#Clean Your Car Interior | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jupiterpilgrim · 3 days ago

Text

Right to Use

Wonyoung x Seulgi x Irene x Ningning x Male Reader

word count: 11K

commissioned fic

The airport is chaos. Fans scream, flashbulbs pop, bodies press against barriers, and you’re the immovable force that keeps Wonyoung and the rest of IVE untouchable. Your black suit stretches over your frame, custom-tailored to accommodate your towering height and sheer size. Even your presence alone is enough to make people think twice about stepping out of line. But today, none of that really matters because Wonyoung, fresh off a tour, is the epicenter of it all, and you're not even sure she realizes how effortlessly she commands attention.

She’s dressed in a deceptively casual outfit that still looks like it was made to drive people insane. A cropped hoodie, pale pink, with the hem cut just above her slim waist, showing off the flawless skin of her toned stomach. High-waisted, ripped skinny jeans hug her legs, emphasizing the length and subtle curve of her thighs. On her feet, white sneakers—clean, of course. Wonyoung doesn’t do anything halfway, not even casualwear. Her long, dark hair cascades over her shoulders, catching the airport lights like silk. Sunglasses cover most of her face, but not the smirk playing on her lips, subtle enough for everyone but you to miss.

The other members follow close behind, but the crowd noise isn’t quite the same for them. Wonyoung, as usual, owns the moment. She’s radiant, untouchable. But then, of course, her attention cuts through the chaos and lands on you. She doesn’t even need to say a word. A flick of her wrist, a sly grin—you know she’s up to something.

The group splits into vehicles after the airport chaos. The plan, as always, is to keep things orderly. Most of the group piles into a sleek black van, a fortress of tinted glass and soundproof insulation. Wonyoung is supposed to ride in her private car, a glossy white Benz with plush leather interiors, a driver at the ready. You’re assigned to the main group, of course, although your priority is actually Wonyoung, you have to pretend in front of the cameras that your work is dedicated to the whole group. But as you move toward your designated car, her voice—clear, sweet, unmistakably commanding—cuts through the air.

“Oppa. Come here.”

She’s leaning against the door of her Benz, her sunglasses lowered just enough to reveal her big, doll-like eyes. They flicker with mischief.

You hesitate. Rules are rules, and being in the same vehicle with her is pushing boundaries that you’re not supposed to cross, even for someone like her. “Ms. Jang,” you start, but she cuts you off with a tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow.

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

The way she says it isn’t loud, but it’s got that edge, that bratty little tone that says she knows exactly how much control she has over you—and she enjoys it.

Reluctantly, you move toward her car, sliding into the front passenger seat as the door shuts behind you. The air inside the vehicle feels different the moment you’re in it, charged, almost electric. The driver glances at you in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say anything; he knows better.

Wonyoung sits in the backseat, legs crossed, her phone in her lap. She doesn’t say much at first, just glances at you every so often, her lips curled into the smallest of smiles. You can feel her eyes on you, even when you’re not looking. It’s unnerving, the way she toys with you without even saying a word.

The city blurs by outside, neon signs and skyscrapers flashing through the tinted windows. She stretches her legs out lazily, her sneakers brushing against the back of your seat. “You’re quiet,” she says finally, her voice soft but teasing. “Something on your mind?”

“No,” you reply quickly, but you don’t look back at her. You can feel her smirking again.

“You’re a bad liar, oppa.”

The rest of the ride is tense, her presence looming behind you like a shadow. You’ve worked for her long enough to know when she’s scheming something, and tonight she’s practically radiating trouble. By the time you arrive at her apartment building, you’re desperate to put some distance between the two of you.

The car rolls to a stop in the underground garage, and you open the door, stepping out quickly. “Goodnight, Ms. Jang,” you say, keeping your tone professional.

But before you can turn to leave, you feel her hand on your arm. Her grip is surprisingly firm for someone so delicate-looking.

“Come inside,” she says, her voice low but insistent.

You glance around, paranoid that someone might see the two of you together. “Ms. Jang, I don’t think that’s—”

“I wasn’t asking,” she interrupts, her eyes locking onto yours. There’s no room for argument in her tone.

“Someone might see us,” you hiss, still trying to keep some semblance of professionalism.

“And? Let them,” she says with a shrug. Her fingers curl around your wrist, and she tugs you toward the elevator. Her strength isn’t enough to move you, not really, but the way she looks at you—like she’s daring you to disobey—makes your resolve falter.

The elevator ride is silent, the tension between you growing thicker with every floor you ascend. She stands close to you, closer than she needs to, her arm brushing against yours. You can smell her perfume, something floral and expensive, and it only adds to the strange energy buzzing in the air.

When the elevator doors slide open, she steps out first, her sneakers making soft thuds against the polished floor. She doesn’t look back to see if you’re following—she knows you are.

Inside the penthouse, the apartment is exactly what you’d expect: sleek, modern, and outrageously expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city, the lights twinkling like a sea of stars. She kicks off her sneakers near the door and pads barefoot across the marble floor, leaving you standing awkwardly near the entrance.

“You can relax, you know,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at you. “It’s just us.”

“That’s kind of the problem,” you mutter under your breath, but she hears you.

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that somehow makes you even more uneasy. “You’re funny, oppa.”

She moves to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. As she drinks, her eyes stay on you, the corners of her mouth twitching like she’s trying not to smile. You can tell she’s enjoying this—making you squirm, testing your limits.

“Go take a shower,” she says.

You hesitate, standing there like an idiot, unsure if you’re supposed to argue or just do as you’re told. Before you can decide, she sets the water bottle down with a soft clink and starts walking toward you. Her bare feet make no sound on the polished floor.

She stops just inches away, close enough that you can see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.

“Why are you so tense?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge. Her hand reaches out, her fingers brushing lightly against your chest, the touch so light it’s almost maddening.

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “I’m not—”

“Liar,” she interrupts, her lips curling into that bratty smirk you know too well. Her hand lingers, her fingertips tracing a slow, deliberate line down your sternum. “Relax, oppa. It’s just us.”

Just us.

Like that makes it any less overwhelming.

—

The steaming water cascades over your shoulders, washing away the tension from the chaotic day. You’d followed Wonyoung’s orders begrudgingly—obedience had become second nature—but something about her tone earlier, that little twist of mischief in her voice, left you uneasy.

The faint sound of a door opening makes you freeze mid-rinse. You tilt your head, water streaming down your face, straining to hear. Voices. Feminine, light laughter filtering through the penthouse. It’s not just Wonyoung’s voice.

You turn off the shower, tension coiling in your gut. "Just us." Yeah, you should have known she was lying. Your eyes dart to the bathroom corner, where your clothes are neatly laid out—your suit jacket, shirt, tie, underwear and pants. You grab the white button-down shirt first, the fabric still slightly damp from the steam, and quickly pull it on, leaving it unbuttoned at the top. The underwear comes next, and then finally the pants. You step into them hastily, not bothering with the belt as you fasten the button and zipper.

You adjust the shirt, the damp fabric clinging to your skin, then you take a deep breath before stepping out of the bathroom. The tension in your chest doesn’t ease, but you push it down, bracing yourself for whatever—or whoever—is waiting for you outside.

The moment you round the corner into the living room, you stop dead in your tracks.

Sitting on Wonyoung’s couch, perched like queens on a throne, are three women you’d recognize anywhere. Ning Yizhuo, Irene Bae, and Kang Seulgi.

You’ve seen them before, of course—on stages, on magazine covers, in advertisements plastered across half of Seoul.

They’re not dressed like idols here. Ning wears a skin-tight black crop top that shows off her toned stomach, paired with the shortest pair of denim shorts you’ve ever seen. Irene is in a silky red slip dress that hugs her curves and ends scandalously high on her thighs, the thin straps showing off her delicate shoulders. Seulgi leans back lazily in a sleek leather skirt and a sheer white blouse, the lacy black bra underneath making no effort to hide itself.

And they’re all staring at you.

For a moment, no one speaks. Ning is the first to break the silence, her dark eyes raking over you before she whistles low. “Wow. You weren’t kidding, Wonyoung. He’s massive.”

Irene tilts her head slightly, her lips curving into a small, intrigued smile. “He looks even taller in person.”

Seulgi arches an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over you appraisingly. “And broader.”

Wonyoung, sitting cross-legged in an oversized chair to the side, looks thoroughly pleased with herself. She’s still in her airport outfit, but now her hoodie is off, leaving her in just the cropped tank top beneath. Her bare midriff gleams under the soft light, and her legs are folded neatly beneath her, the picture of bratty satisfaction.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says, her tone dripping with pride. “Oppa’s huge. Almost 6 feet 7 inches tall. Taller than anyone else on staff. Stronger, too.”

The way she says it, casual and deliberate, makes your stomach tighten. The girls aren’t just looking at you—they’re devouring you with their eyes. Hungry doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck. “What’s going on here?” you ask, your voice firm but cautious.

Wonyoung smiles innocently, though there’s nothing innocent about the way her fingers drum against the arm of her chair. “I told the girls about you,” she says simply.

“Told them what?”

“That my parents hired you as my personal bodyguard and that you must fulfill every one of my wishes. In other words, I've told them that you're mine.” she replies, her tone playful but undeniably possessive. “But I don’t mind sharing. Sometimes.”

Irene’s smile widens slightly, and she leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “You’re hers, huh?” she says, her voice smooth and teasing. “That explains a lot.”

“Like what?” you snap.

“Like why she kept talking about how we had to meet you,” Ning chimes in. She crosses her legs, one foot swinging idly in the air as her eyes trace the line of your shoulders down to your chest. “I thought she was exaggerating. But now I get it.”

Seulgi smirks, leaning back into the couch with a casual grace. “So, what’s the plan, Wonyoung? I'm quite excited.”

Wonyoung’s grin turns wicked. She leans back in her chair, her head tilting to one side as she regards you with a glint in her eye. “Tonight,” she says, “we’re going to have fun. We'll use and abuse my hot beefcake."

Your instincts scream at you to leave, to shut this down before it spirals into something you can’t control. But Wonyoung is watching you, her expression daring you to refuse her. She’s always been good at getting what she wants, and tonight, it’s clear she’s not taking no for an answer.

