

Warnings: 𝙸 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚖; 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚕 >.<

𝙵/𝙼 𝚂𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚌𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚜, 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚟 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜, 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚍, 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝

(𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚡 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎)

𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗!

You had only been there for a damn week.

A week.

Yet you had somehow flourished emotions within the Radio Demon that he had never even slightly experienced before.

The worst part?

You were what the younger generation called a ‘Bimbo Bitch’.

It didn’t make sense to Alastor as to why you out of everyone alive - and dead - made him feel like a pathetic idiot with a crush. Throughout his life on earth he had hundreds of women at his beck and call, fawning over him due to his celebrity status as one of America's biggest southern radio hosts in the late 1920s. Even in death, dozens upon dozens of women had expressed interest in him, even some of the most elegant of sinners had pursued him, yet he always lacked the interest in the act of courting. Still, he knew there would be a day when he would find the woman of his dreams.

So when he realised that the woman of his dreams was you, he felt disoriented, questioning everything he had come to know. The most beautiful woman he had laid eyes on; the woman who made him desire things he had never yearned for before, was you; a woman who lacked vocal sophistication and wore tight, revealing clothes that could rival half the garments the spider-like porn actor wore.

But despite how pissed off he wanted to be about it, how much he wanted to hate you for bringing these emotions out of him, he just couldn’t force himself to feel any disdain for you. Especially when you’d call for him in that whiny tone that sent pleasant shivers down his spine, the same one that made him want to thrust your face into a mattress as he bred you.

He remembered when you first came into the hotel. He genuinely thought you arrived in your underwear, only for him to find out what crop tops and booty shorts were.

He was appalled to say the least.

But it didn't stop him from appreciating your figure whenever you graced him with your presence.

And yet again he found you, wearing a skimpy little outfit of a crop top and one of those silly little skirts of yours, all whilst sitting sideways on his chair in the lobby of the hotel. Your knees pressed up against your breasts; squishing them so hard that the fat of your chest was begging to pop out of the flimsy revealing top as you reached towards your pointed feet with a small brush.

It was difficult for Alastor to repress the groan that begged to leave his throat as his eyes peeked a glance at your underwear; red. Red and skimpy. He could feel himself throb just by looking at you. “Good evening my darling!” He decided to appear from the shadows behind his chair you were situated on before leaning over it to admire you inspect what you were doing. “What are you doing, my dear?” He asked you with a delighted tone that he found himself reserving purely for you.

He watched you pause as you heard his voice, redirecting your attention on him as you rested your legs back onto the arm chair, giving your chest some air to breathe. “Hey Al!” You beamed with a sharp toothed grin that made Alastors undead heart skip a beat. “I’m painting my nails, you want me to do your claws? I have like ten different colours! OH! We should so paint yours pink! You’d look so good!” 

He chuckled at the idea of him with pink nails; preposterous. He was the Radio Demon, an entity that devoured anyone who crossed him, a being who broadcasted the screams of thousands of souls to millions of listeners all because he enjoyed it; and here was you; a pretty little dame asking him if you could paint his claws… Pink.

“Apologies my darling but that is an activity I prefer not to partake in.” His toothed smile twitched as your face slowly contorted into one of disappointment.

It definitely didn't make him feel guilty.

“C’mon Al! If you really don’t want pink I guess I could do them black or white to match your theme? Pretty please?” You pouted, allowing your lips to puff out as your eyes looked skyward to meet his gaze. Alastor’s smile twitched as he felt a heat rise within his lower abdomen from looking at your perfect form. You must be aware on some level what you were doing to him. Right?

Despite the Radio Demon hating the idea of having his claws painted, the idea of disappointing you; the act of refusing you to touch him as you caressed his hands and claws was something he found he hated more. 

So he gave in.

“I will permit you to paint my claws my darling, but you are to do it in red and you will not relay this event to anyone else. Do you understand?” His face closed in on yours to the point where you couldn’t see anything but him.

Your eyes glanced down to his hands that rested atop his cane, your eyebrows contorting into confusion. “But… Your claws are already red?”

Alastor’s smile twitched ever so slightly, to the point where you didn’t even notice. 

He had hoped you wouldn’t of noticed.

“Then I will permit you to paint them black, ma chérie.” Immediately you stood up, revealing your smaller structure compared to the seven foot frame the Radio Demon possessed. You grabbed his hands - much to his delight - and he allowed you to drag him over to the opposite side of the chair, guiding him to sit on it. He obliged, allowing you to dictate every move; something he had never permitted anyone else in his entire existence.

Momentarily he closed his red eyes, basking in the warmth your hands emitted into his cold skin, only for him to startle them open when you sat on his lap. His eyes met yours as you smiled smugly, waving the black nail polish in his face.

It wasn’t what he was expecting, to have your soft body flush against his; your clothed core meeting his own, making him melt from the contact. But he was assured that he could live the rest of his existence happy and content if it meant having you slotted in his lap forever.

“Okay, gimme your hand.” You beamed as you offered your delicate palm to him, waiting for him to concede his hand to you. Hesitantly, he obliged, snaking his fingers against yours, allowing you to grip your soft hand around one of his fingers as you began painting his sharp tipped claws.

As you recoated your brush before tending back to his claws, Alastor felt your core brush against his, making him bite back a moan, keening in a way that had him wishing you’d do it again. Slowly, he outstretched his unoccupied hand towards the curve of your waist as he felt himself harden underneath you.

Although usually a collected and composed man, Alastor was struggling. You had barely begun working on his second claw before his hand finally made contact with your bare waist, making you jump ever so slightly at the contact, accidentally grinding yourself against his now hard member.

Alastor groaned as you stilled against him. He refused to look at you, he wasn’t ready to see what type of expression adorned your face. Would you be repulsed? Or would you be as aroused as him? “Alastor..?” He heard you mumble; your voice sounding slightly erotic. Would you reciprocate his feelings? Slowly, he rested his head in the comfort of your chest, sighing as he could feel the fast beating of your heart before tightening his grip on you. He couldn’t control himself; not when you fit so perfectly in his lap, not when you were making him feel so stimulated just by moving against his constrained cock. “Fuck, Alastor-” You moaned as he forced you to grind against him as he placed his other hand against the fat of your hips; his claws still wet from the polish.

“Such a naughty girl.” He groaned as he leaned back away from your chest, viewing the debauched expression that etched your face, biting your bottom lip as your eyes half lidded. “I was hoping to court you first, but you’re making this so hard.” He mumbled, slamming you further into his clothed throbbing cock, causing the texture of his trousers to rub against your clit.

Suddenly, he gripped the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips connected with yours. He could hear you panting as you opened your mouth, allowing him to explore the tastes your mouth had to offer him. He felt like he could attain heaven as you showed your want of him. The closest he’d ever get to the place.

As he kissed you, the need to hear you moan had him grinding into you harder, trying to elicit more of those sounds from you. But when you didn’t, he gripped the front of your throat, punctuating his claws into your skin, forcing you to bend backwards as a black tentacle wrapped itself around your waist, preventing you from falling off of Alastor’s lap. He groaned as he watched your skirt ride up your thighs, revealing your drenched red lingerie to him.

Without thought, he ripped the red fabric in two, growling as your cunt glistened before him. Both of his hands pierced into the chunk of your thighs, causing you to whimper as he dragged your sex into his face. The position forced your posture upside down, making all the blood rush to your head as Alastor finally smashed his face into your puffy cunt, penetrating his fat tongue inside you. You moans vibrated off the walls of the parlour room, and you had completely forgotten where you were and what you were doing before this as Alastor’s mouth seemed to cover the entirety of your sex. His tongue thrusting in and out of you whilst the top of his mouth simulated a suction like sensation, stimulating your clit in the process.

His ears twitched with every moan, every cry of his name that left your wet lips, and every squelch that your cunt produced. He never thought this could taste so good. He had eaten many people throughout his life, being a cannibal and all, but not once had he eaten someone in such a way, and he couldn’t deny that this was his new favourite dish; the juices of your cunt.

As your legs began to press against the sides of his head, he could feel the tremors that passed through your plumped thighs, and with how your moans kept increasing in volume, it was obvious to Alastor you were nearing orgasm. It had him feeling heated; your whole lower half crushing his head, almost preventing him from breathing as he ate you out. But oh did he find it incredibly erotic. He couldn’t prevent the build up of his own orgasm as he kept drinking the essence of your cunt. 

Once he heard you basically scream in pleasure, your sex convulsing around his tongue, and your clit throbbing against his teeth, he allowed himself to ejaculate within the confines of his pants, his cock pulsed with every splat that left his tip. He moaned into you, overstimulating you in the process. You tried to pull away, tried to tell Alastor it was too much, but he kept you against his mouth, continuing his ministrations as he rode through his own orgasm. 

“I swear I heard screamin’ Charlie.” You and Alastor both froze as you both heard Angel’s voice in the distance. Panicking, you tried to tear yourself from Alastor and the tentacle wrapped around your torso with more force; but he didn’t let you move. You silently screamed his name through your teeth, anxiety building up as you dreaded the thought of someone catching you with the Radio Demon of all people. 

Abruptly, you felt Alastor retract from you as your back hit against silked covers. Confused, you took in your surroundings, your anxiety vanishing as you realised you were in a different room from the parlour. But it was a room you didn’t recognise.

“Such a silly girl.” Alastor spoke up, still in between your legs as his fingers stroked the skin of your thighs, his eyes connecting with yours. “Did you honestly believe I’d let anyone else witness you in such a state?” He watched you whine as you took in his now undressed form; allowing you to witness all the stitching that wrapped around his body, his small tufts of fur that lavished his chest, and his free cock that was covered in cum and was too heavy to point upwards. 

You couldn’t prevent the moan that left your lips as you concluded that he had cummed from eating you out. 

“No,” He grunted as he pulled your thighs apart before pulling your body down toward him. “This is for my eyes, and my eyes alone.” Pushing his phallic organ against your folds, you gasped as Alastor continued. “You may parade around in such ridiculous little clothing, but this,” His fingers wrapped around your neck. “Is mine.” As he finished, he finally forced his thick and heavy cock in the warm and wet walls of your cunt. “Fuck.” Alastor hissed. He never thought sex would feel so consuming, so fulfilling, so pleasurable.  

The pressure of his fingers against your throat began to consolidate as he fucked his fat cock into you, almost preventing you from breathing. Although Alastor wasn’t an experienced man in sex, he was experienced in the resilience of the throat; he knew exactly how much pressure he needed to apply before it restricted oxygen from entering. And oh how did that do things to you.

As he continued to ram himself into you, he lifted your upper half to him, bringing your face to his, allowing his lips to graze yours. “Give me your soul, darling.” He grunted before initiating a kiss. “Give yourself to me and I’ll give you the seven rings of hell if you please it.” 

You felt the throbbing of your sex begin again as he fucked into you, promising you basically anything you desired as long as you gave your eternal existence to him. The want to be possessed by this man was enveloping you entirely. You didn’t even hesitate before you cried out a passage of yeses. A sharp glow of green screeched throughout the room along with a high pitched shriek as Alastor groaned into your mouth. You could feel stitches that adorned his mouth for barely a second grazing the skin of your lips as he pushed his face into yours; his pace becoming aggressively harder. 

You jolted with every thrust, allowing yourself to cry out as another orgasm was ripped from you, twice as intense as the one you had barely moments ago when it was his tongue inside you and not his cock. As you whined and cried throughout your euphoric feeling, you began to become limp. Alastor only held you tighter, refusing your warmth to leave his cold dead skin as he began to thrust into you as if you were his precious little fuck toy.

If this deal guaranteed that he would fuck you like this on a regular basis, you weren’t going to complain; especially when he was the best fuck you had ever had the satisfaction of experiencing. Instead of treating you as a form of self pleasure, he seemed to only derive his pleasure from yours. Like he got off on you feeling good.

It only confirmed your thoughts as you felt his cock pulsing inside you; splattering his cum further into you after you came down from your own high.

How the fuck did you end up in this predicament again? You only wanted to paint his damn claws.

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[hischokehold]

tw: könig being the biggest pervert ever, watersports, anal, non-con.

Perv!König commiting the most atrocious, disgusting acts to you, his precious girl, knowing you'd let him get away with it♡

Perv!König who coerces you into bending over his desk, tight baby cunt sprawled out for him while he films you, telling you that it's normal for little girls like you to let their boyfriends inspect their privates "It's my right as a man, maus. Don't you trust me?"

Perv!König who only lets you wear skirts and dresses for easy access, slipping his thick, heavy cock in one of your tight holes whenever he so pleases.

Perv!König who gets hard over anything and everything that involves you, rubbing his clothed dick against your cunt like a dog in heat because he saw you sucking on a lollipop. And you don't get to complain, liebling. It's your fault for being such a tease! He can't help it! What's a man like him supposed to do when a pretty girl like you is practically begging to get fucked? You should be thanking him.

Perv!König who one day randomly drags you to the bathroom, yanking you down the toilet, and making you hold his flaccid cock as he pisses, angry red tip twitching as his urine dribbled down the bowl.

Perv!König who gently slaps your flushed cheeks with his dick. "Open wide, darling." His calloused thumb brushes over your cheeks, dragging over your plump lips to part them open. "What's wrong, maus? Don't wanna taste daddy's piss?" He chuckles as he squeezes out the remaining urine from his cock and inside your warm, wet mouth.

Perv!König who absolutely adores the utter confusion on your face, torn between disgust and pleasure. "Good girl. Takin' daddy's cock so well."

Perv!König who uses you as his personal little toilet, taking it upon himself to piss in all your holes, randomly yanking your panties to the side to piss in your cunny- don't think that tiny puckered hole is safe from him either. But you're just too tight for him at the moment maus, he's working on it.

Perv!König who comes home after a long, grueling day, body sheathed with sweat and musk. Then impatiently unbuckles his belt with his calloused hand, letting his big, heavy, musky cock fling free from their confines.

Perv!König who forcibly shoves your nose deep in his heavy balls, nostrils pressed against his pubes, keeping you trapped and smothered with his scent.

Perv!König who ruts his balls against your pretty face, "Oh fuck, takin' me so well, angel -fuck, didn't take you for a fuckin' ballslut." Deep, guttural grunts escape from his parted lips, head thrown back in pleasure.

Perv!König who forces his cock into yourunprepared holes, bouncing you on his dick like a fleshlight, ravaging your poor, tiny body.

Perv!König who can't help but utter words of assurance as he fills your fertile womb with his potent cum. "Love you so much, sweetheart. Did so well for me. Daddy's give you a reward for being so good, yeah?"

Perv!König who despite his vile acts is so so so irrevocably in love with you and gives you the best aftercare; preparing a bubble bath for you, washing your body and hair so tenderly, giving your dazed form little kisses to keep you from falling asleep in the tub. "Does it hurt anywhere?" You shake your head. "Nuh uh."- "Good."

Perv!König who spends the rest of the night making it up to you, drying your hair off and even putting you in his your favorite bunny pyjamas. "I love you, Kö." Shit. Your words make his heart skip a beat and he feels his dick harden in his boxers again. But he holds off, too focused on taking care of you.

Perv!König who takes you out shopping to do all your girly shit the entire day, going to your favorite brands; getting you a purse from prada, some dresses from Miu Miu, and of course, Victoria's Secret. A treat for both you and him. You do a little fashion show for him, twirling around all pretty. Which ended up getting you dicked down in the changing room, tits pressed up against the mirror while he covers your mouth with his big, veiny hands.

Perv!König whose face contorted to a pout when you scolded him for fucking you like that in public and nearly getting caught by the staff. It's okay! Even if you got caught he would've paid them to keep their mouths shut!

Perv!König who sighs happily when his darling clings to his arms, tired from the long day. He shifts the shopping bags to his left hand to hold yours, bending down to giving you a kiss on the forehead. "I love you, sweetheart."

[pseudowho]

Yet Another Nanami Kento Sex Pollen Fic, Part One

Owing our Reader for pleasuring him after his prior drunk escapades, Kento allows himself to be thoroughly used after the Reader encounters some rather unusual pollen.

Read Part Two HERE!

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"Hey, darling. Home soon? I was going to run out and grab some wine."