Wonyoung doesn’t waste a second. “Alright, let’s go,” she says with a casual authority, waving the others toward the bedroom. She strides past you, but not before delivering a sharp slap to your ass.

“Keep up, oppa,” she teases, her tone dripping with mockery.

Behind her, the other girls burst into laughter, their voices mingling in a chorus of amusement and anticipation. Ning hides her smile behind her hand, Irene smirks knowingly, and Seulgi outright grins.

You trail behind them, heart hammering in your chest as the tension in the air thickens with every step. They lead you to Wonyoung’s bedroom—a sprawling, luxurious space dominated by an enormous bed with plush white linens. Soft, golden light spills from a modern chandelier above, casting everything in a warm glow.

Wonyoung sits you down on the edge of the bed, her hands firm on your shoulders as she climbs into your lap. Her weight is featherlight, but the way she looks at you—her lips curling into a bratty smile, her dark eyes glittering with mischief—feels impossibly heavy.

“Alright, girls,” she says, turning her head slightly to address the others. “You can get started.”

There’s no hesitation. Irene is the first to move, her hands reaching for the thin straps of her dress. The silky fabric slides down her shoulders and pools at her feet, revealing delicate lace lingerie that clings to her petite frame. She moves with practiced grace, her confidence radiating from every step she takes closer to you.

Seulgi is next, unbuttoning her sheer blouse with quick, eager fingers. Her bra—simple but black and striking—contrasts beautifully with her smooth skin. Her leather skirt follows, dropping to reveal toned legs and a curve to her hips that makes your mouth dry.

Ning hesitates, her fingers toying nervously with the hem of her crop top. She glances at Wonyoung, who gives her a reassuring smile, before finally pulling it off. Her shorts follow shortly after, leaving her in pastel underwear that’s almost as shy as her expression. But there’s a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, a quiet hunger that draws her closer, step by step.

You sit frozen at first, unsure of how to react, but your body betrays you. As the girls strip, you feel your cock stir to life, growing harder with each layer of clothing that hits the floor.

Wonyoung notices immediately. Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk, and she shifts slightly on your lap, her hips brushing against the bulge straining in your pants. “Enjoying the show, oppa?” she asks, her tone teasing but unmistakably smug.

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat, but finally, you nod. “…Yeah.”

She laughs softly, leaning in until her lips are inches from yours. “Good. Because tonight, we’re going to use you until we’re satisfied.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, her mouth captures yours in a kiss. Her lips are soft but demanding, and she tastes faintly of sweet lip balm and something darker, more intoxicating.

As Wonyoung deepens the kiss, you feel hands on your shoulders, your chest, your arms. The other girls are closing in, their fingers exploring your muscles, tracing the lines of your skin like they can’t believe you’re real.

Irene’s touch is the most deliberate, her fingers trailing over your chest with an almost clinical precision, like she’s cataloging every ridge and dip. Seulgi’s hands are bolder, sliding over your biceps and squeezing as she lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit,” she murmurs. “How are you this big?”

Ning is more hesitant, her fingers brushing lightly over your forearm before retreating, only to return moments later, bolder each time. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her eyes dart over you betrays her curiosity.

Wonyoung shifts on your lap again, grinding against you just enough to make you groan softly into her mouth. She pulls back, her lips glossy and swollen, and looks down between the two of you, where your cock is straining painfully against your pants.

Her grin widens. “Looks like oppa’s ready for the real fun to start.”

She stands, slipping off your lap with a grace that leaves you breathless, and gestures for the other girls to gather around. They drop to their knees without a word, their eyes fixed on you with a mix of hunger and anticipation.

Wonyoung steps between them, her hands deftly moving to the button of your pants. She looks up at you, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something far darker. “Let’s see what you’re working with.”

Wonyoung doesn’t hesitate, her fingers deftly working at the waistband of your pants, she tugs the fabric down over your hips with an unhurried precision, the smooth motion somehow making the moment feel even more intense.

When the material pools around your ankles, you’re left standing there in nothing but your underwear. The girls’ eyes drop immediately, zeroing in on the absurd bulge pressing against the thin, strained fabric.

“Holy shit,” Seulgi breathes out first, her voice almost a whisper. Her dark eyes are wide, and she leans forward slightly, like she’s trying to get a better angle.

“That’s insane,” Ning mutters, her jaw practically hanging open. She bites her bottom lip, eyes darting from Wonyoung to your crotch as though needing confirmation that this isn’t some kind of elaborate joke.

Irene, ever composed, lifts an eyebrow and tilts her head, her gaze locked on the outline of your cock. A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she murmurs, “Wonyoung, you didn’t tell us it was this impressive.”

Wonyoung doesn’t bother hiding her pride. Her lips curl into a smug, bratty grin as she looks up at you from her kneeling position. “Oh, I told you,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “You just didn’t believe me.”

Her fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, her touch light but deliberate. She pauses for a split second, letting the anticipation build before pulling them down slowly, like she’s unwrapping the world’s most tempting gift.

And then, it’s out.

The room goes utterly silent, save for the faint rustling of fabric as Wonyoung tosses your underwear aside along with your pants. The girls are frozen, their eyes glued to your cock as it springs free, standing tall and impossibly hard. Thick veins trace its length, accentuating the sheer size of it, and the head is already glistening faintly with precum.

“Jesus Christ,” Ning finally manages to choke out, her voice full of awe and disbelief.

Seulgi doesn’t even try to hide her reaction, letting out a low whistle as her gaze sweeps over you. “No wonder she’s been keeping you all to herself. That’s… I don’t even have words.”

“A little above 12 inches,” Wonyoung says smugly, standing and brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Told you it’s the biggest you’ve ever seen.”

“Biggest doesn’t even cover it,” Irene murmurs, her voice soft but tinged with something darker. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and there’s an undeniable hunger in her gaze. “It’s perfect.”

Ning reaches out first, her fingers hovering hesitantly over your cock before finally brushing against it. The light, experimental touch sends a shiver up your spine, and you can’t help but let out a soft grunt.

“It’s so warm,” she says, more to herself than anyone else, her hand slowly wrapping around the base.

Irene moves in next, her movements slower but no less curious. She places her hand just above Ning’s, her touch more confident as she gently squeezes the shaft. “How do you even handle this, Wonyoung?” she asks, her tone equal parts amazed and envious.

Wonyoung just laughs, stepping back and folding her arms across her chest as she watches them. “It’s not easy, but I manage. I think practice makes perfect.”

Seulgi joins in, her fingers sliding up to the head. She swirls her thumb over the slick tip, collecting a bead of precum, and smirks as she examines it. “Practice makes perfect, huh? You’re damn lucky is what you are.”

“Damn right I am,” Wonyoung replies, her voice full of pride.

The girls take their time exploring you, their hands moving up and down your cock in slow, deliberate motions as they share it between them. Ning’s grip is firm but hesitant, her strokes experimental as though she’s still trying to wrap her head around the sheer size of you. Irene’s touch is more measured, her fingers tracing the veins with almost clinical precision. Seulgi, meanwhile, is bold and playful, her grip tightening slightly as she strokes you with a confidence that leaves your knees feeling weak.

Wonyoung watches it all with a satisfied smirk, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “See what I mean?” she says, her tone smug. “I told you he’s perfect.”

“You weren’t kidding,” Ning says, her voice breathless as she gives you another experimental stroke. “This is… I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“None of us have,” Irene murmurs, her voice low as she tightens her grip slightly. Her gaze flicks up to yours, and for a moment, it feels like she’s staring straight into your soul. “Wonyoung, you weren’t lying. You’re incredibly lucky.”

“I know,” Wonyoung replies, her smirk widening.

Seulgi leans in closer, her breath warm against your skin as she runs her tongue along the length of your shaft. The sudden contact makes you groan, and she grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And now you’re sharing him with us?” she asks Wonyoung, her tone teasing.

“Just for tonight,” Wonyoung says with a shrug, though the playful glint in her eye suggests she’s enjoying this far more than she’s letting on.

Seulgi chuckles, her lips brushing against your cock as she speaks. “Generous of you.”

The three of them work together in perfect, almost synchronized harmony. Ning focuses on the base, her small hands struggling to wrap around you as she strokes you slowly. Irene takes the middle, her movements deliberate and teasing, while Seulgi lavishes attention on the head, her tongue flicking over the sensitive tip before taking you into her mouth.

Wonyoung finally steps forward, brushing past the others to claim her spot. “Alright, girls, don’t forget who he belongs to,” she says.

The moment Wonyoung takes your cock in her mouth, the entire mood of the room shifts. Her lips wrap around you with a confidence that borders on arrogance, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks hard on the head, the warmth of her tongue swirling around it. She doesn’t even flinch at the sheer girth—if anything, she looks pleased, her doll-like eyes flicking up to meet yours with that same bratty.

But it’s not just her anymore. The other girls are right there, hands and mouths eager as they scramble to share whatever they can.

“Damn,” Seulgi mutters under her breath as she wraps a hand around your shaft, just beneath where Wonyoung’s lips are working. “Even with all of us, there’s still so much left.” Her tone is laced with awe, and she strokes the exposed length slowly, her fingers barely meeting as they encircle you.

“You’re telling me,” Ning chimes in, her voice muffled as she leans in to kiss and lick along the base of your cock. She presses her lips against the thick veins, her tongue darting out to trace them experimentally. “I can’t believe this thing’s real.”

Wonyoung pulls back briefly, a trail of saliva connecting her lips to your cock as she catches her breath. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking up at you before glancing over at the others. “You should see him when he’s cumming,” she says, her voice dripping with pride. “It’s insane. He’s like a fucking fountain. You’ll see for yourselves soon enough.”

Her words make Irene pause, her elegant features flushed with heat as she runs her hand slowly along the shaft. “A lot, huh?” she murmurs, almost to herself. Her thumb brushes over the tip, smearing the slick precum that’s already leaking from you. “I can’t even imagine.”

“You won’t have to,” Wonyoung replies, her smirk widening as she moves lower, her lips brushing against your heavy, swollen balls.

The shift in her attention catches you off guard. She cradles your balls in her hands, her thumbs kneading the sensitive skin as she presses gentle kisses against them. Her lips are soft, almost reverent, but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes betrays her true intentions. “God, oppa,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. “You’re so full. I bet you’ve been saving it all for me, haven’t you?”

Before you can respond, she opens her mouth wider, taking one of your balls into her mouth. The warmth and wetness make your knees buckle slightly, and you let out a deep groan as she sucks on it gently, her tongue swirling around it.

“Fuck,” Seulgi breathes out, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. “She’s not kidding. They’re huge.”

“They’re heavy, too,” Wonyoung says after releasing you with a wet pop, her voice smug as she cradles them in her hand. “You wouldn’t believe how much he can shoot.”

Ning lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, her eyes darting between your cock and Wonyoung’s hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this jealous of anyone in my life,” she mutters, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and arousal.

“Then stop talking and help,” Wonyoung says, her tone playful but commanding as she gives your balls one last lick before moving back to your shaft.

The girls obey without hesitation. Ning leans in first, her lips wrapping around the head as she tries to take you deeper. She chokes almost immediately, her throat constricting around the sheer size of you, but she doesn’t pull back. Instead, she presses forward, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she forces herself to swallow more.

“Easy,” Irene murmurs, placing a steadying hand on Ning’s shoulder. She’s kneeling beside her, her lips pressing against the exposed length just beneath where Ning’s mouth is working. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Ning gasps, pulling back just enough to catch her breath before diving back in. “I want it all.”

Her determination is clear, but even with her best efforts, she barely manages to take half of you before gagging again. The sound is lewd and wet, and drool begins to drip from the corners of her mouth, pooling at the base of your cock.

“Damn,” Seulgi says again, her voice tinged with admiration as she watches Ning struggle. “You’re really going for it, huh?”

“Of course she is,” Wonyoung says with a smirk. She reaches out, grabbing the base of your cock and guiding it away from Ning’s mouth. “But let’s not hog him, okay?”

She directs your cock toward Seulgi, who wastes no time. Her lips part, and she takes you into her mouth with surprising ease. But even she can’t handle your full length. She gets about halfway down before her throat tightens, and she has to pull back, coughing slightly.

“Shit,” she mutters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing is heavy as she looks up at you. “That’s… That’s insane. How do you even fit this thing in anyone?”

Wonyoung laughs, her tone dripping with smugness. “It’s not easy,” she says, her hand stroking your cock lazily. “But once you get used to it… God, it’s worth it.”

The girls take turns, each of them eager to test their limits. Irene is the most graceful, her movements deliberate and controlled as she takes you into her mouth. But even she can’t swallow more than half before pulling back, her lips red and swollen as she gasps for air. Ning and Seulgi are less composed, their eyes watering and spit dripping down their chins as they choke and gag around your cock.

Through it all, Wonyoung keeps her focus on your balls. Her hands massage them gently, her thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles against the sensitive skin. Occasionally, she leans in to press soft kisses against them, her tongue darting out to lick along the seam.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you, oppa?” she says, her voice low and teasing as she looks up at you. “Having all of us drooling over your cock?”

You can’t help but let out a low, guttural groan in response.

Wonyoung’s lips curl into a sly grin as she looks around the room, her voice soft but commanding. “Alright, girls,” she says, running her fingers through her long, dark hair as she starts peeling off her tank top. “I think it’s about time we head to bed.”

She tosses the cropped fabric aside, revealing the full curve of her breasts beneath a lacy black bra. Her movements are slow, deliberate, as she unfastens her jeans and lets them slide down her impossibly long legs. She steps out of them with practiced grace, standing there in nothing but her matching bra and panties, the delicate material clinging to her hips like it was custom-made for her.

The other girls watch with barely contained excitement, their eyes flicking between Wonyoung and you, anticipation thick in the air. Wonyoung meets your gaze, her hands reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. The straps slide down her shoulders, and the bra falls away, revealing her flawless, perky breasts. She’s all confidence and control, completely in her element as she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushes them down, leaving her bare before you.

“So,” she says, her tone playful as she turns to the other girls. “Who wants to go first?”

“I do,” Ning blurts out immediately, her cheeks flushing as she realizes how eager she sounds.

“No way,” Seulgi interjects with a grin, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, but the way she shifts in place, her thighs pressing together, makes it clear that she’s just as ready as the others.

Wonyoung laughs softly, her bratty smile lighting up her face as she turns to you. “Well, oppa,” she says, stepping closer to you and running her fingers lightly down your chest. “Looks like you’re going to have to decide.”

You glance between the three of them, your heart pounding as they all look at you expectantly. Finally, your gaze lands on Irene. She’s sitting there, quiet but clearly eager, her delicate hands resting on her knees as she looks up at you with those piercing, almond-shaped eyes.

“Irene,” you say, your voice firm but gentle.

Her lips part slightly, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks as she nods and stands. The other girls groan in disappointment, but they don’t argue, instead settling on either side of the bed to watch. Ning takes a spot on Irene’s left, while Seulgi perches on her right, both of them leaning forward eagerly.

Irene steps closer to you, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches behind her to unhook her bra. The straps fall away, revealing her small, perfectly shaped breasts, the pale skin almost glowing under the soft light of the room. Her nipples are pink and already hard, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

You guide her onto the bed, her body soft and warm beneath your hands as she lies back against the pillows. She’s still wearing her panties, a delicate lace pair that clings to her hips, but the outline of her arousal is already visible through the thin fabric.

You finally take off your shirt before kneeling between her legs, your hands sliding up her thighs as you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties. Irene lifts her hips slightly, allowing you to pull them down and toss them aside. The sight of her pussy makes your breath hitch—soft pink lips glistening with arousal, a neat triangle of pubic hair above them, perfectly groomed but natural.

“Beautiful,” you murmur.

Irene’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and she bites her bottom lip, her hands clutching the sheets beneath her. “Please,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “Just… go slow, okay?”

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her thigh.

Wonyoung is suddenly beside you, her hands roaming over your muscular back before sliding down to your ass. She gives it a firm squeeze, her nails digging lightly into your skin. “You better not keep me waiting too long, oppa,” she whispers, her breath warm against your ear.

You position yourself at Irene’s entrance, the head of your cock brushing against her folds and gathering the slick wetness there. Her body tenses slightly beneath you, and she lets out a soft gasp as you push forward, just the tip slipping inside her.

“Ahh…” Irene’s voice is breathless, her hands gripping the sheets tighter as her body adjusts to your size.

Her pussy is tight, impossibly so, and you take your time, pushing in slowly inch by inch. Each movement draws a new sound from her—a gasp, a moan, a sharp intake of breath—as her walls stretch to accommodate you.

“Fuck,” Seulgi murmurs from the side, her eyes glued to where your cock is disappearing into Irene. “Look at her… She’s taking it so well.”

Ning nods in agreement, her hand drifting up to cup one of Irene’s small breasts. She squeezes it gently, her thumb brushing over the hardened nipple as she leans in to kiss the soft skin there.

Irene arches her back slightly at the attention, a soft whimper escaping her lips as you sink deeper inside her. “It’s… so big,” she gasps, her voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and disbelief.

“I know,” Wonyoung says smugly, her hands still exploring your body. “That’s why he’s mine.”

You pause for a moment, letting Irene adjust to the feeling of being stretched so completely. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breaths shallow as her body relaxes around you. Slowly, you begin to move again, pulling back slightly before pushing in deeper, each inch making her gasp louder.

“God,” Irene moans, her head falling back against the pillows as her legs wrap loosely around your hips. “You’re… you’re so deep…”

Ning and Seulgi continue to tease her, their hands roaming over her body as they kiss and lick at her sensitive skin. Ning focuses on her breasts, her lips wrapping around one nipple while her fingers pinch the other. Seulgi trails kisses down Irene’s neck, her teeth grazing lightly against the pale skin.

“Keep going,” Wonyoung whispers, her voice full of anticipation as she watches you. Her fingers dig into your ass again, urging you forward. “She can take it.”

You press forward until you’re half inside her, the tight heat of her pussy gripping you like a vice. Irene lets out a choked cry, her nails digging into your shoulders as her body trembles beneath you.

You lean down, your lips brushing against her ear as you whisper, “You’re so beautiful, Irene.”

Her only response is a broken moan, her eyes fluttering shut as you begin to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust drawing another gasp or moan from her lips. The girls on either side of her watch intently, their hands and mouths never leaving her body as the room fills with the sound of your movements and Irene’s pleasured cries.

And through it all, Wonyoung stays close, her touch constant as she whispers encouragement into your ear, her voice low and teasing. “That’s it, oppa,” she murmurs. “Show her what you can do.”

You thrust slowly, deliberately, only using a little more than half your cock, but even that feels like too much for Irene. Each time you push into her, her walls stretch around you like they’re made for it, molding to your size with a tightness that feels almost unbearable.

Her pussy clenches instinctively with every movement, struggling to take you as her slick heat coats your shaft, making the glide smooth yet impossibly intense. Irene's soft cries fill the room, her fingers gripping the sheets beside her as her body trembles beneath you.

“God,” she gasps, her voice breathless and high-pitched as she turns her head to the side, her dark hair spilling over the pillows. “You’re… you’re splitting me open…”

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, oppa?” Wonyoung’s voice cuts through Irene’s moans, playful and commanding. She’s watching everything, her lips curled into that signature bratty smirk. Without warning, she reaches out and slaps your ass—hard. The sting of it sends a jolt through you, and you grunt in response, your hips pushing forward just a little harder than before.

Irene lets out a sharp moan at the deeper thrust, her body jolting beneath you. “Ahh, fuck…!”

“That’s it,” Wonyoung teases, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Keep going. She can take it.”

Wonyoung moves across the bed with catlike grace, her long legs carrying her to Irene’s side. She climbs onto the bed and straddles Irene’s face, her knees pressing into the pillows as she settles herself over her.

“Open up,” Wonyoung says, her voice soft but commanding as she leans forward, her hands braced on the headboard. Her pussy hovers just above Irene’s lips, glistening and flushed with arousal. “I want to feel that tongue.”

Irene hesitates for only a moment, her eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and eagerness. Then, her lips part, and her tongue darts out tentatively, flicking over Wonyoung’s folds.