You smiled warmly at Kento's voice over the phone, brushing your mission clothes off with one hand while you surveyed the wreck of your surroundings. The factory you were in seemed ancient, despite its abandonment in just the last decade. Its back wall, you noted, was formed of collapsed brickwork, opening out onto a patch of hazy woodland. You were curious to investigate.

"Soon," you promised Kento, "the main Curse body is gone. I'm just going to do a last sweep around. You know, I--"

"-- like to be thorough," Kento parroted you, knowing you so well. You rolled your eyes at him. Hearing him chuckle, he reassured you, "No, no, I like it. You're thorough. It's a turn-on, I promise." Laughing lightly as you stepped over damp brickwork and ivy, you heard the jangle of Kento's keys over the phone.

"Well, Sir, if I'm that much of a turn-on, you'd best get that wine. I'm ready for our evening." Kento gave you an approving hum, and bid you get home soon.

Hanging up, you stepped into the humidity of what appeared to be a totally enclosed patch of woodland, sprung like an oasis, half-in and half-out of the crumbled factory walls. Beautiful flowers, wild with a heady scent, sprouted from beds of moss and ivy, and low-hanging trees dropped jewels of dew onto the springy floor. You felt yourself becoming heavy-headed and warm. Bending down to inspect a particularly beautiful pink-budded succulent, you squeaked in shock when the buds puffed open into a surprising shade of yellow, coating you in a fine mist of pollen.

Sneezing, you backed away. Bumping against the residual wall, you noticed the forest starting to crumble away from the edges, disintegrating in the same way as the main Curse-body had. With a sinking feeling in your stomach, you recognised you had nearly been so foolish as to walk straight into the remains of its dying belly. Telling yourself off for your gullibility, you watched from the factory as the forest faded away, leaves rising like ashes into the mist.

You felt flushed, heart thumping behind your breasts as you left the factory, finding Ijichi waiting patiently for you outside the veil. Ijichi smiled to you, bowing, thanking you for your services. He held the car door open for you, and you climbed in, grateful for the chance to sit down.

Except, as the car rumbled to life, every small vibration, every graze of the cool leather against your flushed skin, every time you caught the smell of Ijichi's shampoo, you felt the agonising thud of arousal between your legs. You mentally shook yourself when catching yourself looking Ijichi up and down from the back seat, admiring how his hands managed the steering wheel so smoothly, and you were appalled that this wonderful, kind, gorgeous man didn't have a girlfriend yet. Maybe you could be his girlfriend, you thought fleetingly, you'd know how to treat him right--

"Everything okay?" Ijichi caught your eyes in the mirror, full of concern as you gasped at yourself and slapped your own cheeks. Cheeks pink, breasts heaving with deep breaths and underwear increasingly wet, you knew you needed to get home to Kento. There was absolutely nobody else you needed right now, and surely this would wear off, surely he would help you deal with your desire as you had helped with his, in the shower that night--

"I'm okay, Ijichi, I'm fine!" You babbled, arms folded across your chest to hide your pebbled nipples, "Just tired! You know how it is. Busy day." You laughed nervously, hiding your face in shame as Ijichi politely bowed his head and continued to drive you home.

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Kento dropped his keys onto the shelf, slipping out of his shoes and into house slippers as he leaned back against the door, shutting it with a click.

His heart gave a happy leap when he heard you rummaging around the bathroom; you were home. Rolling the wine bottle in his broad palm, he fetched two glasses. In the process of uncorking the bottle, he pretended not to notice as you walked up behind him. He regretted feigning ignorance when he felt sharp teeth nip into the back of his shoulder.

Kento spun, startled, and barely had time to save the open bottle of wine when he was pushed with surprising force back against the table. All thoughts and blood rushed straight to his cock as he felt your body, insistent and hot press against his. Kento offered no resistance at first as you grabbed the back of his neck, fingers sinking into his hair to pull him down for a kiss, but stopped immediately at the feverish and desperate look in your eyes.

Kento gripped your shoulders and held you at arm's length, scowling deeply as he appraised you. Still in mission-wear. Flushed. Eyes glazed. Heat radiating off you.

"You're...hurt? What happened? Tell me." Kento ordered, already moving to grab his keys- you needed Shoko's attention. You moved instantly to block Kento's path, eyes fixed on him and pupils dilated as you panted, arousal thrumming through you in waves, your blood rushing in your ears and between your legs. Not swayed, and firm in his decision, Kento restrained you effortlessly, one arm trapping both of yours behind your back, and another arm diagonally across your breasts.

As Kento's arms pressed your body firmly against his own, you moaned and Kento short-circuited. Not letting go, breath tickling the side of your face, Kento stared at you.

"What happened?" he repeated. You pressed your head back against his shoulder, whimpering in frustration.

"The Curse was very plant-like I suppose, and it had a garden, and these pollen pods just exploded all over me, and since then I've just...I just...god Kento please just fuck me, I'm begging you."

With a blush, it finally clicked for Kento-  you weren't hurt, you were uncontrollably horny. He gulped, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth, and cock hardening against his thigh. In a measured voice, Kento replied.

"You're in no fit state to demand I fuck you. You're under the influence of that curse, and I won't take advantage of you like that."

"Who said anything about you taking advantage?" You whined, rubbing your arse back against his hardening cock, "I'm asking if you'll let me take advantage of you." You squirmed against Kento, one of your pinned hands sneaking between the buttons of his shirt to rub his V-line. Your head turned sharply and you bit Kento's neck hard enough to draw blood. Kento yelped in alarm, now moving you swiftly forwards and pressing you into the wall, using one arm and one knee between your legs to pin you there.

"You minx," he gasped. Wiping at his neck with one hand and holding your wrists in another, Kento watched as you squirmed against the wall, thighs clamped furiously together for relief, blush creeping down your breasts.

"Kento, please," you begged, "I helped you. When you came home, drunk. And you promised you wouldn't refuse me."

"You and I both know that was--"

"It was no different!" Kento let his silence hang in the air. He knew as soon as he let you go, you'd be undressing him in seconds. He was furious to find himself thrilled at the thought. Being used as your toy sounded absolutely delicious.

"If I let you use me for some relief, but it doesn't work, I'll be taking you to Shoko immediately. Understood?" You nodded frantically, hands clenching and unclenching desperately in Kento's grasp. Kento walked you slowly back to the table, and you heard him knock back his glass of wine. You felt a glass placed to your lips, and Kento's smooth voice in your ear, "Bottoms up," as you gulped the wine, the alcohol hitting your heightened senses immediately, and your need for Kento to be buried inside you was suddenly furious and burning.

Kento let go of your wrists, and you jumped him, quite literally, arms locked behind his neck and legs around his waist. Kento grunted in surprise as your lips crashed against his with bruising force, the taste of blood and red wine on his tongue as you forced yours into his mouth, immediately dominant in a way that aroused him to his very core. Kento's hands cupped your arse perfectly, and you shifted your weight so Kento slammed back onto the table, feet on the floor as you straddled him, clothed pussy grinding against his cock.

Kento groaned at the contact, and submitted fully when you pinned his wrists to the table, leaning forward to bite and suck his neck. Kento shivered with pleasure, feeling every mark that he would see in the mirror the next morning. Drunk on the novelty of being so used, Kento offered absolutely no resistance as your hand slipped to his groin, squeezing his clothed erection almost too hard through the thin material. Kento shuddered, coughing in surprise and bucking into your hand.

Your hand left his cock far too soon, and you moved up Kento's body, now pinning his wrists with your knees as you began to undo his tie. Kento watched you with absolute focus as you then began to undress yourself, clothes being flung off at speed, until you were bare breasted on top of him, nipples hard as bullets, and you absent-mindedly draped Kento's tie around your neck as you surveyed him like your favourite meal.

"Oh, fuck," Kento intoned, as you ripped open his shirt, hearing buttons skitter away across the table. Moving down to grind against him again, and replacing your knees on his wrists with your hands, you bit his nipple, leaving lovebites across his heaving chest. Kento's head swam with arousal and anticipation, hands eager to reach you, to give you your own way, to be inside you.

You were focused, predatory in your need, and closed your eyes as you kicked your trousers and underwear off, pussy now totally naked and glistening with your arousal, leaving a wet patch on Kento's groin as you humped his clothed cock fervently. Kento was completely pinned, moaning and gasping as his cock twitched with need. You felt like you were on fire, your clit throbbing as you felt your first orgasm approaching, almost there but not close enough, body and mind still feeling too empty to climax. Your torso leaned closer to Kento's as you tried to increase the pressure and he quickly freed his arms from under yours.

Sliding one hand between your legs, he hurriedly pressed his two middle fingers upwards, deep into the heat and wetness of your pussy, his thumb quickly finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles on it. You cried out and bucked, riding his hand, and Kento nearly came from the feeling of your pussy clenching his fingers alone. You had reached down, both hands holding Kento's wrist, grasping his hand in place as your cunt fluttered around it, wet and needy, your cries becoming higher and louder, desperate to abate the burning arousal that had turned your skin electric.

Kento felt your desperation, watching you, near tears, trying to cum on his fingers. Reaching down, he swiftly unbuttoned his trousers and freed his leaking cock, pressing it up into you without warning, not even removing his fingers, and pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger.

Your orgasm hit you in hot waves, tears streaming down your cheeks as you called Kento's name over and over, feeling stretched and overfull with his fingers and cock still inside you. Feeling next to no relief post-orgasm, you slammed your hips down on Kento's, chasing the fullness his hand and straining erection gave you.

Kento clenched his teeth as you rode him, refusing to cum until you'd had your fill of him, vision and heart full of you clad in nothing but his tie. One hand remaining between your legs, and the other providing aggressive attention to your breasts and nipples, Kento felt your sweat and cum drip down his balls, groin now soaked with the intoxicating smell of you. He continued rubbing circles on your clit and squeezed his fingers forward against your internal walls, feeling your cervix bump his fingertips, as you shook and shuddered your way through a second orgasm.

Kento removed his hands to grasp your hips, your wetness dropping along his hand. Lifting you up and ramming you back down onto his cock, you slumped forwards onto him, a ragdoll.

Determined to pleasure you until you could barely stand, Kento tilted your hips against his until his cock pumped in and out of you at the perfect angle, his eyes fixed on where his fingers sank into the plush fat of your arse, jiggling as he slammed you down onto him. He hissed as your nails dug crescents into his shoulders, and you pleaded against his chest-- "please please please cum inside me, don't stop, don't stop" -- while his hips bucked you upwards, feet cramping as his toes pressed hard onto the floor, lights in his eyes as he felt his balls and abdomen clench, his approaching orgasm about to overwhelm his stamina. He felt your teeth and hot little pants against his chest.

Your hips couldn't keep up with his pace, hearing his moans rumble through his chest with every thrust, until you felt his cock jump and spurt hot seed inside you, cervix wet and belly warm and full. You lay on top of him, shuddering, feeling the heat in your body gradually dissipate. Kento stroked your hair, strong arms holding you to him, planting soft kisses on top of your head.

"Better?" he inquired, toying with the tie around your neck. You blushed, bashful after your performance, nodding and humming against his neck. "Much," you reassured him. He tapped your bum playfully, "You go shower and get cleaned up. I'll tidy up out here."

You climbed off him with a sigh, feeling his cum drip down your thighs as he slipped out of you, and you padded away to the bathroom.

In a few minutes, sated, sleepy, and feeling the hot water tumble over you, you were struck with a thought. Opening the shower door, you called out to Kento.

"I was just thinking, maybe you shouldn't touch those clothes? There's probably still loads of--" You paused, hearing Kento sneeze and swear in the next room.

A few tense moments passed, the time coiling up in your tummy like snakes, and the bathroom door creaked open slowly. Kento filled the doorway, shoulders tense as he stared you down like you were prey, slowly stroking his rapidly hardening cock.

"Oh shit," you breathed, naked and helpless under the hot water as he approached you, eyes burning with intent.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

REQUEST #1 COMPLETE!

And just think, Kento never even took off his slippers. Get you a man who can rail you like that with his house slippers on.

[wandasaura]

SONG IN THE CAR

summary — wanda just wants to check that you’re not lying, but you can only keep yourself together for so long before you beg natasha to fuck you in the car

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, mommy kink, daddy kink, subspace, public play, inspection kink, butt plugs, packing, strap-on usage, mentions of edging, mentions of spanking, doggy style, car sex, semi-public sex, degradation, praise, dumbification, mentions of free use, finger sucking, oral fixation, men/minors dni

authors note — i’m not even going to apologize for what this turned into because once i started i just kept adding the most unhinged things. as always, this doesn’t need to be read with the yail series but it might make more sense if it is. the ending is a wee bit rushed but i wanted to get this out for you, so i hope you enjoy!

you are in love

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

A strangled whine falls off the tip of your tongue when Wanda trails her fingers across the small of your back. The interior of the store is cold, the electric hum of an air conditioning unit almost as loud as the music that plays through speakers hidden within different vents around the clothing store. You can’t even fathom what business Wanda and Natasha have being in a shop that’s blasting brain melting pop tracks, but they dragged you inside at the first sight of the large LED letters out front. 

You’ve lost sight of Natasha, the Russian made a dramatic show of escaping toward the back wall merely seconds after Wanda dragged you over to look at a rack of denim shorts. The store was geared more toward a generation around your age, the elements of both boho aesthetic and minimalism felt almost too trendy to be authentic, but if you weren’t so… overwhelmed, to put it sweetly, you would’ve vocalized just how much you liked the style of clothes that sat folded precisely on the shelves surrounding you. 

Wanda’s hand lingered on the small of your back for longer than an appropriate second. Despite the cold store that threatened to erase all memories of the sweltering heat outside, the Sokovian’s hands were the perfect cross between just barely warm and unacceptably frigid. The longer they sat on the exposed skin of your back – the baby tee Natasha had picked out for you to wear hugging your ribs tightly and subsequently allowing both her and Wanda access to your sensitive spine – the harder it became to not envision them falling lower and lower until they found a place between your thighs for the second time that day. 

You weren’t looking at Wanda, intentionally avoiding her strong stare and focusing intensely on the white shelves that adorned the walls. You didn’t need to glance at her to feel the devilish smirk that rested across the very lips that had wrapped around your clit and left you needy only a handful of hours earlier to know that it was there and obnoxious. Natasha had kissed her in the car and claimed smugly that Wanda’s tongue still tasted of you, but neither had offered any assistance in relieving the sticky situation between your thighs. 

 When Wanda’s question went unanswered a second time, the question being if you liked anything in particular around the store, a perfectly sculpted brow rose in your direction and the attention you’d been putting on the racks of clothing became a fascination of the past. A slender finger cradled your jaw, cold against your flushed skin but not icy enough to flinch away from instinctively. The subtle gesture had forced your eyes away from the t-shirts and baby-tees you’d been meticulously staring at, and rather onto a set of twinkling green eyes. Wanda’s lips were still curved upward into a smirk, but they twinged with something dangerous as she set her gaze on your dilated pupils and permanently pink cheeks. 

“Mommy asked you a question, milaya. What’s got you so distracted?” Wanda pouts, her lips teasing and thin as they purse in an attempt to ward off a sickening grin of mischief that she wore mere seconds beforehand. She knows exactly what’s distracting you, she’d been the one to suggest this little game when Natasha decided she wanted to go shopping, but still she feigns innocence as you come undone in a disgusting public mall. 

Despite having an answer on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find the courage to share it with Wanda. There shouldn’t be any reason for you to vocalize your feelings when she’s already aware, despite her trying to break you down time and time again. Instead, you settle for something simple, and certain enough to wind her up a good deal. “Nothing.” The word doesn’t roll off your tongue as easily as you would’ve liked. It’s choppy and cuts like a dagger, but it sits lightly in the air between both of your warm bodies as Wanda takes the time to process what you’ve just said. Or rather, how you’ve just blatantly lied to her. 