“Good girl,” Wonyoung purrs, rocking her hips slightly to press herself against Irene’s mouth. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

Irene’s moans become muffled as she does her best to obey, her tongue moving more confidently now as she laps at Wonyoung’s pussy. Her hands move to Wonyoung’s thighs, gripping them tightly as she pulls her closer, her head tilting back slightly to get better access.

You watch the scene unfold, the sight of Wonyoung riding Irene’s face only fueling the heat coursing through your body. You can feel Irene tightening around you even more as she tries to focus on both sensations—the fullness of your cock stretching her and the taste of Wonyoung on her tongue.

“Fuck, oppa,” Wonyoung groans, her voice trembling slightly as she rolls her hips against Irene’s mouth. “She’s so eager. I think she likes it.”

“She does,” you murmur, your voice rough with arousal as you thrust into Irene slowly, each movement drawing a soft whimper from her lips that vibrates against Wonyoung’s pussy.

Ning leans over Irene’s side, her hands roaming over her chest as she kneads and squeezes her small breasts. She leans down, her lips wrapping around one of Irene’s nipples as she sucks gently, her tongue flicking over the hardened peak.

Seulgi takes the other side, her fingers tracing patterns along Irene’s stomach before dipping lower, brushing lightly over where your cock is buried inside her. She doesn’t touch you directly, but her fingers graze the spot where Irene’s pussy stretches around you, her touch teasing and exploratory.

“You’re so tight,” Seulgi murmurs, her voice full of admiration as she watches your cock slide in and out of Irene. “Look at how she’s taking you. It’s… fuck, it’s beautiful.”

Ning lifts her head from Irene’s chest, her lips glistening as she turns to Seulgi. “She’s perfect,” she agrees, her voice soft and breathless. Their eyes meet for a moment, a spark of shared excitement passing between them before Ning leans in and presses her lips to Seulgi’s.

Their kiss is slow and sensual, their tongues moving together as their hands continue to roam over Irene’s trembling body. It’s like they’re lost in their own world, their soft moans mingling with the wet sounds of your cock moving inside Irene and the muffled noises coming from Wonyoung’s pussy.

Irene’s moans grow louder, more frantic, her body arching beneath you as she struggles to keep up with everything happening to her. Her pussy clenches tightly around you, and her hips start to move instinctively, meeting your slow thrusts as if begging for more.

“She’s losing it,” Wonyoung says with a satisfied laugh, her hips grinding down harder against Irene’s mouth. “Keep going, oppa. Make her cum for me.”

You lean down, your hands gripping Irene’s hips firmly as you push into her just a little deeper, making her gasp and cry out beneath you. “You’re doing so well,” you murmur, your voice low and soothing. “Just let go, Irene. I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes flutter open briefly, then, they squeeze shut again as another moan escapes her, muffled by Wonyoung’s pussy pressing harder against her face.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Wonyoung groans, her head falling back as she rocks her hips against Irene’s mouth. “Her tongue feels amazing.”

The room is a haze of heat and moans and wet, lewd sounds. Ning and Seulgi’s hands never stop moving, their fingers teasing and caressing Irene’s body as they kiss each other with an intensity that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

You keep your pace steady, your cock sliding in and out of Irene’s tight, dripping pussy, each thrust stretching her in ways she’s never experienced before. Her body shudders beneath you, her moans growing louder and more desperate as she gets closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, oppa,” Wonyoung urges, her voice breathy and teasing as she looks over her shoulder at you. “Make her cum.”

You grip Irene’s hips tighter, your thrusts becoming just a little faster, a little deeper, as you push her closer to the brink. Her body trembles violently beneath you, and her muffled cries reach a fever pitch as her orgasm crashes over her.

Her pussy clenches around you like a vice, her entire body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure ripple through her. Wonyoung moans loudly as well, her movements becoming erratic as Irene’s moans vibrate against her clit, pushing her closer to her own release.

“Fuck, yes,” Wonyoung cries out, her head falling back as she grinds against Irene’s face.

Ning and Seulgi pull away from each other, their eyes fixed on Irene’s writhing form as they continue to stroke and caress her, their hands moving in perfect sync.

You slow your movements, letting Irene ride out her orgasm as her body relaxes beneath you, her chest heaving with each labored breath.

Wonyoung finally lifts herself off Irene’s face, her legs trembling slightly as she moves to sit beside you. “Not bad,” she says with a smirk, her fingers trailing over your arm.

The bed shifts as everyone moves, bodies brushing against each other in a haze of arousal and need. Seulgi wastes no time, standing and sliding her lingerie down her toned body in one smooth motion. Her black bra and matching thong hit the floor, revealing a figure carved by years of dance. Her athletic curves are taut, her thighs strong, her ass round and firm, framed perfectly as she kneels on the bed.

“It’s my turn now,” she says, her voice low and dripping with anticipation. She gets on all fours without hesitation, her back arching to present herself, ass high in the air and legs spread just enough to show her glistening pussy already wet and waiting.

“Damn,” Ning mutters, her eyes glued to Seulgi’s perfect form. She doesn't waste any time and also takes off her own lingerie, sitting directly in front of Seulgi, already spreading her legs to reveal her own slick folds. “Come here,” she adds with a smirk, her voice playful but commanding.

Seulgi doesn’t need to be told twice. She crawls forward on all fours, her face inches from Ning’s pussy. Her lips part as she leans in, her tongue darting out to tease along Ning’s folds before sucking lightly on her clit.

“Fuck,” Ning gasps, her fingers tangling in Seulgi’s hair as she pulls her closer. “That’s good. Just like that.”

Behind them, Wonyoung steps up, her eyes narrowing as she watches Seulgi’s ass sway with each movement. “Look at you,” she says. She reaches out and delivers a sharp slap to Seulgi’s ass, the sound echoing through the room. “You look like such a slut in this position.”

Seulgi moans against Ning’s pussy, the sound muffled but unmistakable. “Maybe I am,” she mumbles, her voice thick with arousal before diving back in, her tongue moving faster as Ning lets out a breathless laugh.

Wonyoung turns to you, her bratty smirk lighting up her face as she gestures toward Seulgi. “Go on, oppa,” she says. “She’s ready for you.”

But before you move, Irene is suddenly beside you, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. Her lips are swollen, her face flushed, and there’s a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

You lean down, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. There’s a sweetness to it, but underneath that, you can taste the familiar tang of Wonyoung’s pussy, still fresh on Irene’s tongue.

“You okay?” you murmur against her lips, your voice low and filled with concern.

She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “More than okay,” she whispers. “A cock never made me cum so fast before.”

The sincerity in her voice makes your chest tighten slightly, but before you can say anything else, she presses another kiss to your lips before stepping back to let you focus on Seulgi.

Your attention shifts to her, the sight of Seulgi’s ass still high in the air, her pussy glistening and inviting. You kneel behind her, one hand gripping her hip as the other guides your cock to her entrance. Her wetness coats the head as you tease her, rubbing up and down her slit, your movements deliberate and slow.

Seulgi whimpers, her hips pressing back against you as she tries to take you inside. “Stop teasing,” she gasps, her voice desperate. “Just put it in already.”

You smirk, leaning over her slightly as you position yourself. “You sure?” you ask, your tone teasing. “I don’t want to break you.”

“Do it,” she snaps, her voice breathy and demanding.

You push forward slowly, the head of your cock slipping inside her tight, wet heat. Seulgi lets out a sharp gasp, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her as her body tenses.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “You’re so fucking big…”

Behind you, Wonyoung watches with gleeful satisfaction. She moves closer to Irene, their bodies aligning as she presses a soft kiss to Irene’s lips. The size difference between them is striking—Wonyoung’s long, slender frame towering over Irene’s petite figure, their contrast somehow making the moment even hotter.

Seulgi moans again as you push deeper, each inch of your cock stretching her further. Her pussy grips you tightly, the slick walls trembling around you as she struggles to take more. You pause halfway, letting her adjust as her breaths come in short, shallow gasps.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur, your hands sliding up her sides to steady her.

She nods, her hair falling in messy waves around her face. “Keep going,” she whispers. “I can take it.”

You push forward again, the slow, deliberate movements drawing a mix of moans and gasps from Seulgi as your cock stretches her inch by inch. The pleasure is etched across her face, her lips parted and her brows furrowed as she rocks her hips back against you, desperate for more.

“Fuck,” Ning moans, watching from her position in front of Seulgi. Her legs are still spread, her pussy glistening as Seulgi continues to lick and suck at her clit. “She’s so good with her mouth. I don’t know how she’s even concentrating.”

“Because she’s a slut,” Wonyoung teases, her voice light and mocking as she pulls Irene closer, their lips meeting in another heated kiss. Her hands roam over Irene’s small frame, her fingers trailing down her sides and cupping her breasts as their tongues intertwine.

The sight only spurs you on, your hips pressing forward until you’re buried fully inside Seulgi. She cries out, her entire body trembling as she clutches the sheets beneath her. “Oh my god,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You’re… you’re fucking huge. It’s too much…”

“You’re taking it so well,” you murmur, your hands gripping her hips tightly as you begin to move, slow and steady.

Each thrust draws a moan from her lips, the mixture of pain and pleasure etched across her face as her body rocks beneath you. Ning tangles her fingers in Seulgi’s hair, pulling her closer as she grinds against her mouth, her own moans growing louder with each flick of Seulgi’s tongue.

Behind you, Wonyoung and Irene are lost in their own world, their kisses deep and passionate as Wonyoung’s hands explore every inch of Irene’s body. Wonyoung’s long fingers tracing delicate patterns over Irene’s pale skin as their breaths mingle.

The room is filled with the sounds of pleasure—moans, gasps, the wet slap of your cock sliding into Seulgi’s tight pussy. Her body trembles with every thrust, her voice breaking into desperate cries as she tries to meet your movements.

“You love this, don’t you?” you whisper, your voice low and teasing as you lean over her.

“Yes,” she gasps, her nails digging into the sheets. “Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.”

And so you don’t, your pace slow but steady, each movement deliberate as you drive her closer to the edge. Wonyoung’s laughter rings out from beside you, her voice full of satisfaction as she watches Seulgi fall apart beneath you.

“You look so good like this,” Wonyoung murmurs, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Keep going, oppa. Slap that slut. Make her scream.”

You do as she says, the sharp crack of your palm against Seulgi’s ass reverberates through the room, the flushed imprint of your hand blooming across her skin. She arches her back with a guttural moan, her hips stuttering backward to meet your next thrust—deeper, harder, the pace unrelenting now. Her pussy clenches like a vice around your cock, slick walls trembling as she struggles to adjust to the brutal rhythm.

“F-fuck!” she chokes out, her voice breaking as you bottom out inside her, the thick base of your shaft stretching her to the limit. Drool drips from her lips onto the sheets below, her face still buried between Ning’s thighs, though her tongue falters, too overwhelmed to keep pace.

Ning giggles breathlessly, her fingers tightening in Seulgi’s hair. “Getting distracted, unnie?” she teases, grinding her hips forward to force Seulgi’s mouth back against her clit. But Seulgi’s response is a muffled whimper, her body jerking as you slap her ass again, the sound sharp and possessive.

“Louder,” Wonyoung demands from across the bed, her voice honeyed and cruel. She’s sprawled beside Irene, their limbs tangled as Irene’s slender fingers work between Wonyoung’s thighs, stroking her pussy with practiced precision. Wonyoung’s head tilts back, her lips parted in a moan, but her eyes stay locked on you—dark, commanding, hungry. “Make her scream. Ruin her.”

You obey, your hips pistoning faster, each thrust punching a ragged cry from Seulgi’s throat. Her knuckles bleach white where she grips the sheets, her ass reddening under the force of your strikes.

“Y-you’re—ah!—splitting me open—” Seulgi gasps, her words dissolving into a shattered moan as you angle your cock upward, grinding against her g-spot with deliberate cruelty. Her thighs quiver, her body taut as a bowstring, but you slow just enough to deny her release, drawing a frustrated sob from her lips.

Irene watches, her breath hitching as Wonyoung arches beneath her touch. “Look at her,” Irene murmurs, her voice husky with arousal. “She’s unraveling.”

Wonyoung’s laugh is low, wicked. “And she’s still not even close.” She grabs Irene’s wrist, guiding her fingers deeper, harder. “Keep going. I want to watch her break first.”

Ning, meanwhile, rocks her hips faster against Seulgi’s mouth, her moans pitching higher. “Come on, unnie,” she taunts, her voice trembling. “You can take it, right?” But Seulgi’s only response is a broken whine, her eyes squeezed shut as you dominate her, her body reduced to a quivering, sweating mess beneath you.

The air reeks of sex and salt, the heat suffocating. You lean over Seulgi’s back, your breath hot against her ear. “You wanted this,” you growl, punctuating the words with another slap, another brutal thrust. “Begging for it like a slut.”

“Yes—” she sobs, her voice raw. “Y-yes, please—!”

Ning cums first, her back arching as she grinds down on Seulgi’s tongue, her cries sharp and sweet. Seulgi tries to focus, her mouth working desperately, but another deep thrust from you shatters her concentration, leaving her gasping, drooling, ruined.

Wonyoung’s smirk is triumphant. “Good girl,” she purrs, though it’s unclear who she’s praising—Seulgi or Ning. Her own hips roll against Irene’s hand, her breath catching. “Now… harder.”

You give Seulgi exactly that.

Seulgi’s entire body locks up like a live wire, back arched so hard it looks like it might snap. “Oppa—I’m—I’m gonna—!” Her scream cracks into a shrill, broken wail as her pussy vises around your cock, clenching in ragged pulses that feel like she’s trying to milk you dry. Tears streak her flushed cheeks, her ass still jolting red from your slaps as she grinds back against you, desperate. “Fuck—fuck—fuck—!”

You drill into her faster, harder, the wet slap of your hips against her ass drowning out her cries. Her thighs tremble, her knees buckling until she’s collapsed onto the bed, face mashed into the sheets. But you don’t stop—not until her screams dissolve into choked, hiccupping sobs, her nails clawing at the mattress. “There it is,” you grunt, feeling her walls flutter wildly, sucking you deeper like she’s trying to claim you. “C’mon, ruin the sheets, princess.”

She cums like a fucking avalanche—back bowing, toes curling, her pussy drowning you in slick as she thrashes. “Ngh—ah! AH!” Her voice shreds raw, every muscle in her body seizing before she goes limp, gasping like she’s been punched.

You rip your cock out just as the first thick ropes of cum surge from your balls, splattering hot across her lower back. It’s not an orgasm—just a relentless leak, your swollen sac emptying itself in messy, pearly streaks that drip down her ass. “Shit,” Seulgi whimpers, twitching as the warmth coats her skin. “S’so… much…”

Wonyoung’s already there, fingers dragging through the mess on Seulgi’s back. She licks her fingertips slowly, eyes locked on yours, that bratty smirk plastered on her face. “So good,” she purrs, before shoving her cum-smeared hand against Irene’s mouth. “Try it.” Irene hesitates, then laps at it obediently, her tongue swirling around Wonyoung’s fingers with a soft, approving hum. “Addicting,” she murmurs, lips glistening.

Ning slowly gets out of bed, biting her lip hard enough to bruise. You catch her eye, patting the chair beside the bed. “C’mere,” you say, voice softer now. “You’re up.”

She freezes, then nods, shaky as a fawn. She climbs into your lap, her thighs bracketing yours. “Slow,” you remind her, hands gripping her hips as she lines herself up. Her pussy glistens, already dripping, but her breath hitches when the head of your cock brushes her entrance. “I-I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Wonyoung snaps from across the room. “Stop being a baby.”

You shoot her a glare, but Ning’s already sinking down, inch by torturous inch. Her face screws up, tears welling as she bottoms out—halfway, her tight little cunt stretching obscenely around your shaft. “Fuck,” she whimpers, nails digging into your shoulders. “It’s—too much—”

“Breathe,” you murmur, thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re doing good.”

She nods, shaky, her hips trembling as she grinds in tiny circles, trying to adjust. The stretch is written all over her face—pain, fear, but underneath it, want. Her pussy flutters, sucking you deeper like it’s begging for more.

Wonyoung rolls her eyes. “Boring. Just shove her dow—”

“Shut up,” you growl, cutting her off. Ning’s eyes widen, but there’s a flicker of gratitude there before she buries her face in your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“I… I wanna try,” she whispers, voice trembling.

You nod, hands steady on her hips. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She lifts herself slightly—just an inch—before sinking back down with a sharp gasp. “Ah!” Her thighs shake, her cunt clenching like a fist. “I-I can’t… more—”

“You’re fine,” you reassure her, but she’s already grinding harder, chasing the friction, her moans pitching higher.

Ning’s hips stutter as she grinds down, her tiny cunt swallowing another inch of your cock with a wet squelch. Tears cling to her lashes, her breath hitching in sharp, broken gasps. “H-hurts,” she whines, her fingers digging into your shoulders like she’s clinging to a cliff edge. But her hips don’t stop—small, desperate circles that drag her clit against the base of your shaft, her pussy fluttering like a heartbeat around you.

“You’re doing it,” Seulgi rasps from the bed, sprawled on her back with her legs spread. Wonyoung already has a vibrator in her hands, buzzing against Seulgi's clit, making her jerk and curse. “Fuck—fuck—look at her go, Ning! Take that dick like a good girl—”

Irene moans softly beside her, back arched as Wonyoung takes the vibrator to her pussy in torturous circles over her slit. “So… tight,” Irene murmurs, her usually composed voice fraying. Her eyes stay locked on Ning, watching the way her petite body strains to accommodate you. “You can… ah… handle more, can’t you?”

Wonyoung smirks, but there’s a flicker of something softer in her gaze as she watches Ning struggle. “Ease up, Ning,” she says, her tone less biting than usual. The vibrator dips lower, pressing against Irene’s asshole, drawing a sharp gasp. “You don’t wanna rip, do you?”

Ning shakes her head frantically, her dark hair sticking to her sweaty neck. “N-no—I’m t-trying—” She sinks down another fraction, her cunt stretching obscenely around your girth. A high-pitched whine escapes her lips, her thighs trembling violently. “O-oppa—it’s too big—”

“You’re lying,” Seulgi growls, her hips bucking against the vibrator. “Your pussy’s dripping, you little liar—fuck!” Wonyoung shoves the toy harder against her, silencing her with a choked cry.

You grip Ning’s waist, thumbs brushing the jut of her hipbones. “Breathe,” you murmur, voice rough but steady. “You’re in control. Go slow.”

She nods, sucking in a shaky breath before lifting herself—just an inch—and sinking back down. This time, she takes more, her tight walls squeezing like a fist as she chokes out a sob. “Ah! Ah—!” Her clit grinds against you, the friction wringing a sudden, startled moan from her throat. “F-fuck—!”

“There it is,” Wonyoung mutters, her smirk gentler now. She drags the vibrator back to Irene’s clit, watching Ning’s face crumple with a mix of pain and dawning pleasure. “See? Not so bad, right?”

Ning doesn’t answer, too focused on the brutal stretch, her hips rolling in jerky, unsteady motions. Drool drips from her parted lips as she bottoms out—three-quarters of your cock buried inside her—and freezes, her entire body trembling. “C-can’t,” she whimpers, voice cracking. “I’ll—break—”

“You won’t,” you assure her, hands steadying her hips. “Look at you. Taking it.”

Seulgi laughs breathlessly, her own thighs quivering as the vibrator pushes her closer to the edge again. “C’mon, Ning-ah—beg for it! Tell him you need it—”

“Shut up,” Ning snaps, her brattiness flaring through the tears. But the defiance doesn’t last—your cock shifts inside her, brushing a spot that makes her jolt. “Ah! F-fuck—there—!”

Irene’s breath hitches, her fingers tangling in the sheets. “She’s… close,” she murmurs. Wonyoung’s free hand slides up Irene’s thigh, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her yelp.

“Focus,” Wonyoung chides, but her eyes stay on Ning, watching the way her small body writhes, her cunt glistening around your shaft. “You’re doing good, Ning. Little more.”

Ning sobs, her hips finally finding a rhythm—shallow, frantic bounces that drag her clit against you with every thrust. “O-oppa—please—!” Her voice cracks, her walls fluttering wildly as pleasure starts to overtake the pain. “I—I need—!”

“Need what?” you growl, gripping her hips tighter.