“Oh, nothing’s distracting you, baby?” Wanda coos, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side as her eyes threaten to unravel the web of lies you're spinning. You don’t even have a chance to answer before she’s gripping your jaw, the pad of her thumb pressing into the hollow of your cheek while her pointer fingers sentence the other side of your face to the same fate. Her grip is tight, controlling, but not harsh enough to actually hurt. She’s mastered the art of grabbing you in a way that stuns you into submissive silence, and though you’re in public where anyone can see, she doesn’t seem to mind holding all the cards in her one-handed grip.  “So if Mommy put her hand in those pretty panties you’ve got on, she wouldn’t find a sticky mess?” 

There are two choices here, you can either deny the accusation and save a sliver of your dignity that’s waning fast as the day progresses, or you can agree with her accusation and hope that your honesty satisfies her need to be right in this moment; either choice will lead to her hand in your panties, you’re not dumb enough to believe that she’ll drop the act when you’re already this far in, but there’s still defiance burning in your belly that deceives you enough to believe you’ll walk away with the upperhand. Hastily, not thinking much of the consequences, your head shakes from side to side in the negative. You’ve decided to save yourself the embarrassment of admitting that your panties are absolutely drenched by no fault of your own, it’s entirely her fault and she knows that. The movement is little, restrained to small jerks due to the hand on your jaw, but Wanda feels it, and she quirks an eyebrow. “I need words.” She tightens her grip, forces your lips to pucker and your cheeks to ache from how her fingers sit flush against your teeth. 

“N-No.” It takes all of your strength to answer her, and even still all of your mustered up courage leaves a fierce blush sinking into the apples of your cheeks and across the tips of your ears, but a fire lights in Wanda’s eyes at your prolonged battle to remain coherent. You’ve been fighting her on decisions all day, trying to keep your head above the surface and your thoughts clear, but there’s only so much clarity in a moment like this. Nobody can blame you for falling beneath the thumb of the hottest lawyer in the world when you’re quite literally putty in her hands. 

“Oh, well then I guess you won’t mind if I check for myself, will you, detka?” You’d discussed this new kink a week ago. You’d agreed to what she called inspections with no hesitancy, though a healthy bit of embarrassment at the prospect of her being able to feel your sopping cunt whenever she pleased, but you’d agreed and even anticipated the moment she decided to put your agreement to good use. You hadn’t expected her to be so bold as to cash in on your agreement in one of the most densely populated shopping malls in the state of New Jersey, but there was no getting around it now. Still, your eyes fluttered away from hers, anxiously scrounging the small boutique style store for other customers or cameras.

Your eyes only found two figures, and one was distinctly Natasha who had styled her red hair in dutch braids before you left the house. For a second, you wondered if this had been the plan all along; to get you into a store where nobody else dared to shop because of the steep prices and violate you into submission, though you wouldn’t technically call Wanda’s premistion a violation, but… still. The only employee that stood on the floor was a smaller woman with silky chestnut hair, and she occupied a space next to Natasha against the far back wall as the two engaged in a conversation that looked to be revolving around a red bikini top your girlfriend held up to her chest. It complemented her hair nicely, would do absolute wonders for her boobs, but she had no real interest in the article if the pinch between her brows was evidence enough. 

Despite the reassurances you found, you met Wanda’s gaze again and choked out a strangled whisper, “Somebody’s going to see.” The blush on your cheeks was sheerly a factor of your mortification, but Wanda seemed to crave to deepen the sharp color on your face as the hand not gripping your face began its ascent toward your core. The flowy white skirt Natasha had picked out for you allowed her access without a fuss, and when her fingers tickled the sensitive interior of your thighs, you couldn’t help but instinctively part your legs for Wanda’s quest. 

“Shh,” The Sokovian shushed you sweetly, her hand loosening its grip on your jaw but never falling away fully. Her eyes searched yours, practically looking through you as she assured that you were okay to continue, anticipating the moment the safeword fell off your lips and all of her movements stopped. You’d never stop adoring her caution in moments like these. “Let Mommy do the thinking, sweetheart. Little girls don’t need to be worrying about anything other than their Mommy.” Her words fell onto you thickly, and a pout pulled at your lips as they sunk in. That submissive headspace all three of you adored was creeping up on you slowly, and her infantilizing words merely accelerated the process as you blinked at her slowly. 

The hand on your thigh brushed across your mound tauntingly slow, and for a second, you’d forgotten that you weren’t going to receive anything from her touch when it finally came. There would be no pleasure to spiral through your core when her fingers found a home beneath the drenched material of your panties. All that would come from her touch was embarrassment and more frustration. You gasped when Wanda’s ring trailed down the warm skin of your cunt, tracing a path downward until it fell onto your clit almost perfectly. Your hips startled at the cold sensation, but Wanda merely shushed you as the tips of her fingers sought out the source of your arousal. She hummed inquisitively, the pad of her finger pressing against your sopping entrance for merely a moment before it was gone and she was trailing strings of your wetness back up to your clit. 

“You’re so wet, utenok. No wonder you’re having such a hard time listening to Mommy. I bet it’s so hard to think when your pretty little pussy is just crying for attention.” Wanda mused mockingly, the pads of her fingers circling your clit that throbbed and ached for actual relief, but the pleasure never came. As quickly as her hand had dipped into your underwear and sought out your intimacy, they’d fallen away and resettled on your hips. The sticky thinness of your arousal smeared against your exposed skin kissed beautifully from the summer sun, and you knew she had every intention of making you walk through the mall with a patch of glimmering dampness adorning your body that you’d never have the courage to explain if someone questioned it. A deep blush settled across your cheeks, but Wanda wasn’t finished yet. Before you could reach out to her and tangle your fingers into the softness of her t-shirt, she was spinning you around and forcing your back against her chest. “Mommy’s not finished yet. Be a good girl and stay quiet while she checks something.” 

You’d almost had the chance to question her intentions before the words were stolen from between your bitten lips and the softest gasp of pleasure fell from you instead. Wanda’s fingers, still glistening with your arousal, had found a home beneath your skirt and against the base of the plug nestled deep within your ass. You’d only started trying the plugs out a couple weeks ago, but in that span of less than fourteen days they’d become something you adored and hated equally. The deep pleasure that came from constantly feeling full was insatiable and you craved it whenever Natasha pulled it out too soon, but you’ve grown to hate how every soft step shifted it against you perfectly, and especially how no matter which position you attempted to sit in it presses deeper and deeper into you without remorse. Wanda’s fingers circle the crimson red jewel framed between the globes of your ass, cheeks still pink from a spanking you’d received yesterday. The touch is soft, gentle, caring even, but when you think she’s about to pull away and end her little experiment, she taps harshly on the center plug twice, sending sparks of pleasure through your body and into your already fuzzy head. 

“So full for Mommy. Those panties are absolutely ruied, moya lyubov’.” Wanda pulls her hand out of your panties, spinning you back around in her arms and cradling you close to her chest as you shake and try to comprehend the fact that for right now, that simple touch was all you’d be getting. You’d think she almost felt an ounce of sympathy for your desperate form if she wasn’t wearing such a cocky smirk. “You’re being such a good girl, detka. Maybe we should keep you like this, huh? All full and eager to be fucked. Daddy could just bend you over anywhere and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?” Wanda preened into your ear, her words thick with lust and traces of an accent you’ve begun to memorize. You’re not sure whether to nod your head and agree, because it’s true, you’d let Natasha fuck you anywhere she wanted to right now, you’re not oblivious to the fact that she’s packing your favorite strap beneath those denim shorts adorning her toned legs, or to shake your head and beg for her to not let that happen. You’re not sure you’ll be able to survive in this state for another couple hours, let alone for however long they deem acceptable. “Huh, answer Mommy, baby. Do you want Mommy to keep you like this forever? Want to be ready to use whenever Mommy and Daddy feel the need to take you?” 

“I-I want you, Mommy.” You pleaded, shaking your head frantically at the suggestion that rolls off of Wanda’s lips like its been imprinted onto the tip of her tongue for decades. The Sokovian smirks, drawing you in closer to her chest and letting her forehead rest against yours, her deep sage eyes peering into your soul with how intensely she stares down at you. 

“You have me, baby.” She soothed your downturned lips with a gentle kiss, her touch soft and smooth yet harboring a lingerance of artificial strawberry chapstick if you thought about her taste long enough. The embrace was fleeting, entirely too short, but it had your head spinning when she pulled away and greeted Natasha who you hadn’t even noticed had come up beside you. “Come on,” Wanda patted your ass deliberately, jostling the plug just softly enough to have you hyper aware of its presence but not earning pleasure. “we still have a couple of stores to hit.” 

“I was thinking we stop by that store you like, ducky. We can see if they have any of those little pins you were talking about?” Natasha places a firm hand on your back, her eyes kind but tinted with lust that has settled deep within her stare permanently since Wanda wiggled the plug between your cheeks. There’s a hint of knowingness in her smile, an indication that she knows perfectly well what had just happened between you and her wife. 

The proposition of spending another handful of hours surrounded by incompetent strangers with no regard for others and continuous sounds that blended into static chatter didn’t sound appealing, but unless you called red, they weren’t taking you home. Reluctantly, you took Natasha’s hand, allowing the lawyer to lead you out of the boutique and toward a store much more your style. Wanda’s hand stayed firm on the small of your back as Natasha took the lead, but your focus had fallen beneath the waves as you surrendered to them entirely. 

-

A desperate whine slipped past your lips as Wanda pulled you into her chest, toned arms still warm from the sun wrapping tightly around your torso and keeping you still. The dressing room was saturated in gold plated decor and embellishments, illuminated by a chandelier framed with dazzling crystals worth more than your entire college education. Natasha had dragged the both of you into the high-end designer store with the hopes of them having their new summer collection, and much to your annoyance, they did. The bold colored suits were a powerful statement, she’d look absolutely delectable in them, but that was exactly what you were worried about. The thought of her in a suit so expensive and sleek sent tingles through your belly that couldn’t just be ignored, especially not with your already existing desperation. Wanda wasn’t blind to your frustration, and she smirked wickedly down at you the second Natasha had slipped behind the heavy fitting room door. 

“Shh, Mommy just wants to check.” She whispered against the shell of your ear, a cold hand trailing up the inside of your thigh that is absolutely drenched with arousal. Your eyes burn into hers as you both become controlled by lust, already blown pupils somehow finding additional blackness to manipulate until the color in Wanda’s eyes is entirely vacant. Your bottom lip is bitten and quivering as you feel her fingers start to massage your slick coated folds, a shaky breath at the back of your throat desperate to be unleashed. “Oh, you’re so wet sweetheart. Did Mommy do this to you?” 

You nod shortly at her question, aware of how close the tips of her cold fingers are coming to your clit every time she strokes the length of your folds, but each time they never brush against your stiff and throbbing nerve, merely coming close enough to tease before they’re gone. She circles your entrance repetitively, pressing against it only to pull away seconds later and trail her fingers back down toward the plug, but she never fully grazes that either. She’s content to keep playing with your body like a toy in the middle of the fitting room, her lewd actions have entirely drowned out the sounds of Natasha throwing different articles of clothes around in the dressing room just a few feet behind you, your focus entirely on her and the sensations she’s provoking cautiously. 

“Oh she did? Mommy did this? What a little slut, getting so worked up and Mommy’s not even touching you fully. You’re so easy, dorogaya” Wanda continues to tease condescendingly, giving you not a single second of relief as she digs her fingers harder into your cunt on the last swipe across your panties before she’s hooking her fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. 

Your eyes go wide as you look up at her fully, your shoulders tensing as she keeps tugging the soiled garment down your thighs. “W-What are you doing?” Your skirt is short, it’s flowy and it’s thin but that was Natasha’s entire goal when she dressed you that morning. You know that despite the length every intimate part of your body is covered, but you weren’t prepared to challenge the wind once you stepped outside again. 

“Color?” Wanda stops her movements, her voice soft and kind as she keeps her eyes on you. Everything before this point had been a discussion that you’d had time to prepare yourself for, but this was unplanned and admittedly terrifying, and yet your belly clenched at the prospect of her undressing you in a public space and forcing you to walk around with no barrier to catch your arousal. 

“G-Green.” You mumbled back at her once you’d taken a second to collect your thoughts and swallow your shock. Wanda nodded curtly before she slipped right back into her role, eyes hard and jaw clenched as she continued pulling your panties down before tapping your thigh in a silent demand for you to step out of them. 

“Then stop talking and let Mommy do what she wants.”  Her voice was hard, leaving no space for you to argue, but you weren’t going to. You stepped out of your panties with a gentle wince, feeling their dampness against your shins before the sensation was gone entirely and Wanda was holding them up to the light to inspect. Your cheeks flushed in humiliation, watching her fingers swipe across the soaked material before she hummed and folded them up, shoving them into her back pocket like they were just a piece of paper she’d found on the ground. “Good girl.” 

You bristled beneath her praise, but your attention drifted away from her when you heard the door unlock and Natasha’s soft footsteps came stepping out slowly. There was no question about whether she had heard the entire exchange, but you had no time to pay attention to her cheeks flush with need as you drank in the sight of her in a hundred thousand dollar suit. If your eyes weren’t already blown wide with lust, they certainly were now as you gawked at her defined biceps and breasts, the suit drowning some of her more prominent features but highly accentuating others. A rippled whine fell off your tongue as your eyes memorized the sight, but so badly you wanted to rip it off her body and drag her home to appreciate her fully. 

“P-Please.” You just barely got the plea off of your lips as Wanda sparked up a conversation with her wife, commenting on the fit of the suit before she began her shower of compliments and praise. You’d gone ignored, or maybe they just hadn’t heard you, whatever the reason for their silence toward you, it only frustrated you further. “Daddy please!” You tried again, eyes wet and pleading as you held onto the little attention Natasha was providing you as her eyes danced away from Wanda’s and found yours beneath the bright LED lights. 

“Shh.” Wanda scolded, a finger coming up to sit on your lips as she turned her head to glare at you. It wasn’t intentional, but your lips had done it anyway. The second her finger, still soft from your arousal, brushed against your lips, you’d let your tongue poke out and lick at her finger, able to identify the traces of you that clung to her skin despite how she’d wiped her fingers clean on your outer thigh. Your lips wrapped around the digit, suckling and biting sweetly as the blanket over your mind became thicker and warmer. Wanda didn’t stop you, merely returned her attention to Natasha before the Russian nodded and disappeared back into the fitting room, hopefully changing back into her own clothes. “Mommy needs that back, little one.” Wanda said softly, gently easing her finger from between your lips when it became apparent that you weren’t going to relinquish it yourself. A pitiful whine came falling off the tip of your tongue when she pulled it away, but she merely smiled sweetly and kissed the top of your head. “Come on, Daddy’s gonna check out and then we’re going to go home.” 

You shook your head, absolutely appalled at the suggestion that you’d have to wait until you arrived home to get what you wanted. The mall wasn’t far, but an hour was a long time for someone who had been teased and dragged along relentlessly since the sun had first kissed the gravel paths that weaved and winded through Westview. 

“No?” Wanda furrowed her brows, looking down at you with nothing but softness in her still black and lust filled stare. She’d dropped the condescending tone, abandoned the fleeting touches and teasing, but the only thing that would fully cure the arousal in her eyes was getting a taste of your sweet pussy. 

The words felt heavy on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t last another hour without release, and so they found their way off of your lips before you could panic about the implications of your request, “Fuck me now.” 

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but that look of shock that claimed her strong features had quickly become something sinister as she stepped closer to you, invading your personal space and allowed you the slightest tinge of her perfume as her chest came flush with yours and she let a single finger tilt your head upward to meet her heavy stare. “Yeah? You want your Daddy to put that strap to use and treat you like a filthy little slut where anyone can hear you crying out in pleasure? You want an audience, moya utenok?” 

A whimper filled the dressing room as your thighs pressed together, your lack of panties leaving the rush of arousal to drip nowhere by your thighs as you writhed beneath Wanda. A soft nod came next, and Wanda smirked proudly, mimicking your gesture before she stepped away entirely and turned her attention back to Natasha who had only just left the dressing room with the suit thrown over her forearm. 

“Hurry up, moya lyubov’. The little slut wants her Daddy to fuck her and who am I to say no to that?” Wanda taunted, grabbing your hand and leading you back out into the store, letting Natasha check out in peace as she occupied you with whispered promises of how the Russian was going to absolutely ruin you where anyone was around to watch. 