“Y-you—” she chokes out, her face burning crimson. “All of you—please—!”

The room holds its breath as you guide her down—deeper—until her ass meets your thighs, your cock fully sheathed inside her. Ning’s scream is raw, shattered, her nails scratching as she claws at your shoulders. “FULL—!”

Seulgi cackles, half-hysterical, as the vibrator wrings another broken moan from her. “Holy shit—she did it—!”

Wonyoung’s smirk returns, but there’s pride there too. “Told you,” she says, her voice oddly tender. “Now… move.”

Ning does—slow, grinding rolls of her hips that make her whimper with every shift. “S’too much,” she slurs, her voice wrecked. “B-but… good… s’good…”

Irene watches, transfixed, her own hips rolling against the vibrator. “Beautiful,” she breathes, her usual poise crumbling.

Wonyoung leans in, her lips brushing Irene’s ear. “Patience,” she murmurs. “This is just… the start.”

Then, she shoves the vibrator deep into Irene’s pussy with a sharp thrust, making Irene’s back arch off the bed as she lets out a strangled cry. “Fuck—!” Irene’s hands fly to Wonyoung’s wrist, her nails digging in as the toy buzzes relentlessly inside her. Wonyoung’s other hand is already working Seulgi, two fingers plunging into her soaked pussy while her thumb grinds hard against her clit. Seulgi’s head falls back, her moans guttural and raw, her hips bucking wildly against Wonyoung’s hand.

“Fuck her harder,” Wonyoung growls, her eyes locked on you and Ning. “Don’t let her breathe.”

Ning’s still grinding on your lap, her tiny body trembling as she tries to keep up with the rhythm. Her pace is slow, torturous, her cunt clenching around your cock like she’s trying to milk you dry. Her face is flushed, tears streaking her cheeks as she whimpers, “O-oppa—it’s so big—I can’t—”

“You can,” you growl, your hands gripping her hips tighter. “Look at you. Taking it like a fucking slut.”

Ning’s eyes widen, her lips parting in a shocked gasp, but the words seem to ignite something in her. Her hips roll faster, her cunt squeezing around you as she moans, “Y-you feel so good—ah!—I-I can’t—stop—”

But it’s still not enough. The slow, teasing pace is driving you insane, and you can’t take it anymore. Without warning, you stand up, lifting Ning off the chair like she weighs nothing. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms clinging to your shoulders as she lets out a startled scream. “O-oppa—!”

The girls freeze for a split second, their eyes widening as they take in the sight. You’re towering over them, your massive frame dwarfing Ning’s petite body. The difference is brutal—you’re almost two meters tall, and Ning barely reaches your chest. Her tiny legs dangle helplessly, her cunt stretched obscenely around your cock as you hold her in the air.

“Holy shit,” Seulgi breathes, her voice trembling with awe. “Look at her—fuck—”

Wonyoung’s smirk is back, her fingers still working Seulgi’s pussy as she watches you with dark, hungry eyes. “Finally,” she purrs, her voice dripping with approval. “Ruin her.”

Your hips snap forward, driving your cock deeper into Ning’s tight, trembling cunt. She lets out a shattered scream, her nails digging into your shoulders as her body jerks violently. “AH! O-OPPA—!”

“That’s it,” Wonyoung hisses, her voice rising with excitement. “Fuck her—make her scream!”

Irene’s moans join the chorus, her hips grinding against the vibrator as she watches you dominate Ning. “God—she’s so small—” she gasps, her voice breaking. “Ruin her—please—”

Seulgi’s not far behind, her thighs quivering as Wonyoung’s fingers work her over. “Fuck—look at her—fuck her harder—!”

Ning’s screams are your fuel, her tiny body bouncing helplessly in your grip as you pound into her. Her cunt is dripping, her walls fluttering wildly as she clings to you, her voice cracking with every thrust. “AH! AH! AH!”

“You like that?” you growl, your voice rough and demanding. “Being used like a fucking toy?”

Ning nods frantically, her face buried in your neck as she sobs, “Y-yes—yes—please—more—!”

Her legs shake violently, her cunt clenching like a vice as she gets closer and closer to the edge. “I’m—I’m gonna cum—!” she screams, her voice raw and broken.

“Do it,” Wonyoung commands, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Cum on his cock—show us—”

Ning's orgasm makes her scream echo throughout the entire room. Her back arches, her entire body locking up as she squirts, her cunt gushing around your cock. The sound is obscene—wet, messy, relentless—as her juices drip down your thighs. “AHHH!” she wails, her voice shattering as her walls milk you, her tiny body convulsing in your grip.

The girls watch in stunned silence, their own moans forgotten as they take in the sight. Even Wonyoung looks momentarily speechless, her fingers stilling inside Seulgi as she stares at Ning’s trembling form.

You can’t hold back anymore. The pressure in your balls is too much, and with a low growl, you release another leak. Thick ropes of cum surge into Ning’s tight, fluttering cunt, filling her to the brim as she whimpers, “O-oppa—s’so hot—ah!”

Ning’s legs give out, her body going limp as you lower her to the ground. She collapses onto the bed, her chest heaving as she stares up at you with dazed, glassy eyes. “T-thank you,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Wonyoung’s smirk returns, her fingers slowly leaving Seulgi's pussy, her other hand turning off the vibrator “Good girl,” she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now it's finally my turn.”

Ning’s trembling legs shift slightly as she scoots higher on the bed, her body still quivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her thighs part instinctively, her glistening pussy on full display, your cum still leaking out of her. Seulgi doesn’t waste a second. She crawls over, her eyes locked on Ning’s messy cunt, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

“Let me clean you up, Ning,” Seulgi purrs, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. She doesn’t wait for permission, her tongue darting out to lick a long, slow stripe up Ning’s slit. Ning gasps, her back arching off the bed as Seulgi’s tongue swirls around her sensitive clit, lapping up your cum with a lewd suck.

“Ah! S-Seulgi—!” Ning whimpers, her hands flying to Seulgi’s hair, tangling in the dark strands as Seulgi buries her face deeper. “F-fuck—that’s—too much—”

Seulgi pulls back just enough to smirk up at her, her lips glistening. “Too much?” she teases, her breath hot against Ning’s pussy. “You were just screaming for more a second ago.” She dives back in, her tongue plunging into Ning’s tight hole, licking up every drop of cum as Ning writhes beneath her.

The sight is obscene—Ning’s tiny body trembling, her legs spread wide as Seulgi devours her, your cum smeared across her lips. Your cock twitches, still hard and aching, as you watch Seulgi work her over.

Wonyoung clears her throat, her bratty smirk firmly in place as she sprawls out on the bed, her long legs spread invitingly. “Finally,” she drawls, her voice dripping with impatience. “My turn. And don’t hold back, oppa. You know I can take it.”

Irene and Seulgi exchange a glance before moving to either side of Wonyoung, their hands already roaming over her flawless body. Irene leans down, capturing Wonyoung’s lips in a deep, hungry kiss, while Seulgi’s mouth latches onto one of Wonyoung’s perky breasts, her tongue swirling around the hardened nipple.

“Fuck,” Wonyoung moans, her head falling back against the pillows as Irene’s hand slips between her thighs, teasing her already wet pussy. “Finally some attention.”

You position yourself between Wonyoung’s legs, your cock throbbing as you line up with her entrance. She’s dripping, her pussy glistening with arousal as she looks up at you with those dark, commanding eyes. “Go on,” she taunts, her voice low and teasing. “Ruin me. I'm not fragile like Ning, the crybaby.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hips snap forward, driving your cock into her in one brutal thrust. Wonyoung’s back arches, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips as she takes every inch of you. “Fuck—yes—” she moans, her nails digging into the sheets.

You set a rough, relentless pace, your hips slamming into hers with enough force to make the bed shake. Wonyoung’s moans are loud, unrestrained, her bratty facade crumbling as you fuck her senseless. “Harder,” she demands, her voice trembling. “Fucking—harder—”

Irene’s lips trail down Wonyoung’s neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin as her fingers pinch and twist Wonyoung’s other nipple. Seulgi's hands slide down her tummy, placing soft kisses.

“God—you’re so tight,” you growl, your hands gripping Wonyoung’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Fucking—take it—”

Wonyoung’s head thrashes against the pillows, her moans climbing higher as you pound into her. “Yes—yes—fuck—!”

Ning, still trembling from her own orgasm, watches Wonyoung with wide, mischievous eyes. Her hand reaches for the forgotten vibrator, her fingers curling around it as she flicks it on with a soft buzz. The sound is low but unmistakable, and Wonyoung’s head snaps toward her, her dark eyes narrowing.

“Ning,” Wonyoung growls, her voice sharp and warning. “Don’t you dare—”

But Ning’s already crawling closer, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she presses the vibrator against Wonyoung’s clit. The sudden buzz makes Wonyoung jolt violently, her back arching off the bed as a sharp, guttural scream tears from her throat.

“FUCK!” Wonyoung screams, her body thrashing as the vibrator sends shockwaves of pleasure through her. “Ning—! STOP!”

Irene and Seulgi are quick to react, their hands pinning Wonyoung’s wrists to the bed as she squirms beneath them. Irene’s grip is firm, her nails digging into Wonyoung’s delicate skin as she leans down, her lips brushing against Wonyoung’s ear.

“Hold still,” Irene murmurs, her voice low and commanding. “Take it.”

Seulgi grins, her teeth grazing Wonyoung’s nipple as she adds, “You wanted it rough. Don’t complain now.”

Wonyoung’s screams pitch higher, raw and ragged, as you jackhammer into her, your cock splitting her oversensitive pussy wide. Her thighs quiver, her hips jerking wildly, but Irene and Seulgi’s grip is ironclad—nails digging into her wrists. “S-stop—fuck—I said STOP—!” she shrieks, her bratty bravado crumbling into desperate, tear-soaked pleas.

Ning doesn’t flinch. Her fingers press the buzzing vibrator harder against Wonyoung’s swollen clit, her other hand slapping Wonyoung’s inner thigh. “Make me,” she sneers. “You love this, Wonyoung. Look at your fucking pussy—dripping like a slut.”