-

The only saving grace about Natasha’s car were the tinted windows that blocked out the eyes of anyone who dared to even get close to the Stingray. The seat was drenched in your arousal, thighs spread wide as you occupied almost the entire strip of leather. She’d need to clean the seats thoroughly when you got home, but for right now, neither of you cared. Your hands sunk into the cushioned row of seats as you pressed your ass out further, back arched and muscles strained as you dropped your forehead onto the window and watched with slitted eyes as your breath fogged up the glass. Wanda watched from the passenger seat, green eyes trained on your desperate form that reflected off the rearview mirror pointed downward. Natasha was pressed up against the door, shorts unzipped and hanging loosely over her hip bones as the strap stood at full attention, no longer confined beneath the stiff denim. 

Your skirt was bunched up around your hips, ass and thighs already red from various hits and spanks that the Russian had laid upon your ivory skin. She’d yet to touch you, but each hit that rocked the plug in your ass sent you reeling closer and closer to ultimate pleasure. All you could make out was white spots as they danced along your vision and intercepted the view of strangers and cars wrecking havoc in the parking lot around you. Even when a middle aged man and his wife had gotten close to the car, shopping bags in each of their hands that you could only assume was a pending return, you hadn’t focused much on what they could see from the outside. Your focus was entirely on Natasha, and yet the lawyer hadn’t done anything since bending you over. 

“D-Daddy please! I need you so bad! Please!” You cried out in desperation, back arching further as your nipples grazed the seats, your ass grinding against the strap that she refused to shove into you just yet. What she was waiting for, you didn’t know, but every agonizing second that passed was becoming longer and longer as you waited for relief to wash over you fully. Only she could get you to that point, and yet no matter how much you pleaded with her she didn’t cave. “P-Please!” A strangled cry slipped past your lips when her hand found your ass and her thumb pressed firmly on the jeweled plug nestled between your cheeks. 

“Shh.” The Russian coos. It’s the first sound that’s come to fill the car that wasn’t your own since she had aggressively shoved you into the backseat, and you greedily drink in the unspoken promise that what you want is coming soon. You have no time to prepare yourself for the intrusion of her strap as it slips between your folds and finds a home within your cunt in seconds, but you gasp so sweetly that Natasha doesn’t stop to give you a moment to adjust to the wide girth that’s splitting you open. You’ve wanted this for hours, she’s in no mood to drag your pleasure out any further, having already tested her own patience as she waited for Wanda’s silent permission to begin. You’d been oblivious to the curt nod that was given by the Sokovian, but as much as the game was in Natasha’s hands now, Wanda still held all the cards. “Do you feel that, malyshka? Feel Daddy’s cock splitting you open? Filling this slutty little pussy where anyone can see if they come close enough. I bet you’re so full. This pretty little plug has been driving you crazy all day, hasn’t it? Mommy picked out such a pretty color for you.” As the words drive you farther and farther into pleasure and submission, Natasha’s thumb presses against the plug and sends your mind spiraling downward into a sea of static energy. There’s a thick ringing in your ears that forces your mind to go blank, your hips that had been stuttering against her quick thrusts stilling as you surrendered your body to her control, willing to take whatever she gave you in this very moment. 

Natasha’s thrusts only grow faster as your moans and whines become softer and sweeter, desperation not only evident in the way your arousal soaks your thighs and the seats, but in the pitch of your moans as they fill the car and ricochet off the windows. You don’t have it in you to feel embarrassed by how loud you’re being, your only focus is taking the pleasure and not letting it slip away again. A broken cry leaves your lips as Natasha’s hand finds your clit, thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive nub as she winds you tighter and tighter. Her own thrusts are becoming choppy and quick, groans of pleasure harmonizing with yours until the entire car is just an explicit symphony of intimacy. Wanda’s eyes haven’t left you once, but you can’t see her with the way you’re bent and arched over. Natasha can, and she curses beautiful in Russian as she gives you the green light to let go. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Cum for me. Cum on Daddy’s strap.” She encourages gently, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own pleasure and orgasms with a delicate moan, though it's quickly drowned out by your own sobs and cries of bliss as you writhe beneath her heavy hands and let the coil snap in your belly. Your body shakes in the aftermath, arms giving out on you as you crash against the leather seats and subsequently pull your cunt off of her strap, the glistening material catching rays of sunlight before she quickly tucks it back into her shorts and zips them up. “You did so good for us, malyshka. So so good.” Natasha kisses the bottom of your spine, her fingers working on the plug in your ass simultaneously. Wanda maneuvered herself in the passenger seat, her hand reaching out to just barely brush against your upper back as well. “Relax for me, angel. Let Daddy take this plug out and then we’ll go home.” She talks you through the process, but nothing prepares you for how empty you feel when the metal is no longer flush against your walls keeping you full. A strangled whimper falls off your lips before it’s gently drowned out by shushing and shuffling. Natasha, unwilling to let you go through aftercare in a crowded parking lot all twisted up, opens the door and steps out of the car, nodding for Wanda to occupy a seat in the back beside you. “Mommy’s gonna sit back here with you, and Daddy’s gonna take us home. Just let go, honey. It’s all okay.” 

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes for Wanda to be sat beside you, your body curled up into her chest and void of a seatbelt. Typically she’d scold you for such a behavior, but all she does now is hold you tighter and kiss your head, promising that you’ll be home soon and there will be plenty of cuddles and kisses all wrapped up beneath the heavy blankets on the bed.

[julietsf1]

Best Day Ever - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: Oscar's win and Franco's first points have to be celebrated. With her best friend Lando playing matchmaker and the tension between Y/N and Franco simmering, the night promises to be anything but ordinary. Sparks fly on the dance floor, but is Y/N ready to admit what’s really going on?

Warnings: Questionable fashion choices from Charles, Jealous Franco

A N - okay so I never write but I couldn't help myself. another one lol. I adore this man, I really hope he'll get a seat next year:)

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I slipped into Lando’s hotel room, dodging the chaos of clothes strewn everywhere and the blast of upbeat music. As expected, the room was a disaster—a tornado of outfits scattered around, and Lando stood in front of the mirror with two shirts, looking deeply conflicted.

“You’re taking this way too seriously,” I teased, dropping my bag on the bed and watching him as he inspected each shirt like it was a life-or-death decision.

Lando turned, giving me a dramatic sigh. “You don’t get it, darling. As tonight’s DJ, I need to look the part. No one’s gonna take me seriously behind the decks if I look like shit.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “Yes, because that’s exactly why people come to the club... for your shirt.”

He dramatically held up the two options for me to judge. “So? Bright white to make my tan pop? Or black for mysterious, sexy DJ vibes?”

I chuckled, shaking my head as I pulled out my dress. “The real question is, how long until you spill something on it?” I shot back with a grin.

Lando grinned right back at me, tossing the white shirt aside. “Good point. But now, your turn. What are we working with tonight, Y/N?”

I unzipped my bag and pulled out the stunning red dress I’d been waiting to wear. It was the kind of dress that would turn heads the second I walked into the club. Lando’s eyes widened dramatically when he saw it.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, stepping closer to inspect the dress as if it were a priceless artifact. “What’s the occasion? Trying to murder Franco tonight or what? Because if I were him, I’d be dead on the spot.”

Rolling my eyes, I ignored the blush creeping up my cheeks. “It’s not for him. I just like looking good. Is that a crime?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Lando said, smirking. “But let’s be frank. Or should I say ‘frank-o’? Get it?”

I rolled my eyes again, groaning at his pun. Classic Lando.

Lando sighed dramatically at my lack of enthusiasm but pressed on. “Anyway, you’ve been on Franco’s mind all weekend. The way he’s been sneaking glances at you? Totally adorable.”

I slipped behind the dressing screen to change. “Franco sneaks glances at every girl. It’s his thing.”

“Ah, but here’s the kicker,” Lando leaned against the screen like he was sharing the world’s best-kept secret. “You’re the only one who acts like you don’t care. He finds it irresistible.”

I emerged from behind the screen, giving Lando a look. “I’m not here for his ego trip. I’m here to celebrate Oscar’s win. Now help me zip up, please.”

Lando smirked, walking over to help with the zipper. His fingers brushed lightly against my back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sure. That’s why you wore that dress. Totally not because of Franco.”

“Do you ever shut up?” I teased, adjusting the straps of my dress as I looked in the mirror. The reflection staring back at me was more confident than I felt. The dress hugged my figure in all the right places, making me feel bold despite the nerves bubbling in my chest.

Lando chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he grabbed his black shirt and pulled it over his head. “Just trying to help. You’ve got something going on with Franco, and I—your devilishly handsome sidekick—am here to make sure it happens.”

“There’s nothing going on,” I insisted, straightening the hem of my dress. “It’s just banter.”

Lando gave me a playful wink. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say. But tonight, when he sees you in that dress, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Man’s going to be speechless.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re in denial,” he shot back. “Now, let’s get going. The club’s not going to know what hit it.”

I grabbed my purse, shaking my head with a smile as we headed for the door. No matter how much Lando teased, there was something about his playful energy that always put me at ease. He knew how to turn any situation into a joke, and even if I wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, the thought of Franco seeing me tonight had me feeling a little more excited than I should’ve been.

“Ready to knock ‘em dead?” Lando asked as we reached the elevator.

I smirked. “Let’s dance, baby.”

Lando grinned, pressing the button for the lobby. 

.

The second we stepped into the club, I could feel the shift in energy. The bass was pounding through the floor, neon lights flickering in rhythm with the music, and a sea of people already swaying to the beat. It was one of those nights where you could tell things were only going to get wilder as the hours passed.

Lando, naturally, was beaming as he led us toward our reserved table, his usual confidence on full display. “This is going to be legendary,” he grinned, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “You ready to make some memories?”

I smirked, adjusting the strap of my dress. “If by memories, you mean watching you make a fool of yourself on the dance floor, then absolutely.”

Lando wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Just wait until I start playing some tracks. You won’t know what hit you.”

As we approached the table, George was already making himself comfortable, adjusting his collar like the proper gentleman he always tried to be, while Alex slid in beside him, looking equally ready to unwind after the weekend.

“This place,” George mused, his eyes scanning the scene, “positively buzzes. I might even have to loosen a few buttons tonight, fellas.”

Alex laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh no, George Russell, loosing up? What is the world coming to?”

Before George could respond with one of his comebacks, the door to the club swung open, and in walked Max, Daniel, and Charles—each of them making an entrance like they owned the place. Max, already sipping on a gin tonic, had that relaxed grin he only ever showed when he was off-track, while Daniel was bouncing with energy as usual, ready to bring chaos. Charles, however, had topped them all, not only wearing his patchwork pants, but also sporting a pair of ridiculous neon pink sunglasses that instantly made me burst out laughing.

Lando, seeing Charles in all his glory, was quick to point out the obvious. “Alright, who let Charles dress himself? Where is Alexandra when we need her?”

Charles just grinned, pushing the sunglasses further up his nose. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Norris.”

Daniel, never one to miss a beat, clapped me on the back as he slid into the booth next to me. “Looking hot tonight, Y/N. I’m pretty sure jaws will drop.”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to blush. “It’s just a dress, Daniel. Let’s focus on the real star of the night—Oscar.”

Oscar, ever the quiet one, gave me a sheepish smile from across the table. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Lando interjected, throwing an arm around Oscar. “You’re the man of the hour! We’re celebrating you tonight, mate. And Franco when he shows up of course.”

Max, already in full party mode, flagged down a waiter with a confident wave. “Gin tonics all around—and something stronger for Oscar. What do you say?”

Oscar chuckled awkwardly as Daniel threw an arm around his shoulders, laughing. “Yeah, mate. Time to get wild.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as Max and Daniel continued to heap praise on Oscar, who was clearly not loving being the center of attention.

“He needs more than one drink for that,” I said, leaning back with a grin. “Oscar’s more the ‘quiet observer’ type.”

“That’s exactly what makes it more fun,” Lando added, his grin widening. “He’s like a ticking time bomb. You never know when he’s going to blow.”

Just then, the drinks arrived. Daniel raised his glass, holding it high for the group. “To my favorite fellow Aussie,” he declared, causing Oscar to smile awkwardly as Daniel continued, “And to a night we’re definitely not going to remember.”

“Cheers!” we all echoed, clinking glasses.

Max wasted no time, clapping Oscar on the back. “No sitting tonight, mate. Come on, time to dance.”

Oscar looked wide-eyed for a moment before Max and Daniel each grabbed one of his arms, dragging him onto the dance floor. He glanced back at us with a look that screamed help me.

I laughed as I watched Oscar get pulled into the chaos. “Well, there goes Oscar.”

Lando grinned, leaning in closer. “You know what Oscar needs to loosen up?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh no, not this again...”

“Tequila.” Lando’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Come on, we’ve got shots to retrieve.”

Before I could protest, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the bar, dodging people along the way. It was like Lando had some sort of radar for causing trouble, and tonight, tequila was at the center of his plans.

We reached the bar, and with a few charming words from Lando, the bartender handed over a full tray of tequila shots.

“Think this is enough?” I asked, eyeing the tray suspiciously.

Lando gave me a mock-serious look. “Not even close.”

As we carried the tray back to the table, I couldn’t stop laughing at the sight of our friends still tearing up the dance floor. Max and Daniel were already locked in some sort of ridiculous dance battle, while Charles, still sporting his horrible sunglasses, was swaying with his gin tonic in hand like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oscar’s going to die out there,” I chuckled, shaking my head.

“Not if the tequila kicks in first,” Lando smirked, placing the tray down on the table.

Just as we settled back at the booth, the door to the club swung open once more, and in walked Carlos and Franco. Carlos, as always, looked effortlessly sexy, his dark shirt unbuttoned just enough to make every girl in the club swoon. But Franco? My heart skipped a beat when I saw him—his eyes immediately locking onto mine with that intense, playful glint that I was starting to recognize all too well.

He looked different tonight—glowing from the inside out, like the weight of proving himself had finally been lifted. The victory of his first points in F1 suited him. His confidence was always there, but now it had this newfound depth that made it impossible not to notice him.

Lando, ever the instigator, nudged me under the table, trying to hide his grin. “Look at your man, glowing,” he whispered with an exaggerated wink.

“Shut it,” I muttered, though my pulse had quickened at the sight of Franco.

As they made their way over, the group welcomed them with cheers and raised glasses. Carlos slid into the booth beside George, while Franco took the seat across from me, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re late,” I teased, lifting my shot glass in his direction.

Franco grinned, his gaze flickering from the glass to my dress and back to my eyes. “Fashionably late, of course. You know how it is.”

“Always with an excuse,” I shot back, though I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

Franco leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough for me to hear. “Maybe I just wanted to make an entrance. Catch someone’s attention.”

Under the table, Lando kicked me again, even more subtly this time, though his grin was anything but subtle. I shot him a look, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” I said, keeping my tone light as I shook my head at Franco. “Nice try, though.”

Franco chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Lando’s face lit up, his grin widening as he picked up one of the tequila shots. “Before we do anything else, we need to make a toast.”

Alex, George, and I exchanged glances as Lando raised his shot glass high, his voice carrying over the thumping music. “To Franco, for getting his first F1 points!” he declared, eyes twinkling with excitement. “He’s officially no longer just a pretty face—he can drive, too!”

Everyone laughed, Franco shaking his head with a mock roll of his eyes, but there was no denying the pride shining in his green eyes. He raised his glass, meeting Lando’s playful grin. “Thanks, mate,” he said with a smirk, his voice carrying that familiar flirty edge as he glanced over at me. “It’s about time I caught up.”

“To Franco!” Lando repeated, and the group joined in the chorus, clinking glasses before throwing back the shots.

The tequila burned, but it wasn’t just the alcohol that made my pulse race—it was the way Franco’s eyes lingered on me

“So,” Franco began, his voice low and smooth, “do you always look this good when you go out? Or is this just for me?”

I raised an eyebrow, trying my best not to smile. “I think you’ve been hanging out with Lando too much. His cockiness is rubbing off.”

Franco chuckled softly, his eyes still fixed on mine. “Maybe. But I’m serious. You look… incredible.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t quite hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “You say that to every girl, Franco.”

His grin widened, leaning in just enough to make my heart race. “Not like this. And not to every girl.”

It was the way he said it—calm, confident, and undeniably sincere—that made me falter. There was no denying the effect his words had on me, but I wasn’t about to let him know that.

“Nice try,” I said, taking a sip of my drink, determined to stay unbothered. “But I’m not falling for it.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Who said I was trying anything? I’m just telling the truth.”

Carlos was still engrossed in conversation with Lando, leaving me to handle Franco on my own. Lando, however, didn’t miss the exchange, and I felt a not-so-subtle nudge from him under the table. “Told you,” he whispered, barely hiding his grin. “He’s got it bad.”

I shot Lando a look but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through me. Franco wasn’t making this easy.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the night?” I asked, trying to shift the conversation away from me.

Franco’s smile turned playful, his eyes never leaving mine. “Dance, maybe. If you’re up for it.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “In your dreams, maybe.”

“Trust me, cariño,” Franco said, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine, “I’ve had plenty of those already.”

I swallowed, trying to keep my composure. Franco’s flirty nature wasn’t new, but tonight, it felt different—more direct, more intentional. And the Spanish- oh my days. 

Before things could escalate further, I decided to save myself. I stood abruptly, grabbing Lando’s arm. “I need to dance,” I announced, pulling him up with me. “Come on, Norris. Let’s go.”

Lando blinked in surprise but quickly recovered, flashing Franco a smug grin. “Later, Colapinto,” he called as I dragged him toward the dance floor. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back soon.”

Grabbing Lando’s arm, I dragged him out of the booth and into the center of the dance floor, determined to drown out the tension with music and laughter.

“Whoa, easy there!” Lando exclaimed with a grin as I pulled him into the mass of bodies. The bass was so strong I could feel it reverberate through the floor and into my chest. Neon lights flickered over the crowd, casting everyone in shades of blue, purple, and red.

“I need to dance!” I shouted over the music, spinning him around as the beat dropped. “Get your head in the game, Norris!”

Lando, always ready for a bit of fun, didn’t miss a beat. “You’re lucky I’m the best dance partner you could ask for!” he laughed, immediately pulling me into a ridiculous salsa move that made me burst into giggles. His over-the-top style was exactly what I needed to shake off Franco’s intense gaze.

We danced together in sync for a while, Lando’s antics drawing more laughter from me than I’d had all night. He was twirling, dipping, and making exaggerated poses with every beat, reminding me how effortlessly fun it could be to just let go.

“You’re a nightmare,” I teased, dodging one of his particularly dramatic moves as he spun me around.

“And you’re loving every second of it!” Lando grinned, completely unbothered by how ridiculous he looked.

For a few blissful minutes, I allowed myself to get lost in the music. The lights, the crowd, and Lando’s contagious energy made everything else fade into the background. But no matter how hard I tried to focus on the fun, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

Franco.

Even with the mass of people between us, I could feel his eyes on me. I stole a glance toward the bar and, sure enough, there he was, standing with Carlos, Alex, and George, his eyes fixed on me like a magnet. The intensity in his gaze was impossible to ignore, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Stop staring,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head to push the thought away. But even as I laughed it off, I couldn’t deny the way my heart sped up when I caught Franco watching.

Lando twirled me again, pulling me close to shout over the music. “Franco hasn’t stopped looking at you all night!”

I rolled my eyes, feigning indifference. “That’s just Franco being Franco. He’s like that with everyone.”

“Uh-huh, right.” Lando shot me a knowing grin. “Just with everyone? Come on, Y/N, you’re not fooling me.”

I groaned, pulling away slightly as we continued to dance. “Can we not talk about him right now? I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

“Sure, sure,” Lando laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “But you know he’s watching, right? Might as well give him a show.”

Before I could respond, Lando grabbed my hands and twirled me into a dramatic dip, making me squeal with laughter. It was ridiculous and playful, exactly the distraction I needed. But even as I danced, I couldn’t fully shake the sensation of Franco’s gaze burning into me.

Eventually, the heat of the dance floor got to me, and I pulled Lando off to the side, fanning myself as we made our way to the bar. “I need a drink,” I muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead.

“Good call,” Lando agreed, still grinning like a madman. “But I’ve got a better idea—why don’t you get some fresh air. You look like you’re about to combust.”

I nodded, following him toward the exit. The night breeze hit me like a wave of relief, cool and refreshing against my flushed skin. I let out a long breath, leaning against the side of the building as I tried to shake off the lingering tension.

Just as I was starting to feel a bit more grounded, Oscar appeared from the shadows, looking surprisingly calm despite the chaos happening inside.

“Oscar?” I blinked, surprised to see him outside. “What are you doing out here?”

Oscar, ever the quiet observer, gave a small shrug, his usual smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Hiding of course. Max and Daniel are going way too hard in there.”

I chuckled, nodding in agreement. “I don’t blame you. It’s getting a bit crazy. I think I just saw Max crowdsurfing with Charles’s glasses on.”

We stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the music still thumping faintly in the background. I leaned against the wall, tilting my head back to take in the stars above. It felt good to breathe, to have a moment of peace before heading back into the chaos.

But Oscar, always perceptive, wasn’t one to let things slide. “You alright?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with meaning.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah, just… trying to clear my head.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Franco, would it?”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat at the mention of his name. “What? No. Why would it?”

Oscar gave me a knowing look, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, Y/N. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you’ve been acting tonight…”

I crossed my arms defensively, trying to brush it off. “He’s just being his usual flirty self. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Oscar leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as well. “Doesn’t it?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in my throat. Oscar was too good at reading people, and he wasn’t letting me get away with pretending everything was fine.

He sighed, glancing toward the club entrance. “Look, I’m not saying you have to do anything about it. But it’s pretty clear there’s something there. You can’t ignore it forever.”

I groaned, running a hand through my hair.

Oscar offered a sympathetic smile, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Love always is a bit complicated, I think. But that doesn’t mean you should run away from it.”

We fell into silence again, the weight of his words hanging in the air. I wasn’t ready to confront whatever I was feeling, not yet. But Oscar’s insight had a way of sticking with me, whether I wanted it to or not.

After a few moments, Oscar pushed off the wall and gave me a small smile. “Come on, let’s head back inside. I think Lando’s getting ready to play.”

I nodded, following him back toward the entrance. The cool air had done little to calm my racing heart, and I knew I wasn’t ready to face Franco again. But there was no avoiding it. Not tonight.

As we stepped back into the club, the music hit me like a wave, and the energy inside was even more electric than before. Lando was at the DJ booth now, a massive grin on his face as he was preparing to take over the set. The dance floor was packed, and the flashing lights made everything feel surreal.

I spotted Franco near the bar, his eyes immediately locking onto mine as I walked back inside. He didn’t look away this time. Instead, he took a slow sip from his drink, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Oscar nudged me with his elbow, smirking. “Looks like you’ve got some unfinished business.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way my stomach flipped at the sight of Franco watching me. “Let’s just dance,” I muttered, pulling Oscar onto the dance floor.

“Y/N! Oscar! Get over here! We were starting to think you’d run off!” Carlos shouted over the music, motioning me toward him.

Without thinking, I grabbed Oscar’s hand and pulled him toward the group. The music, the lights, and the laughter of my friends wrapped around me, easing the tension built up in me earlier. Oscar, clearly reluctant, laughed softly as I spun him around in the middle of the dance floor. His awkward moves were no match for my playful swaying, but it made the moment even funnier.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” I teased him, grinning from ear to ear.

“I never claimed to be a pro,” Oscar quipped, barely able to keep up. His shy smile only made me laugh harder.

Carlos was quick to join in, pulling me away from Oscar as he swayed confidently to the rhythm. The crowd around us blurred, and soon, it was just the familiar faces of my friends. Carlos twirled me once before leaning in playfully.

“Careful, Y/N,” he teased, “I might steal you away from everyone tonight.”

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “As if! You could try, though.”

Behind me, I could feel the heat of Franco’s gaze burning into the back of my neck. His eyes never left me. Every time Carlos spun me or made me laugh, I could sense Franco’s attention shifting, the tension in his stance growing tighter.

Carlos, always perceptive, picked up on it quickly. "Franco’s been eyeing you more than usual," he commented under his breath, smirking as he twirled me again. "What’s going on there?"

I rolled my eyes, feigning indifference. "Nothing. He’s just… being Franco."

Carlos chuckled, his grip on my waist tightening slightly as we moved in sync with the beat. "Right. Nothing. That’s why he’s looking like he wants to punch me."

I let out a huff, but the truth was, I could feel the tension between me and Franco bubbling beneath the surface. Every glance, every stolen look, felt like a promise—one I wasn’t sure I was ready to face yet.

As the song came to an end, I found myself needing a break. "I need a drink," I said, fanning myself as I pulled away from Carlos. "Anyone else?"

Carlos grinned, giving me a playful wink. "I’m good. Say hi to your lover boy from me please."

I laughed, waving him off as I made my way towards the bar. The crowd parted slightly as I moved, and for a moment, I allowed myself to breathe, to reset. But I wasn’t alone for long.

Before I could even order my drink, Franco was there, sliding up beside me with an ease that made my heart skip a beat. His presence was overwhelming, his green eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the noise of the club fade into the background.

"You and Carlos seem to be getting along pretty well," Franco commented, his tone casual but laced with something darker—something that sent a thrill down my spine.

I raised an eyebrow, turning to face him fully. "What’s it to you?" I asked, my voice light but teasing. I wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

Franco stepped closer, his body brushing against mine as he leaned in. "Just making sure you’re not getting too comfortable with the wrong guy," he said, his voice low, almost possessive.

A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. "Jealous?" I teased, leaning into the challenge. His proximity was intoxicating, and it took everything in me not to show just how much he was affecting me.

Franco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t step back. If anything, he moved closer, his gaze dark and unreadable. "Maybe," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to my lips before meeting my gaze again. "But you already knew that."

The air between us was charged, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I could feel the heat of his body against mine, the way his hand hovered near my waist as if he was waiting for permission to touch me.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Lando’s voice cut through the air, announcing that he was about to take over the set. 

The music changed in an instant. The high-energy beats slowed, replaced by something smoother, more intimate. The kind of rhythm that forced people to get close—whether they wanted to or not.

Looking at the booth, I instantly made eye contact with Lando, who winked at me with the widest smirk ever. I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. It was his not-so-subtle attempt at playing matchmaker again, and as much as I hated to admit it, the slow, heavy beat was making it very hard to resist the magnetic pull I felt toward Franco.

"Guess Lando’s got a sense of humor," Franco murmured, closing the distance between us again, his breath brushing against my ear.

I swallowed hard. He was close—too close. The tension that had been simmering all night was now palpable, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending it didn’t affect me. The smell of his cologne, the warmth of his body, I was slowly losing my mind. 

Franco didn’t wait for me to respond. His hand found the small of my back, pulling me gently towards him. "Dance with me? Please." His voice was low, almost a whisper, and the sincerity in his eyes caught me off guard. This wasn’t the usual playful Franco I was used to—the one who flirted just for the sake of it. There was something deeper in his gaze, something real.

I hesitated for a moment, trying to catch my breath. "Franco…"

He leaned in, his lips hovering near my ear. "I’m not playing games tonight, Y/N," he whispered, his tone soft but firm. "This isn’t just me messing around."

I looked up at him, my heart skipping a beat at the vulnerability in his eyes. He was being sincere. This wasn’t the usual charm or smooth lines he used with everyone else—this was real. And it scared me.

"I…" I started, but the words caught in my throat. I didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know if I could trust what I was feeling.

Franco’s hand slid from my back to my waist, pulling me even closer until there was no space left between us. His breath was warm against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "Just dance with me," he whispered again, his lips brushing my ear.

The music pulsed around us, slow and steady, and before I could think better of it, I nodded, slowly letting my guard down and giving in to the moment. Franco’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and he guided me onto the dance floor, our bodies moving in sync with the beat.

For a few moments, we just swayed together, the tension between us crackling in the air. Every touch, every brush of his hand against my skin, sent electricity shooting through me. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, the steady thump of his heart against mine as we moved together.

"You know," Franco murmured, his voice a little rougher now, "I wasn’t lying earlier. About you."

I looked up at him, trying to keep my voice steady. "What do you mean?"

His green eyes met mine, filled with something I couldn’t quite place. "I know I make a lot of flirty jokes. With everyone. But with you? It’s different."

I blinked, the honesty in his words taking me by surprise. I opened my mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished.

"I don’t want you to think I’m just… playing around. This isn’t just some game to me." His hand tightened slightly on my waist, pulling me closer. "You are special to me. I just… I want you to be mine. Just mine."

My heart was pounding in my chest, the world around us fading into the background. His words hung in the air between us, and for the first time, I didn’t know what to say.

Before I could respond, Franco’s hand slid from my waist to my lower back, his fingers brushing against the bare skin exposed by my dress. "I don’t like sharing you," he added, his voice low and filled with something darker, something possessive.

A shiver ran down my spine at the intensity of his words. My heart skipped a beat, my breath catching in my throat as I looked up at him, our faces inches apart.

"Who said you had to?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the music.

Franco didn’t wait for permission. In one swift motion, he closed the gap between us, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was like all the tension that had been building between us finally exploded in that one moment. His hands cupped my face, holding me close as his lips moved against mine with a desperation that matched my own. I responded with equal intensity, my hands threading through his hair as I pressed myself closer to him.

The world around us ceased to exist. The music, the crowd, the lights—it all faded into nothing as I lost myself in the kiss. His lips were soft but demanding, and every brush of his fingers against my skin sent a jolt of electricity through me.

He pulled me even closer, his hands sliding down my back, and I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my chest. My own pulse was racing, my thoughts spinning out of control as we stumbled slightly, moving toward the edge of the dance floor.

Franco’s back hit the wall, and he pulled me against him, his hands still gripping my waist as we kissed with a fervor I hadn’t known existed. His tongue brushed against mine, and I let out a soft gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair as I pressed my body against his.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. Franco’s green eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he looked down at me.

"I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

I smiled, my fingers still tangled in his hair. "You’re not the only one," I whispered back, my heart racing.

Franco chuckled softly, his hands still resting on my waist as he looked down at me with a mix of affection and desire. "I’m never letting you go now, hermosa."

The way he said it made my heart flutter, and without thinking, I leaned in for another kiss. This one was slower, more tender, but just as intense. We stayed like that for what felt like forever, lost in our own little world, oblivious to the party happening around us.

Finally, Franco pulled back, his eyes searching mine. "Let’s get out of here," he murmured, his voice still rough with emotion.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Together, we slipped away from the dance floor, unnoticed by the rest of the party as we made our way outside.

The club’s energy still buzzed in my veins as Franco and I stepped outside, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat of the dance floor. He tugged me toward the beach, the soft sound of waves pulling us further away from the noise inside. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting the Baku coast in a beautiful gentle silver glow. I couldn’t help but smile at the shift in atmosphere, from the wild club scene to the quiet, intimate stillness of the beach.

Franco was glowing, that much was obvious. He hadn’t stopped smiling since we left the club. And I knew it wasn’t just the thrill of dancing. Scoring his first F1 points today had him on cloud nine, and it was infectious. I felt it, too—his joy, his excitement—it made him even more attractive, if that was possible.

“You’re really not tired?” I teased, bumping his shoulder lightly as we strolled along the sand. “It’s been a pretty big day for you.”

He turned to me, his green eyes sparkling under the moonlight. “Are you kidding? Best day of my life.”

I laughed softly, stopping to let the waves lap at my feet. “The points are a big deal, Colapinto. You’re a proper driver now.”

Franco chuckled, but when he looked at me, his expression softened. “Yeah, but it’s not just the points. Today… everything about it just feels right.”

I raised an eyebrow, playfully tilting my head. “Oh yeah? What’s so special about it?”

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I could see past all the flirting and teasing to something deeper. “You,” he said simply, stepping closer. “This.”

I blinked, my heart stumbling over itself at the sincerity in his voice. “Oh stop it…”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted gently, his voice dropping lower. “Today was incredible. But I’ve been wanting this moment with you for a while. And tonight… it’s just perfect.”