Wonyoung’s head thrashes, her back arching off the bed as you slam into her cervix, the slap of your hips against her ass echoing through the room. “N-no—ah! AH!” Her protests dissolve into garbled moans, her cunt clenching around you in violent spasms. “T-too much—plea—SE—”

“Shut up,” you growl. “You begged for this. Take it.”

Irene’s laugh is low, dangerous, as she twists Wonyoung’s nipple sharply. “Crying already? You’re pathetic.”

Seulgi joins in, her teeth sinking into Wonyoung’s shoulder as she purrs, “Scream louder. Let the whole building hear how much of a whore you are.”

Wonyoung’s orgasm detonates without warning. Her body snaps taut, a guttural wail tearing from her throat as her pussy gushes, squirting across the sheets in a filthy, soaking wave. “F-FUCK—I’M CUMMING—STOP—!”

Ning slaps her clit with the vibrator, the buzz cranked to max. “Cum again,” she demands, her voice icy. “Now.”

Wonyoung sobs, her hips bucking uncontrollably as a second orgasm rips through her, her cunt milking your cock in frantic pulses. “AHHH! P-PLEASE—MERCY—!”

“Mercy?” you mock, slamming into her harder, your balls slapping her ass. “You don’t deserve mercy.” You yank your cock out suddenly, leaving her gaping, and drive it back in—upward—the head grinding brutally against her clit.

Wonyoung screeches, her body bowing off the bed, her nails clawing at Irene and Seulgi’s arms. “NO—NO—AH! AH!”

Ning leans in, her lips curling into a vicious smile. “Slut,” she whispers, before spitting in Wonyoung’s face.

The insult tips her over. Wonyoung’s third orgasm is violent—her pussy squirting again, her screams dissolving into choked, hiccupping wails as her body convulses, utterly wrecked. You fuck her through it, your thrusts relentless, until her eyes roll back and she goes limp, her chest heaving, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Irene releases Wonyoung’s wrist to trail a finger through the mess on the sheets. “Look at this,” she murmurs, licking her finger clean with a smirk. “You’re ruined, Wonyoung.”

Seulgi laughs, finally releasing her grip. “Look at her—can’t even speak.”

You pull out with a wet pop, your cock glistening with her cum. Wonyoung’s pussy twitches, still pulsing weakly, as she stares blankly at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths.

Ning drops the vibrator onto Wonyoung’s stomach, her voice sweetly mocking. “Aw, did we break you?”

Wonyoung’s lips part, but all that comes out is a broken whimper. She lies sprawled on the bed, her chest heaving, her body still trembling from the relentless pounding you gave her. Her legs are splayed wide, her pussy glistening and swollen, a mess of cum and slick dripping down her thighs. Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips parted as she tries to catch her breath. You stand over her, your cock still rock-hard, throbbing with need. Your hand strokes it slowly, the pre-cum leaking from the tip smearing over your fingers as you let out a low groan.

“Close,” you mutter, your voice rough and strained. “Fuck—I’m so close.”

The words are like a trigger. Irene, Seulgi, and Ning immediately drop to their knees around you, their eyes locked on your cock with a mix of hunger and desperation. Their lips are swollen, their skin flushed and glistening with sweat, their hair messy and sticking to their faces. They look ruined—completely wrecked by your cock—And it's fucking beautiful.

Ning glances over at Wonyoung, who’s still lying limp on the bed, and smirks. “Wonyoungie,” she calls, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Aren’t you joining us? Or are you too tired?”

Wonyoung groans, her head lolling to the side as she glares at Ning through half-lidded eyes. “Shut up,” she mutters, her voice hoarse. “I’m coming. Just… give me a second.”

The girls don’t wait for her. Seulgi is the first to lean in, her lips wrapping around the head of your cock as she sucks hard, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip. “Fuck,” you groan, your hand tangling in her hair as she takes you deeper, her throat constricting around your girth.

Irene’s hands join in, her fingers stroking the base of your shaft as she leans in to kiss and lick along the length. “So thick,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with awe.

Ning doesn’t say anything, her small hands gripping your thighs as she presses her lips to the side of your cock, kissing and sucking at the thick veins that run along the shaft. Her tongue flicks out, teasing the sensitive skin as she moans softly, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.

The sight of them—idol royalty, kneeling at your feet, their faces flushed and their bodies trembling—is almost too much to handle. Your cock twitches in Seulgi’s mouth, your balls tightening as you fight to hold back.

Wonyoung finally drags herself off the bed, her legs shaky as she stumbles over to join the others. She drops to her knees beside Ning, her hands reaching out to stroke your thighs. “Move over,” she mutters, her voice still weak but laced with that familiar bratty edge.

Ning smirks but scoots aside, making room for Wonyoung. Without hesitation, Wonyoung leans in, her lips wrapping around the base of your cock as she sucks hard, her tongue lapping at the sensitive skin. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, that familiar glint of mischief shining through despite her exhaustion.

The girls work together in perfect harmony, their mouths and hands exploring every inch of your cock. Seulgi focuses on the head, her lips stretching around the thick tip as she sucks and swirls her tongue. Irene takes the middle, her fingers stroking and teasing as she kisses along the shaft. Ning and Wonyoung work the base, their tongues flicking and licking at the sensitive veins, their hands gripping your thighs for support.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hand tightening in Seulgi’s hair as your hips jerk forward, thrusting deeper into her mouth. “So good—all of you—”

Wonyoung pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, her lips glistening with spit. “We know,” she purrs. “Now cum for us, oppa. We’ve earned it.”

The girls are relentless, their mouths and hands working in perfect sync as they worship your cock. Seulgi’s lips stretch around the head, her throat constricting as she tries to take you deeper, but she can’t swallow more than halfway. Her eyes water, drool dripping down her chin as she gags and pulls back, gasping for air.

“Fuck—you’re so big—” she chokes out, her voice trembling as she strokes the base of your shaft with both hands.

Irene takes over, her lips wrapping around the middle as she sucks hard, her tongue swirling along the thick veins. “So much,” she murmurs, her voice muffled as she tries to take more, her elegant facade crumbling under the sheer size of you.

Ning and Wonyoung work the base, their tongues flicking and licking at your heavy balls, their hands gripping your thighs for support. Wonyoung’s lips press against your sac, her tongue darting out to tease the sensitive skin as she looks up at you with those dark, bratty eyes.

“Cum for us,” she purrs, her voice low and commanding. “Empty those balls—all over us.”

The girls’ desperation is palpable, their voices rising in a chorus of pleas as they beg for your cum.

“Please—baby—I need it—” Seulgi whimpers, her hands stroking faster.

“Cover me,” Irene moans, her lips still wrapped around your cock.

“I want it—in my mouth—” Ning gasps, her tongue flicking against your balls.

You can’t hold back any longer. Your cock throbs, your balls tightening as the pressure builds to a breaking point. “Fuck—I’m cumming—” you growl, your voice rough and strained.

The girls don’t stop, their mouths and hands working even harder as they push you over the edge. You pull your cock out of Irene’s mouth just in time, your hand stroking the shaft as the first thick rope of cum explodes from the tip.

The first shot hits Irene square in the face, painting her delicate features with a thick, white streak. Her eyes widen in shock, but she doesn’t pull away, her tongue darting out to catch the next spurt as it lands on her lips.

Seulgi is next, her mouth open as a hot, sticky load splashes across her cheeks and chin. She moans, her fingers digging into your thighs as she leans in, trying to catch more.

Ning’s turn. The cum lands on her nose and forehead, dripping down onto her lips. She giggles, her tongue flicking out to taste it as she looks up at you with wide, playful eyes.

Finally, Wonyoung. The last shot hits her right between the eyes, the thick, white fluid dripping down her nose and onto her lips. She smirks, her tongue darting out to lick it off as she looks up at you with that familiar, bratty glint.

“I told you, girls,” she purrs. “He cums like a fucking fountain.”

But it’s not over. Your cock twitches again, another thick rope of cum shooting out and splattering across the girls’ faces. Ning opens her mouth this time, catching the load on her tongue as the others laugh and smear the cum across their skin.

“Fuck—so much—” Seulgi gasps, her fingers trailing through the mess on her face.

Irene giggles, her usual elegance replaced by a playful, almost giddy energy as she wipes the cum from her cheeks and licks it off her fingers. “I love your taste,” she murmurs, her voice trembling with arousal.

Wonyoung leans in, her lips brushing against your cock as she licks up the last few drops. “Good boy,” she purrs, her voice low and teasing.

The room is a mess of sweat, cum, and laughter as the girls start playing with the thick, sticky load you’ve painted across their faces.

Wonyoung is the first to move, her fingers trailing through the mess on her cheeks before bringing them to her lips. She sucks them clean with a slow, deliberate motion, her dark eyes locked on yours as she smirks. “Mmm,” she hums, her voice low and sultry. “Tastes even better than I remember.”

Irene giggles as she wipes the cum from her nose and chin. She licks her fingers clean, her tongue swirling around each digit with a soft, approving hum. “I've never seen anyone cum so much. It's incredible,” she murmurs.

Seulgi isn’t as delicate. She scoops a glob of cum off her cheek with two fingers and shoves it into her mouth, her lips curling into a wicked grin as she swallows. “Fuck,” she groans, her voice rough and raw. “It's really a lot—how do you even produce this much?”

Ning is the most playful, her small hands smearing the cum across her face like war paint. She sticks her tongue out, showing off the thick, white fluid pooled there before swallowing it with a satisfied grin. “Yum,” she teases, her voice light and playful. “Oppa’s cum is the best.”

The girls laugh, their voices mingling in a chorus of amusement and arousal as they continue to play with the mess on their faces. Wonyoung leans over to Irene, her cum-stained lips pressing against Irene’s in a slow, messy kiss. Their tongues swirl together, the taste of your cum mingling with their own arousal as they moan softly into each other’s mouths.

Seulgi and Ning aren’t far behind. Seulgi grabs Ning’s face, her fingers digging into her cheeks as she pulls her into a deep, hungry kiss. Ning giggles against her lips, her hands tangling in Seulgi’s hair as they share the taste of your cum, their moans muffled but unmistakable.

The sight is surreal—four of the most beautiful women in the world, their faces streaked with your cum, kissing and licking it off each other with a hunger that’s almost feral. Your cock twitches weakly, still sensitive from the intense orgasm, as you watch them with a mix of awe and satisfaction.