There it was again—that raw honesty that caught me off guard. He wasn’t playing games, wasn’t teasing. He meant it.

“I didn’t think anything could top your race today,” I said quietly, unable to tear my gaze away from him.

Franco smiled, his hand finding its way to my waist, pulling me a little closer. “The points were great. But this? Being here with you? This is better.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and before I knew it, we were kissing again. But this time, it was slower, more deliberate. The heat from earlier gave way to something softer, something that made my heart ache in the best way possible.

When we finally pulled back, I rested my forehead against his, still catching my breath. “Guess today really was your day, huh?”

Franco chuckled, his hand gently brushing my hair back. “Yeah. And it’s not over yet.”

[irisinluv]

Yandere x Time Traveler Reader

You could recite the rules by memory if you had to. You were read them before each and every time jump. The most important being- don’t do anything to alter the course of history, don’t let anyone know about time travel, and don’t stay longer than necessary. There’s a slew of other minute details to the rule book, time traveling is a delicate business after all. But you love your job, and you understand how important your work is. You see, history records are often sloppy. We do our best to put things together with old newspapers, books, and the occasional photo, but what if you could go back and meticulously record everything the exact way it was?

Well, historians realized they could utilize time travel to observe and document historic events and time periods. That’s where you come in. You are a field agent- dressed in time appropriate clothes, practiced in period accurate slang and culture, armed with a backstory, and ready to jump back in time to learn the things time has forgot.

You’ve done countless runs before, and this one is no different. Go in. Learn everything you can, and then get the hell out. You don’t stay more than a week, and whatever you do, you stick to your company drafted backstory if anyone ask. So, with this in mind, you wave to your team, and step back in time.

The 1920s proved to be more colorful than you’d imagined. Sure you knew not everything was in black and white… but you expected things to be a bit more drab. The streets were busy with old timey cars in each of the primary colors, women bustled down the streets in loose, boxy dresses with gorgeous patterns. You took note that maybe the 20s were onto something when you noticed the high waisted pants all the men seemed to be wearing. You’d certainly be recommending these slutty little numbers make a comeback.

Taking in all these details, you took a moment to enjoy being a tourist in a new time. This was your favorite part of the job- constantly exploring. You loved the freedom you had. Granted you had your rules, but you could go anywhere. Any time. It was fantastic. Ducking into a cafe, you took a second to inspect the menu before ordering, and taking a seat at a booth. You began people watching as you sipped your drink, taking mental notes of everything and anything that you could jot down later. Suddenly, you’re interrupted from your observations as someone slid into the seat across from you in the booth.

Sawyer saw you order and sit down, and was fascinated by you. You carried yourself differently than anyone he’d seen before, with a natural ease and confidence, yet he could see your eyes assessing everything around you with a slight hint of wonder that made him wonder what those eyes would say if they looked his way. After observing you for several minutes, Sawyer made his move.

You couldn’t help but feel comfortable about the man who slid into your booth and started chatting with you. It wasn’t against the rules to talk with people like this- it was often crucial in fact. As long as you didn’t do anything drastic like save or end their life, convince them of some major course of action, etc…. It often paid to have a friend in an unfamiliar time. So when Sawyer asked you if you had plans this evening…. You had told him you were free.

Now it’s a quarter to 6 and he’s picking you up at the hotel you’d arranged earlier in the day. You had a change of clothes already packed for the occasion, and were buzzing to see inside a real speakeasy during prohibition. Sawyer was prompt in picking you up, and it was only a short walk to a back door of a building. He was ushered inside and soon the two of you were sitting together, leaning close to speak as you sipped (rather horrible) watered down drinks.

You kept to your story- you were traveling from the countryside, and would be in town for the next week. Sawyer noticed, however, how much you steered the conversation away from yourself. You did so skillfully and he had to admire that, but you were secretive none the less. Of course, this only served to further fascinate the man. What was originally just a little crush began to turn into a burning need to know more. What were those calculating eyes of yours thinking? Why did you take everything in with such wonder, like you were committing every detail to memory? He had to know.

For the next several days, Sawyer acted as your guide through the city, showing you clubs and shows and the best places to eat. You found yourself genuinely enjoying his company, and it wasn’t hard to tell he greatly enjoyed yours- showing up first thing each morning to escort you on another adventure. You realized you needed to begin distancing yourself from him, however, as he was pressing you for more details about yourself, and was expertly dodging your attempts at redirection. So, with only a few days left before you had to return, you switched hotels. Went to a different part of town, and began looking into the affairs of a few businesses. You needed to round out your research more anyways.

Sawyer arrived at his usual time, only to find you gone. The hotel attendant explained you’d checked out early, and left no explanation. Sawyers heart stopped. You were the love of his life. He knows it’s sudden, and stupid, he hardly knows you…. But at the same time he feels like he knows you better than anyone else alive. In the few days you’d spent together he’d taken in every little detail about you. He could tell when you were excited or disgusted just by the way your nose twitched. He knew your food preferences, knew how to make you laugh, and just felt like he knew you on a soul deep level…. But you were gone. You’d left him….

You were taking note of the stock in a grocery store a few days later when Sawyer finally saw you. He didn’t approach, instead, followed you back to your hotel. He watched you through a sliver in the curtains as you pulled out a pad of paper and began writing. He watched until you fell asleep, and then slowly crept in through the window. He gently picked up the notepad, only to furrow his brows, confused. You were…. Taking note of the style of labels on soup cans, and the price stickers used? He looked around the room and saw a few other note pads, gently placing the one he’d grabbed back next to your sleeping form, he began snooping through the rest of your notes. You had pages and pages written about what you’d observed, meticulous notes littered with your own commentary and thoughts. And that’s when Sawyer realized the truth. He didn’t have all the details- but he knew you were from the future. You were from the future, and you’d be leaving him in less than 24 hours.

He knew he had to act. He found the small device you would use to return home- it was disguised as a watch, and tucked away inside one of your luggage bags. Holding the small object in his hand, he came up with a plan. Shooting one last look to your sleeping form, he made sure everything was as you left it, aside from your watch, which he slipped in his pocket, and then crept back outside.

The next day, you hustled to finish investigating the last few things your colleagues were interested in. You were walking down the road when you heard a familiar voice call out. Closing your eyes and letting out a soft curse, you turned to see Sawyer racing towards you with a grin.

“Hey! There you are! When they told me you’d checked out a few days ago I’d assumed you left! Glad I found you though! Did you lose a watch by any chance? I found it in the pocket of that coat you borrowed after the theater, it’s small and gold with some swirling patterns carved into it?”

Your eyes widened…. That was your ticket home. How the hell did you not notice it was gone?? You thank him profusely for finding it, and tell him that yes, it’s yours! He clarifies,

“It’s back at my place, I didn’t think I’d run into you so I wasn’t carrying with me. If you’d like, you can swing by my house with me and pick it up?”

Of course you readily agree- after all, you need to leave in a few hours, and seeing inside his house would be great for your research. So, you agree to go home with him. I mean you only had a few hours left. Saying goodbye for real this time wouldn’t hurt.

Sawyers breath catches as you step inside his house. Why does this seem so natural? So perfect? You, fingers lightly tracing the wood banister as you take it all it. You, turning to look where he stands in the entryway - God, he can imagine coming home from work, with you greeting him with a smile just like this. The only thing missing is a kiss. He blinks out of it as he realizes you’re asking about your watch.

“Oh, yes, of course! It’s just down here, follow me!”

He leads you downstairs to a partially finished basement. Partially finished is a loose term. It’s a usable area at least, a workbench in once corner, and minimal boxes cluttering the space. Instead, it’s relatively clean, there’s a few chairs and a couch set up. Far from a living space, but it’s certainly functional. You’re taking all this in when suddenly you’re pulled back wards, stumbling into a chair. Ropes are wound around your midsection, pinning your arms and torso to a chair. You cry out and squirm but he’s surprisingly fast and strong,wrangling your kicking feet until they’re tied to the chair legs. Soon, you’re securely bound to the chair, and he didn’t even have to knock you out. He finds it kind of adorable how easily he overpowered you if he’s being honest.

You cry out and ask him what he’s doing, demand he lets you go! But he only produces your watch from his pocket, and stares at it with curious eyes.

“So, this little thing is your ticket back, hm? I wonder what it’s like- your world. Your time….”

Your eyes grow wide. He knows. He knows you’re not from this time period. That’s breaking one of the most important rules. This in itself could have irreparable consequences to the course of history… what if he decides to use it? Decides to travel through time, un-trained, causing chaos!?

“Please! You have no idea the consequences this will have! You can’t use it! Please- there’s a way things have to be done, you could permanently alter the course of human history with the littlest misstep! The future depends on you letting me go and giving me that watch back!”

He steps closer to you and gently strokes your cheek, realizing you don’t get it. You think you’re tied up because he’s interested in the time traveling. You think he’s going to misuse it. Silly you. He’s not interested in traveling through time.

“Darling… come now. There’s no need to worry. I’m not going to use your watch.”

Your gaze turns confused as you look up at him, and he adores watching your eyes as you try to puzzle your way through this one. He takes pity on you and leans forward to press a kiss to your lips.

And then you watch as he drops and crushes your way home beneath his boot.

“The only future I’m interested in…. Is ours.”

[wileys-russo]

Emily Fox, “So… Do you actually like me—” “We have been together for seven years. We’re getting married next year. What the hell do you think?”, while house hunting

house hunting II e.fox

"-and this is the last one for today?" your fiance asked as the real estate agent arrived, parking behind the two of you in the driveway and hurrying out of the car with arms laden full of papers.

"yes the last one for today. but if you're not feeling it we can organize some more for mid next week!" the woman assured, fumbling around to find the keys as you slipped your hand into emilys and squeezed gently.

"i know its been a long day, but this could be the one." you reminded softly as the brunette nodded tiredly, having trained this morning for several hours and then been dragged to six different properties you knew her patience was wearing thin.

"i know, and i know we both want to find the right house so if this isn't the one, thats okay too." your fiance nodded her agreement as you leaned in to sweetly peck her lips as the real estate agent finally unlocked the front door.

"i love you." "i love you more."

you'd both recently gotten engaged which was long overdue, and though you'd lived together for several years now you'd mutually decided that before you started to make wedding plans and a budget, your next step was to buy your first home together.

"-and then this is the master. i just need to make a couple of calls but i'll be right downstairs if you have any questions!" the woman smiled kindly, having given you both the grand tour and stepping away to provide some privacy for the pair of you to talk.

"do you like it?" "what do you think?"

you both shared a look and laughed at your in sync thinking, and you couldn't help the surge of butterflies which fluttered around your chest at the look of the grin on your fiances face.

"i really like it." "it has almost everything we said we were looking for."

again you both laughed speaking in unison, the footballer playfully rolling her eyes as your hand came to cover her mouth with a tut and a shake of your head as she pushed you off.

"close to good schools, not too far from the training centre, big backyard, five rooms, multiple bathrooms, garage which would fit both of our cars-" emily started to list as you nodded.

"-lots of natural light, glass sliding back doors that lead out onto the deck, fireplace, stairs aren't too steep, huge kitchen with an island bench top, great potential for entertaining indoors and outdoors, in-ground pool."

your hands interlocked again as you wandered from room to room upstairs, eventually ending right back up in the master and separating to have a closer look.

"hers and hers closet." you ticked off with your finger making emily chuckle as she followed you inside, the two of you mentally filling the shelves and racks with clothes as a comfortable silence fell between you.

"good size bathroom cabinets." emily made a ticking motion in the air now as you both moved to the ensuit bathroom next, you now laughing before she kissed your cheek and wandered over to inspect the shower.

"but it is just out of our budget." you sighed, your fiance humming and turning around to face you. "but really, we did lowball our budget to be prepared for the wedding." the girl reminded as you nodded, eyes roaming the room.

"and we did agree not to set a date yet because we could wait an extra year if we wanted to." you added on as now emily sighed, your body relaxing as your fiance pressed herself against you, arms circling your waist as her chin found home on your shoulders.

"you did make me wait seven years for a proposal baby, whats another two finally engaged?" you teased, her nose tucking into your neck as her lips softly kissed your shoulder blade.

"girlfriend, fiance, wife, none of those titles make me love you any more or any less. we're building a life together babe, we've been building a life together. this is our decision, nobody else's." the defender murmured, hand coming to rest on your cheek, turning your head slightly so her mouth could meet yours properly.

"i get the top shelf of the cabinets and the left side of the closet, obviously." you pulled away with a nod to the cabinet hearing a scoff behind you.

"and what makes you so sure of that baby?" your fiance questioned, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you through the mirror in front of you.

"well i just claimed it." you shrugged with a grin, squealing as the brunette pinched your hip and you pushed her off of you. "and if i dispute your claim?" emily challenged crossing her arms as you let out a long and troubled sigh.

"so, do you actually like me or-" you started sadly as your fiance scoffed loudly cutting you off. "do i like you? we've been together for seven years. we're getting married! what the hell do you think?" her eyes rolled making your lips curl up into a smile.

"i think the top shelf and the left side of the closet should be mine, since you like me so much." you nodded matter of factly. "well then i get the left side of the bed, we are not having more than two decorative pillows and-" the girl paused as you raised an eyebrow awaiting her to finish her demands.

"and...?" "and...we buy this house." emilys face softened as her hands found yours, fingers interlinking and tugging you closer as your features lit up with surprise.

"really?" "really."

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

lionfish, seahorses, and dolphins, oh my! | f. odair

masterlist

anon's request: noo bc i've been thinking about this for a while (all the time) imagine the reader from district 8 who's with finnick always sewing random fish patterns into his clothes or any cloth-related items bc of his district!!!

warnings: just some cutesy fluff, very very mild suggestive themes

notes: i couldn't not write this request it's so cute. very rushed because i've got another fic in the works ;) stay tuned my beautiful readers <3

word count: 800

Finnick would always invite girlfriend!reader to District Four because this man has major attachment issues, so you practically live at his house and are both attached to the hip. And one day he would find this little lionfish embroidered onto the cuff of his favourite sweater, which oddly resembles the colour of his hair.

His first instinct would be to call out to you. "Sweetheart?"

And you would respond with a "Hm?" from another room in the house, sneakily sewing something onto another item of his clothing. He would be curiously inspecting the little creature that had taken up residence on his shirt as he padded through the house to your whereabouts.

Just as he entered the room you were in, he would begin, "Why is there a—"

He'd cut himself short as he looked up and saw you sitting comfortably in a lounge chair, legs tucked beneath your body, a soft, knitted blanket draped over your lap, and a sewing kit lying on the side table. In your hands were a pair of his pants.

One of his eyebrows raised. "You've got my pants."

You looked up to find him standing in the doorway. "I do," you replied.

He took a step closer. "And you're sewing them."

"I am."

Another step. "And there's a fish sewed onto my sweater..."

You simply smiled at him—an adorable proud little smile. God, you looked so cute he genuinely felt to urge to lean down and pinch your cheeks between his fingers, but then he remembered he was your boyfriend, not your grandmother.

"Not that I'm not in absolute awe of your sewing abilities but—" He chuckled, shaking his head— "why?"

You shrugged, piercing a sewing needle through the waistband of the pants in your lap. "You're from District Four; fishes are kind of your thing, are they not? Plus, it's pretty," you said, then your voice lowered to a soft murmur. "Like you."

His stomach fluttered and he almost giggled like a little girl at your words. Once he got close enough, he kneeled beside the chair you were sitting in, watching as your delicate fingers manoeuvred the needle and yarn into the outline of a seahorse. He smiled to himself.

"Do you think I should start weaving clothes for you? Considering your district's all about making clothes and stuff," he said with a smirk.

"Like a dress made out of netting? It wouldn't leave much to the imagination."

"You won't hear this mouth complaining," Finnick said, the image of you walking around the house clad in a black net dress overcoming his mind.

Your cheeks warmed with a horrible blush and you decided to focus your attention entirely on the seahorse in the effort to overcome the sudden lewd thoughts involving his mouth.

Finnick continued watching in amazement as you managed to turn a few colours of yarn into a beautiful seahorse on the waistband of his pants. He wondered how many other pieces of clothing of his you had managed to infiltrate with various sea creatures. When his eyes caught on a bright blob of colour on the underside of the shirt sleeve he was wearing, he smiled, knowing he had gotten his answer.

His gaze flickered back to you, observing the look of concentration on your face as you sewed—the gentle crinkle of your furrowed brows, the subtle curl of your lips, and every now and then, the small twitch of your nose like that of a bunny, the pink of your blush adding to the image.

He couldn't help but prop his folded arms on the arm of the chair, chin resting on his forearms as he shamelessly and blatantly admired the changes in your facial expressions. He noticed as your eyes began to occasionally flicker toward him, your attention increasingly beginning to drift.

A few minutes later, you exhaled a heavy sigh. "You're so distracting."

"You're so adorable," he replied almost dreamily.

There it was again. The humiliating pink flush of your cheeks.

He grinned, humming a quiet laugh as he rose to his feet to plant a kiss on the top of your head.

"Can I make one request?" he asked.

"Perhaps."

His eyes fell to the lionfish on the shirt in his hands, eyes sparkling with child-like joy. "Sew some of these onto your own clothes so we can match."

A wide smile stretched across your lips.

Within the next week, you and Finnick were a giggling mess, sporting matching sweatshirts embroidered with big blue dolphins, each one's blowhole featuring a small red heart just above.

[bandgie]

The One That Got Away

synopsis: Hyunjin is nothing more than a playboy you wish you had zero history with. You wish he feels the same, but he can't seem to forget the night you ran from him.

warning!: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, oral (f!rec), teeth use (i have to), fingering, cum eating, dry humping (brief)

notes: this is a request that took me way too long to write

3.8k words

“No.”

Hwang Hyunjin blinks. He awkwardly shifts on his feet, standing at the front of the classroom two feet shy away from you. He had made sure to ask you once everyone left. When you were busy stacking the papers the students turned in for grading. Your unamused eyes looked away from his still form, hoping he’d get the message and leave, but of course, he didn't.

“No?” He parrots. “I really need to pass this course.”

“And I really need to grade the papers,” you slap the stack on the desk. When you applied to be a teaching assistant for your professor, you thought it would be simply grading and answering emails. Instead, you’re teaching class, helping students who are either too tired or high to understand what you’re saying. It got to the point that you begged Professor Bang for another TA, one that’s specifically for tutoring. 

“But Jisung told me to ask you. All of his slots are full,” his usual cocky eyes fill with uncertainty. “Is this because of…the thing?”

You freeze at the mention, swearing that your heart stops beating. A flash of memories infiltrate your mind as you're forced to recall his hands on your body, the feeling of his warm breath on your neck as you pushed up against him. It was before the semester started. Before you knew that Hwang Hyunjin would be one of your professor’s students. 

The first time he saw you.

You clear your throat, carefully putting the papers in your bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But your half-irritated half-nervous demeanor gives it away. It’s enough for Hyunjin to smile, propping himself against the desk almost flirtingly. “You don’t? Well, I do. You were wearing that cute little tank top and-”

“Jisung is the one in charge of tutoring,” you cut him off and pray he can't see the blood rushing to your face. “If he doesn’t have a slot open, I’ll make him open one up. Don’t bother me about shit that isn’t my problem.”

There’s a small victorious feeling when you see his smile drop. When his limbs look more lanky than confident as you take your leave. The reason your hips sway is because of your heels, not because of the piercing gaze you know Hyunjin is giving your back.

-

Luck is hardly, if ever, on your side. Or maybe it was just Jisung’s pretty eyes practically begging you to take just one student to tutor that made you cave. 

“Just one time, please! I’m filled with students already!”

“I don’t see any sessions for Saturday.”

“It’s mine and Minho’s anniversary that day! Pleeease!”

You tune out the remembered conversation to focus on your outfit instead. It was Hyunjin’s idea to meet at a cafe, though you weren’t sure if they were open this late. You slide your clothes across the rack, looking for a jacket when a familiar tank top catches your eye. Gently, you pull it from the closet to further inspect it. 

You were wearing that cute little tank top…

The material is tight, purposely so that your chest pushes together for extra cleavage. It makes you look nice, so much so that Hyunjin couldn’t take his eyes off you that night. Were you a student? No, Hyunjin knew almost everyone, especially pretty girls. There’s no way you would have slipped under his radar. Asking you to dance was pure alcohol on his side, you grinding your ass against his crotch was on yours.

There isn’t much to the memory, you left before things got too serious. But you remembered the night when you woke up the day after and apparently, so did Hyunjin when you walked into the classroom to introduce yourself as their TA.

Wearing the same tank top would be foolish. It would only show Hyunjin that you did remember, that you did like the way he felt against you even through all the clothes and people bumping against you. Logically, you should toss the top back into the closet.

You saved thinking logically for your assignments. 

-

Hyunjin was having a hard time looking at your eyes. You were explaining the critical differences between an independent and a dependent variable, but those pretty lips moving would occasionally sip on the staw. Your lips would purse and your tongue would stretch out to firmly hold onto it while you drank. Your throat would gently bob, and now you licked the remaining liquid from your lips to continue talking. 

Whenever you help Hyunjin write, his eyes lock with your chest. That damned tank top barely doing anything to help the spilling of your tits. The same ones he groped from behind you during that night, daring to dip underneath that material just before you fled.

“Why did you run away?”

You pause in the middle of your sentence to look up at him, leaning back to properly scan his face. Hyunjin hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but he can't find himself regretting it when you cock your head to the side in confusion. “From what?”

“The thing.”

You groan, grabbing your cup and furiously drinking it. “Can you stop it with the thing? That was months ago.” You keep sipping in hopes of Hyunjin dropping it, but he leans closer from the other side of the table as he says, “I don’t think so. You were all up on me and then dipped. I can’t get over it.”

“First of all,” you raise a manicured finger at him. “You were the one on me, let's get that straight. Secondly,” you put up a second digit, “You’re gonna have to get over it. I didn’t wanna fuck you then and I don’t wanna fuck you now.” Horrified eyes from nearby tables turn in your direction. You silently curse yourself and embarrassingly suck on the straw. “This isn’t a place where we should talk about this.”

Hyunjin nods, agreeing with you for what seems like the first time ever. “You’re right. Let’s go to mine.” He begins to pack his things without waiting for your response. You scowl at him, watching as he leaves a generous tip for the waiter and stands. 

You don’t know why you follow him and you don’t want to know. His place is only a few blocks away from the cafe, but the street feels like it stretches on forever in the night. Hyunjin keeps you on the inner sidewalk, huffing about how you shouldn’t walk close to the streets. You’d think it was cute if the person was someone other than him, so you only bicker in return. 

It’s only when you enter his apartment that you fall silent. You thought his place would be trashed, maybe even some female underwear lying around somewhere, but it’s cozy. Clean enough to know that he keeps it up, but still having things thrown around to know he frequents here. Books sprawled open, only a few dishes in the sink, and random splashes of paint on the hard floor as if he spilled. 

“Not bad, huh?” He smiles at your ogling. You huff and turn your head away from him, “I never said it was good.” Hyunjin chuckles, gesturing to the small living room as he makes his way to his smaller kitchen. 

“I got chocolate muffins, grapes… instant ramen…” he trails off, obviously desperate to look for something good to offer. “I assume knock-off Oreos are off the table?” Against your better self, you smile. You remember being a struggling undergrad, living off cheap ramen and tap water. “I’m okay, thanks.”

He nods, “Good. ‘Cuz that has to last me ‘till my next paycheck.”

You look at him both amused and perplexed. “Then why did you even offer me anything?” Hyunjin flops beside you on the couch, letting his limbs stretch, “Because I’m a good host. Am I supposed to let a pretty girl starve instead?”

Ah, there he is. It’s hard to believe that Hyunjin is anyone but a flirt. It’s even harder to believe that his little tricks actually worked, even almost on you. “Does that always work for you?” He cocks his pretty head to the side, dark hair falling over his eyes in the process, “Does what?”

You gesture to his body; the open legs, the sly smirk, the nonchalant slouch that he’s practiced, “This whole…act. You being all hot and flirty so girls will sleep with you.” Hyunjin’s eyes widen. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with your observation. It only takes a cool ruffle of his hand through his hair before he says, “I dunno. Is it working?” He laughs borderline obnoxiously while your nose scrunches in distaste. “Hardly. I’d say it’s having quite the opposite effect.”

A wicked smile finds his beautiful lips. “Is that so?” Hyunjin gently places his hand on your thigh, letting his thumb rub on the smooth surface of your skin. He leans towards you, hair tickling your neck as he whispers, “How about now? You feeling any different?”

He expects you to roll your eyes, maybe even push him away, but you don’t. You’re too busy trying to ignore the pumping of your heart. It’s loud in your ears, thump thump thump.

You open and close your mouth, not sure of what you should say. Shoving him away should be your next move, but being this close to him only reminds you of the party. His breath is warm on your skin, so much like that night. Hyunjin doesn’t creep his hand up, but you're silently wishing he could. You want to feel him touch you again. You want his fingers to dig into the flesh of your breasts, leaving marks in their wake. 

“Why’d you run?” He asks again. 

You can’t ignore him now. Not when the truth crawls up your throat and leaves your tongue. “I didn’t mean to. I just had never…” You turn your head away. A part of you wants to run away again. To leave this awkward, yet alluring situation. You want to go back to the comfort of your room, rotting in your bed while graduates and undergraduates live the college life you know isn’t meant for you.

Hyunjin doesn’t let you escape this time, not without an answer at least. One hand finds your chin, gently turning it until you’re forced to look at him. His eyes are anything but impatient like you thought they’d be. They’re intent, watchful, and gleaming. They drop to your tongue swiping against your lips then back to your eyes.

God, you want to kiss him.

“You just never what?”

Screw it. You close the distance. With your eyes closed, you pray that you find his lips aimlessly. Hyunjin lets out a surprised mmf! when you make contact. He lets your lips mold around his, moving his hand from your chin to the back of your neck to steady himself. He presses you slightly harder against him, forcing your mouth to open just the tiniest bit so he can get the first taste of you.

The gentle sounds of smacking turn wetter. You quietly whimper against his mouth and you feel him smile. Hyunjin tugs you. Once, twice, before you finally get the message to sit on his lap. You only break the kiss for a short second before your back on them, ignoring the nervousness pooling in your stomach as you straddle him. 

Hyunjin pulls from your mouth to kiss your cheek, down your jawline until he bites your earlobe. You cry out, gripping his shoulders and slightly trembling in his hold. His hands squeeze your waist, unintentionally making you rub against his crotch.

“Look at that,” he whispers in your ear. “Who’s on who now?” Hyunjin giggles when you bury your face in his neck. His hands roam lower until they find the fat of your ass. You stiffen, arching your back just the slightest so he can have more to grab. With his hands on you, Hyunjin slowly grinds you on his crotch. You feel his hard-on, the bulge pressing against your cunt so deliciously it scares you.

Hyunjin notices the difference. He picks his head from your neck and you do the same. 

“You said you've never done something before,” you can see him connecting the two, but you already know he’s going to arrive at the wrong answer. “Did you mean, like? You’re still a virgin?”

You shake your head, red from both embarrassment and arousal. “Not like that. I just mean, I’ve never had…a hookup.”

He raises his eyebrow. “You? Never?”

“Nope.”

“But you’re like, a graduate. And you’re hot.” Hyunjin wiggles his eyebrows and you playfully push him. “Thanks, but none of those really matter. I get awkward if it’s not someone I know. That’s why I usually…”

He finishes for you, “Run away.” 

You nod. 

“Well…” Hyunjin moves his hands back to your waist, lifting you until you’re back seated on the couch. Disappointment fills you. You weren’t sure if you necessarily wanted to fuck Hyunjin, but you definitely didn’t want to be rejected by him at the very least. You don’t want to feel humiliated, but you do. You’re about to get up and practically scurry for the front door before he parts your legs.

Hyunjin hooks one over his shoulder while the other hangs over the couch limp. He leans his head down, stomach flat on the cushions as he nudges against your thighs. He shoots you a sly smile, “Guess we’ll just start slow then.”

You bite your lower lip when his fingers diligently work your buttons. Hyunjin leans closer and takes hold of the zipper in his mouth. “This okay wit’ you?” You giggle from his muffled words, nodding. “Mhm. I honestly thought you were gonna tell me to leave.”

His eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident in his face as he drags the zipper down. “What?” He says as he shuffles your pants down. “Why would I do that?” You shrug, but there’s a pink hue in your cheeks. “I dunno. I was thinking maybe you’d like someone who knew what they were doing.”

Hyunjin blows a raspberry, concentrating on getting your tight jeans off until they’re nothing but a pile of clothes on the floor. He settles back between your legs, eyes lighting up at the sight of your pretty panties. “The way you were grinding up on me that night? I won’t lie, I definitely thought you knew what you were doing. But it doesn’t really matter if you do or don’t.” Hyunjin presses a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, making you hum from the warmth. “I can do it all for you.”

Heat bubbles in your stomach at those words. You mindlessly nod, although you’re not sure if you were supposed to respond anyway. Hyunjin’s nose brushes against your clothed cunt, his lips puckering so he can gently press kisses to your core. 

You mewl at the sensation, widening your legs so he has more room. Hyunjin shows his appreciation by opening his mouth. Even through your underwear, you can feel the heat of his mouth. Your legs eagerly quiver when he finally plants his mouth on your pussy. His tongue makes work to your clit, rubbing the sensitive flesh until your panties grow wetter. 

The sounds make up for the lack of noise in the room, but you can’t find yourself to be embarrassed. Not when he finally pushes the underwear to the side with the tip of his nose and presses another gentle kiss on your bare cunt. His tongue is just as gentle as his lips. He smoothes over your flesh with consideration, sucking the bud of your clit. You jolt, one hand shooting to his hair to grip.

“Fuck!” You use your free hand to grasp onto your breast with your elbow keeping you half-sitting. “It’s so sensitive there.”

Hyunjin giggles with your clit in his mouth, giving a harsh suck just to pop off a second later. “I know. Ever had your pussy eaten at least?”

You have to blink in concentration. It’s hard to think of the small, pathetic sexual encounters you’ve had when Hyunjin goes back to eating you out. The only response you give him is moaning, your hand pressing him deeper into your cunt until his nose shines with arousal. 

A whine leaves you when he pulls away, replacing his skilled mouth with equally skilled fingers. They’re long, and warm, but not as soft as this tongue. You open your mouth to complain, but a long-winded sigh leaves instead when they brush against your fattening clit. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you look at his digits flicking your pussy. “Shit.” 

“Anyone ever told you how cute your little pussy is?” He locks eyes with your core. “I can’t believe no one’s tasted it. It’s fucking good.” Hyunjin’s eyes glaze over with something you haven’t seen before. A desire so deep you think he could drink you up with just his look. His tongue pokes out of his mouth unconsciously as he slides his fingers lower, just until the tip of his digit finds your entrance.

He dips it in, groaning at how easily you open up for him. It’s warm inside, so soft that he can’t help the way his fingers keep digging deeper until his knuckles touch your skin. You can feel your walls pulsing around him as you throw your head back. “Not- mmm- not like this. No one’s eaten me like this.” 

Hyunjin lets out what you think is closer to a growl than a moan at your words. He pumps his fingers fast and hard, making a repetitive slapping sound echo throughout his living room. You squeal, snapping your head down to look at him. You clench harder seeing him; his open mouth, the intense gaze, the heavy breathing. 

Unable to keep eye contact, you peer down at your cunt. His fingers have a sheer coat of white from his efforts, so much so that it begins to slide down his wrist. You whimper at the sight. Hyunjin follows your line of sight, moaning at the mess you’ve made on him.

“God, fuck!” He leans his back down, tongue already blindlessly looking for your cunt. “Please, please, please.” You’re not sure what he’s begging for, but something in you bubbles with the first signs of your orgasm at the thought of him so needy to taste you. The combination of his fingers and mouth makes you gasp. The very few people you’ve been with only cared if you were wet enough to take them. They didn’t care if you came. If you felt so good that you wanted to crawl out of your skin like how you feel now.

It’s so hot being trapped between your thighs. Hyunjin has sweat dripping down his forehead, but he hardly slows down. Not when he can see you panting, legs restlessly scrambling before you wrap them around his neck to keep him there. Being pressed against your cunt makes it harder for him to finger you, but you don’t seem to mind. You seem content with having something to clench down on while he sucks on your clit, and he’s more than happy to oblige. 

“Hyunjin!” You cry out his name. You repeat it over and over when his mouth envelopes your entire pussy. He sucks, he licks, and he grunts when you yank on his hair a little too hard. Your hips begin to rock against his face, trying to both escape and increase the intense pleasure you’re feeling. His mouth follows you easily, uncaring of how much you pull and tug on his hair. 

“Don’t stop. Shit, please don’t stop.” You build and build, nearly forgetting to breathe before finally crashing down. Hyunjin tipped you over by ever so slightly biting on your clit. The hardness of his teeth provides the perfect amount of pressure for you to cum on his face. Hyunjin stills his fingers, letting you rhythmically pulse around his digits while his tongue laps continuously over your flesh.

You must sound like you’re crying, screaming, or something in between. You can’t help the shuddering breaths, the loud mewls, or the moans that leave you when Hyunjin helps you come down from your high. 

Finally, you release his hair. You loosen the grip you've trapped him with between your legs so he can let up, but Hyunjin stays satisfied by licking you clean. It would be overstimulating if it weren’t for his kitten licks. His tongue swipes a fat strip up your pussy before pulling his fingers from your entrance to suck there instead. 

“Damn,” you say breathlessly. “You stuck there or something?”

Hyunjin makes you yelp when he roughly drags his tongue back to your nub. You shoot him a warning look that only makes him laugh. “Weren’t you telling me not to stop?” You huff, rolling your eyes and looking away dramatically. 

Hyunjin doesn’t let you bicker before he sits up away from your cunt. Although your cunt is swollen and sensitive, you can’t help but chase the heat of his mouth when he lets go.

You whine and collapse on the couch, arm and back slightly aching from keeping you upright. You can’t imagine how tired his jaw must be from making you finish, but he wears your cum like a trophy on his face. Hyunjin keeps a dazed smile on, leaning back until his back perches on the arm-rest of the couch

“Ugh,” You groan from his shit-eating grin, closing your legs and sitting upright. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Hyunjin throws his head back and laughs, picking it back to give you a false frown. “I made you cum, and that’s how you repay me?” He pouts, “Don’t try and run away from me again.” Your breath gets caught at his words. He most likely meant it as a joke, but you can’t help feeling almost guilty about leaving him high and dry that night. Maybe you should finally make it up to him. 

“Do you want me to…return the favor?”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen for a moment, seemingly surprised that you even offered. You’re waiting for him to shift in his seat and begin to unbuckle his belt, but he stays on his ass comfortably. “Nah, that’s okay.” He smiles charmingly. “You can kiss me instead.”

You groan, pretending that the butterflies erupting in your stomach are just the aftershocks from your orgasm. Hyunjin laughs again, harder this time. He’s too busy closing his eyes and giggling at your reactions to see you crawl forward. Too busy wiping the hilarious tears to notice that you’ve puckered your lips and leaned in.

This time, you’re the one smiling when he squeaks in your mouth.

[simplyholl]

The Bet

Summary: Loki has an interesting punishment when you lose a bet.

Pairing: Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Vibrating panties.

A/N: Inspired by that scene in The Ugly Truth.

See my Masterlist Here

“You can’t be serious.” You take the garment from Loki, wishing you could smack the smirk off his face. “You lost the game. So you have to wear them.” He explains, crossing his arms as he leans against your doorway.

“I’ve never lost a game of Uno in my life. You were cheating.” You exaggerate, trying to talk your way out of it. “Put them on. I’ll know if you don’t.” He walks away, leaving you alone.

You and Loki were always competitive with each other, placing stupid bets on frivolous games. Two days ago, you were playing Uno when Loki wanted to make the game interesting. You had beaten him three times already, so you thought you had it in the bag.

If you win Loki had to spend an entire day doing your chores naked. He hated menial tasks, oftentimes he would pay someone else to do his cleaning and laundry. So you knew he would hate it. As for the naked part, you had eyes. You might not get along all the time, but Loki was beautiful.

You had let your dishes pile up, your laundry basket was overflowing, your floors were sticky. You had been busy with missions and Nick Fury made you attend meetings all week so you were behind.

Loki smirked when you told him what you wanted if you won. “If you want to see me naked, you only have to ask.” The devilish smile that accompanied his quip made your skin heat up from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“If I win, you will wear the clothing of my choosing to the meeting on Friday.” You accepted, he would probably make you wear a burlap sack or a silly costume. You weren’t easily embarrassed, so whatever he picked wouldn’t be an issue. Fury would be mad with your theatrics, but you had been doing his bidding all week. He owed you.

The game had been going well. You had three draw four cards in your possession, using them strategically. Then the unthinkable happened. Loki won, placing a red card with a number two on top of your card. He had to have cheated somehow. He didn’t even know how to play until a few days prior when Steve taught him.

With only seconds to spare, you slid your panties down your legs replacing them with the pair Loki gave you. They were black and lacy. You were a little unsure why he wanted you to wear these specific panties. He had to be up to something. He wasn’t the God of Mischief for nothing.

You put them on, feeling something hard under the fabric. You straighten your sun dress and fluff your hair. You look at your phone, you were already late. You didn’t have time to take them off and inspect them. You weren’t a sore loser either, so you would wear them to the meeting.

You rushed down the hall to the elevator. You get on with three others, from their white coats you could tell they worked in the labs. You waited impatiently as the elevator stopped on the tenth floor letting them off. You were five minutes late now. You dreaded whatever smart ass remark Fury would have for you.

Finally, the elevator stopped on the sixth floor. You rushed out, running down the hall to the conference room. Fury stopped speaking to turn and greet you. “It’s about damn time.” He said, returning his attention to the smart board behind him.

You looked around the table for Natasha. She always saved a seat for you. But on her left sat Thor and Loki was on her right. The only empty seat was beside him. You curse him in your head as you walk around the table to take your seat. You wonder how he got Thor to switch from his usual seat beside Steve.

Fury starts talking again, calling on Tony to explain some new technology he was working on for all of you. You try to hide your yawn behind your hand. This stuff was always so boring. Why did you have to be here while they discussed how cool they thought this was?

You try to keep your eyes from fluttering shut, afraid you would fall asleep. A small vibration from your panties knocked the tiredness right out of you. It caught you off guard, but it was tolerable. You turn your head to look at Loki who is staring straight ahead, completely focused on Fury.

That little shit. You wouldn’t let him get the best of you, so you raised your hand asking a question and pretending you couldn’t feel yourself growing wetter. You sneak another glance at him, his prominent nose scrunching as he keeps his eyes forward. The vibration speeds up once, twice, three times. You ball your hands into fists, nails digging into your palm.

The device rolls in waves against you, brushing your clit. You bite your lip until you taste blood to keep from making a sound. It hums rhythmically, each pulse bringing you closer to orgasm. You can’t hear what Bruce says when he stands to pass out folders filled with the layout of Tony’s design.

He hands it to you, expecting you to take it from him. But you can’t, one hand is wrapped around the side of your chair, the other is clawing at Loki’s leg silently pleading with him to stop this madness. When you don’t reach for the folder, Bruce looks you over, taking in your frazzled appearance and the bead of sweat sliding down your neck. He mouths “You okay?” You nod a little too quickly and he sets the folder in front of you.

Loki opened your folder, bringing out the page Fury was discussing. His gaze lingers on your face for a second, and you think he’s finally satisfied and going to turn it off. The glimmer of mischief shines in his eyes as he returns his full attention to Fury. It takes every ounce of concentration you have to not yell in frustration. Then you realize his momentary kindness was only to distract you.

The vibration hits its peak, and you lose control. Your fist slams on the table. All eyes are on you. “Do you have something you’d like to add?” Fury asks, assuming your interruption was about the stupid technology you had no idea about. The ripples flutter against your clit, your lower stomach clenching with the onset of orgasm.

“Yes!” You stand up surprising yourself and Loki who lifts a brow. You can’t think clearly so you hope walking will help. You pace the area behind Natasha, every lift of your leg moves your panties, causing the vibe to reach new angles. “I love this! I love it! I lo-ove it!” Your voice raises a few octaves. Tony smiles, excited someone is showing interest in his hard work besides Bruce and Fury.

“This is the kind of enthusiasm I expect from the rest of you.” He says pointing an accusing finger at the others. “What do you love about it?” He prompts you. You stop behind Loki’s chair, he turns to watch the show you were putting on. You clutch the top of his chair, as the vibration sends you over the edge.

“It’s the best! God, the best!” You look in Loki’s eyes as your legs tremble. “Oh fuck! It’s incredible!” Tony is beaming, hands coming together to clap. “Thank you! This is the kind of reaction I was wanting.” The vibration finally stops, as you wobble a few steps to your chair. Loki gives you his hand to help you sit down. You reluctantly take it, settling back in.

The meeting was finally over five minutes later. Everyone rushed to leave except for you and Loki. “Asshole.” You playfully slap his arm. He stands, gathering his phone and folder. “If you need assistance cleaning up that mess you made” He gestures to your legs, “I’d be happy to help.” He flashes that irresistible smile before leaving you to recover in the conference room.

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @lokisgoodgirl @wolfsmom1 @loz-3 @lokischambermaid @kats72 @crimson25 @litaloni @zombiesnips-blog @gruftiela @mochie85 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @violethaze @lokidokieokie @buttercupcookies-blog @mjsthrillernp @chantsdemarins @lulubelle814 @anukulee @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @fandxmslxt69 @artemis-13 @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @kathren1sky-blog @javagirl328 @kcd15 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @soggylampshade0 @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mischief2sarawr @ozymdias @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @aoirohi @mushycore @marygoddessofmischief @queenshu @jasmine-pudding @kcd15 @jiyascepter @daddieslut1 @macnbriee @sammichdog

[latenightdaydreams]

Can König and Stalker!Reader have a good ending? 🥹🥹🥹

Yes! It's not over yet, but it will end happy I promise. No angst 🥰

König x Stalker!Reader Part 2 (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 1, Part 3, Part 3.2

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, stalking, masturbation, invasion of privacy

1.0k word count

📸

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.

Early on a random Tuesday morning, König went to the local pet store and purchased a small aquarium and a few fish. Over the next few days, he set up the fish in their new home in his living room. König doesn’t want pet fish, doesn’t really even like them, but he wanted to throw you a bone.

A loud knock on your front door draws your attention away from the photo album of König’s photos that you’re looking at. You pull your hand out of your pants and walk to the front door to see König standing there. Before you answer the door, you take a deep breath to control your excitement so you don’t appear obsessed as you truly are.

“Hello, König.”

Your voice sends a shiver down his spine. The way your lips pull back into a small, sweet smile makes him feel like grabbing you and claiming your mouth with his. He can’t believe the way you look so naturally beautiful in lounge wear. His eyes travel down your form before meeting your eyes again.

“Hallo, Fräulein. I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m getting deployed for a few days and I wanted to know if you could feed my fish for me?”

“Absolutely!”

You respond quickly, almost too quickly. He could see something in your eyes click, an idea forming; it excites him. The corner of your lips turning upwards as you nod your head. He’s excited to see what you have planned for him. Before he leaves, he gives you the feeding schedule, ‘deployment’ schedule, and a spare key to his home.

The day he leaves, you wait a few hours to make sure he’s truly gone before excitedly making your way over to his front door. It’s as if you’re in a dream as the key slips into the lock and turns, unlocking heaven. You step in, closing the door behind you quickly. The first thing you notice is how amazing his home smells and how bare it seems; almost like he never fully moved in.

Slowly, you make your way through the home, taking your time to inspect every drawer and cabinet. When you cannot find anything of interest, you turn your attention to his bedroom. You open the door and look around; his bed is neatly made and everything is perfectly organized.

The hamper in the corner grabs your attention; going over and grabbing a shirt that is laying on top. As you lift it to your nose, the smell of his sweat filling your nostrils as you take a deep breath in. Bringing the shirt with you, you turn your attention to his bed. Piece by piece, you strip off your clothing as you walk to his bed. You pull the comforter back and lay on his bed; picking the side that is clearly used more.

Laying in his bed like this feels like being embraced in a tight hug from him. The idea of how many times he’s masturbated here crosses your mind, driving you absolutely insane. You drape his shirt over your face as you spread your legs open, moving slow circles around your clit before letting your hand drift downwards. Two fingers slip into your tight pussy, wishing it was König’s cock this whole time.

You run your other hand along the shape of your body, imagining those large rough hands caressing you. A whimper leaving you as you pinch your nipple, moaning out for König. If only you could feel the sensation of his heavy body pinning you to the mattress so that you can’t move, completely at his mercy as he shoves his cock deep inside of you.

In his hotel room, König sits on the bed stroking his cock feverishly as he watches you from the security cameras on his bed, pleasing yourself. It’s taking all the restraint he has to not just ruin his plan, return home, and fuck you where you lay now. Such a good eager girl for König, so desperate to get ruined by his cock.

“Das ist meine kleine Hure…” His voice weak with pleasure as he watches you leave a wet patch on his bed.

Over the next few days, the routine is the same, almost moving yourself into his home while he’s gone. König loves to see you in his home, he wishes he could lock you in and keep you forever; you probably wouldn’t even mind. Since there is only one more day before he returns, you leave to a local locksmith to get a copy of his key made followed by a trip to an electronics store.

Early the next morning there was a knock at the door. Knowing it was König, you rushed to answer it. He stands with his hands in his pockets and his blonde hair neatly combed back. You can’t stop yourself from looking at the way his muscles bulge from underneath his tight fitted shirt.

“Hallo, Fräulein. Thank you so much for your help.”

“It was no problem.” You smile as you hand him back his keys.

Once he leaves you rush to your bedroom, opening up your laptop. You log on to the live feed of the camera you hid in König’s bedroom, waiting for his appearance. König, aware of the one camera, walks into his bedroom and begins to undress.

König takes his time taking off each layer of clothing, giving you a little strip tease. He leaves his boxers on for a while as he walks around, teasing you a little bit. His muscles flex as he turns, slowly dropping his boxers. You see his muscular ass as he turns slowly, his hard cock in his hand as he strokes it slowly. He tugs at his heavy balls with his other hand.

Your face is almost pressed against your screen as you’re seeing how fucking big he actually is. He sits on the edge of the bed giving you a perfect view, you don’t even question it because of the show you’re getting. König moans loudly for you, imagining you in his mind shoving your little fingers in your cunt pathetically attempting to get close to the feeling he’s going to give you tomorrow.

Part 3, Part 3.2

[sleepymccoy]

News is running a bit on how to make your house warmer in winter here, and starts with a bloke inspecting a house and it literally goes, "this house has no insulin in the walls, floor, and the ceiling insulation is full of gaps. The windows are single glazed and have poor coverings. There are nearly inch wide gaps at the base of every door including the external ones. Is very breezy inside."

Like. I know that's normal here, I live here, but sweet jesus.

News ended up advising that people put blinds in and get solar power. How tf are poor people gonna do that? Renters? Stupid advice. It's getting below zero at night rn and barely scratching 10°C in the day, which means it's the same damn temp indoors

I've improved my home by putting furniture against external walls as insulation. I've got fleece safety pinned to the inside of my curtains ($10 for a half sheet of fleece at spotlight rn!). I've taped the balcony door shut. I've committed to only heating two rooms and I've door snaked the doors to the rest of the house to save money. Do this even if you dont have a heater, your body heat is doing something. I chose bedroom and living room, some people might include kitchen to use heat from the oven but my house doesn't lay out for that to work.

Also, wear lots of clothes and blankets. It's 1pm, I have three shirts, a jumper, and three blankets on rn. Drink tea to keep hands warm. Try cleaning something with hot water instead of turning the heater on in the day, helps get your fingers warm and is slightly active. It's okay to sleep in gloves and a beenie. A hot shower to get your temp back up is good if you prep clothes and don't wet your hair.

If the world were better these houses would have been built well, but that's not where we are. There are tricks to use, use them