Wonyoung finally pulls away from Irene, her lips glistening as she turns to you. She crawls over, her long legs carrying her to your side as she leans in, her lips brushing against your softened cock. “Thank you, oppa,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. “That was… the best night ever.”

She presses one last kiss to the tip of your cock, her tongue flicking out to taste the last few drops of cum before she leans back, her bratty smirk firmly in place. “Now,” she says, her voice dripping with mischief, “who’s up for round two?”

“I’m in,” Seulgi says.

“Me to,” Irene adds.

Ning giggles. “Obviously,” she teases, her voice light and playful. “I’m not done yet.”

Wonyoung’s smirk widens, her dark eyes locking on yours. “Looks like it’s unanimous,” she purrs. “Round two it is.”

1K notes · View notes

leclerc-hs · 10 months ago

Text

73 Questions with Mrs. Leclerc - cl16

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you do a 73 questions interview with Vogue OR charles can't help but third wheel your interview warnings: none??? just cute fluff basically, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 2.1k author's note: I actually got a request by someone to do this and thought it was such a CUTE idea and concept. I obviously didn't do ALL 73 questions cause that would've taken forever. But thought this was a cute little piece to do. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think don't be shy !! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE DELICATE FOLDS of the pale pink sundress fluttered like petals in a gentle breeze, framing your figure with a soft, ethereal elegance. As the front door yielded to the push, the fabric danced around your legs, caressing the tender skin of your thighs with a whisper of touch. Your radiant smile illuminated the scene, a beacon of joy amidst the fluttering fabric and nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” The male voice chimed brightly, his tone cheerful as a songbird greeting the dawn, echoing through the air with an infectious energy that mirrored your own bright smile.

“Hey!” You respond with effervescent warmth, your smile stretching across your face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. With a graceful gesture, you swing the door open wider, revealing the inviting warmth of your home’s foyer. The soft light spills in, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and elegant furnishing. The first thing to notice is the giant painting of a Ferrari Formula One car, hung high above the entry way table.

“Look who we have here! It’s Mrs. Leclerc!” A delicate blush warms your cheeks, a subtle reminder of the tender affection that tingles within you whenever you’re addressed as such. Though you and Charles have been together for many years, your marriage has infused your relationship with a fresh sense of intimacy and closeness. And despite that it’s been almost five years, the title of “wife” feels forever new and unfamiliar.

“On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“I would say 8, so I’m super excited!” With a gentle click, you shut the front door behind you, enveloping the foyer in a tranquility as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, you stooped to pick up a scattering of children’s toys that lay scattered like confetti on the polished wooden floors, offering a quick apology for the perceived “mess.” However, you couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the orchestrated chaos around you. While the house was meticulously maintained by the cleaning company before the video shoot, every detail was carefully curated to strike the perfect balance between lived-in warmth and elegance, ensuring a setting that felt both inviting and authentic to you and the viewers.

“Any reason for that?”

In the heart of the home lies a kitchen adorned with a stunning green cabinet motif. The cabinets, painted in a rich emerald hue, exude an air of sophistication and charm, perfectly complemented by gleaming brass hardware. Sunlight filters through the vast array of windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble countertops.

“You mean other than the fact that the kids go back to school soon?” You and the interviewer let out a soft laugh as you made your way behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge in a smooth motion to pull out a water bottle. “Want one?”

“No, but thanks though!” His voice is light-hearted.

As the fridge door remains open, a tantalizing glimpse is offered to the audience of its well-stocked interior. A colorful array of fresh produce fills the shelves, showing an abundance of vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables. Among the healthy offerings, assortment of juice boxes catches the eye, adding a playful touch to the wholesome scene.

“That’s a lot of juice boxes you have in there.” He makes a comment, it’s not a question, but you take it as one.

“Two kids and a husband,” You start, your tone light and casual before lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper for the camera, “who practically is also a kid, results in a lot of juice boxes.” With a playful wink directed at the lens, you punctuate the statement, adding a touch of humor to the scene. Setting the water bottle down on the expansive kitchen counter, you resume your easy demeanor, effortlessly blending candor and charm for your audience.

“Hey!” Your head shoots over, the camera seamlessly following your gaze to where Charles, your husband,sits on the floor of the living room, two of your kids, aged two and three, beside him with an abundance of toys strewn about. “I heard that!” Charles retorts with mock offense, a playful grin lighting up his face as he joins in the banter.

The living room exudes a chic sophistication with a distinct Formula One flair. Charcoal-gray walls provide a sleek backdrop, accentuating the mounted flat-screen television. A striking statement piece dominates one corner—a display of artwork showcasing all of the racetracks Charles has conquered – infusing the room with a sense of triumph and energy. A plush white sofa, adorned with an array of vibrant red pillows, invites relaxation and style. Across the room, a sizable shelf proudly showcases a collection of racing helmets, some belonging to Charles and others gathered over time, adding a personal touch to the space. Below the television, was a long console table that was adorned in various plants and photos of your family. You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at them.

With a casual wave of your hand, you dismiss Charles’s playful interruption, maintaining your position at the kitchen island as the camera refocuses on you. The gesture carries an air of affectionate familiarity, a gentle reminder of the dynamic energy that permeates your bustling household.

“If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?”

“Definitely Austin Butler.” You answer almost immediately, no hesitance in your voice.

“Hey!” Charles’s playful yelp echoes through the room once more, accompanied by the joyful laughter of your children. One nestled in his lap, the other engrossed in a picture book, their presence adding warmth and vitality to the room. You share a knowing smile with Charles, the affectionate banter a familiar melody to your family life.

The laughter of the interviewer joins the playful exchange. The camera effortlessly captures the dynamic interaction between all of you with ease.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Restez en dehors de ça.” Stay out of this!

“Arrête de faire semblant de vouloir faire l’amour avec quelqu’un d’autre que moi!” Stop pretending you want to make love with anybody but me!

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you turn back to the camera, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Can I change my answer?” You inquire, injecting a hint of playful anticipation into your tone.

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“You’re supposed to say no,” You quip with a chuckle.

“Oh, um no?”

With a playful pout, you glance over at Charles who is already staring at the interaction. A smile adorned on his face like he is in complete awe of you, regardless of what you are saying. “Sorry honey!” You wave your hand around. “Answers are final!”

Leaving the kitchen behind, you make your way towards the backyard, where the promise of relaxation and leisure awaits. Stepping through the door, you’re greeted by the sight of a large pool shimmering under the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters beckoning for a refreshing dip. Surrounding the pool, lounge chairs are strategically place, some on the pool’s ledge, inciting you to bask in the sun while enjoying the cool water. A wide arrangement of pool floaties from unicorns to racecars litter the pool as well.

It’s a breathtaking sight: a vast expanse of bright blue skies stretching overhead, adorned with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. The warm rays of sun dance upon your skin. With a stylish flourish, you slip on a pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, a subtle nod to your husband’s sunglass collection.

“Vintage or new?”

You ponder for a moment as you stand in the backyard, a breeze blowing your hair behind your shoulders. “Depends, but definitely vintage.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Aisle, although Charles likes to take the aisle more.”

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“Wait, do my children count as two of the three?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay, so my two children. And my lip gloss.” You laugh, pausing for effect. “Kidding! My two kids, and my lip gloss…” You pause, jokingly. “And my husband of course.” The light-hearted remark reflects the joyful chaos of humor and love in your life. “He’s really the sweetest man. I’m so lucky.”

The glass door slides open with a whisper, and into the frame steps Charles, his presence incessant. With a carefree demeanor, he approaches you clad in a pair of baggy jeans and a plain white t-shirt that stretched at the seams from his muscles. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks, the stubble of his own rubbing against your smooth skin, his love evident in each tender kiss.

“Désolé,” Sorry. He apologizes before pecking another kiss to your cheek. “Tellement ambrassable.” Just so kissable. He places one more on your cheek, your face bright red from the camera’s catching all of this.

“Looks like he can’t be far from you for very long.”

Charles looks at the camera, a glint in his eye with a large smile, like he was the happiest man on earth, and nothing could dampen his spirits. Especially with you nearby. “Est-ce que tu la vois?” Do you see her?

The interviewer, unaware of Charles’s words, simply nods in response behind the camera lens, acknowledging the affection in his tone. Later translations will reveal the depth of Charles’s words no doubt. Elle est tellement belle. Bien sûr, je ne peux pas rester loin longtemps.” She’s so beautiful. Of course, I can’t stay far long.

Your face is bright red as Charles remains at your side.

“Where are the kids?”

“Put them down for a nap!” Charles answers, his arm slung over your shoulder as he leans on you comfortably.

As the interviewer continues the questionnaire, Charles can’t resist interjecting with playful remarks and comments on almost every question. His spontaneous interruptions add an element of humor and spontaneity to the video, turning what could have been a standard interview into an entertaining and engaging exchange.

“How do you define beauty?” “My wife.” “Charles, the questions are for me!”

"What do you love most about your body?" "That's an easy one...I think her--" Charles begins, but you swat his chest and cut him off. "I love my arms. Not because they're that nice but they give me the ability to hold my children." Charles clicks his tongue, hating that you even implied something about yourself as 'not that nice'.

"Least favorite color?" "Red." Charles lets out a large gasp with a string of phrases in French, clearly hurt by your response. "It's a joke, mon amour!" "How did you know you were in love?" You look at Charles then, his eyes already on you, a soft smile pulling on both of your lips. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with him. Probably when I realized I would rather be awake in the middle of the night, since he was traveling so much, just to talk to him for even a few minutes, instead of going to sleep." Charles plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers as he chimes in. "We've known each other for so long. But, when I first met her, it was like meeting someone I've known my entire life. There was no awkward silences between us. We just clicked."

“Diamonds or pearls?” “Pearls.” “Mon chou, don’t lie.” “I’m not!” “The diamond on your finger says otherwise!”

“If you made a documentary, what would it be about?” “Charles’ brain. I seriously question what goes on in there sometimes.” “Hey! It’s only you…” You raise your eyebrows at him, like he’s a liar. “And racing.” “Definitely racing.”

“If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Charles smirks deeply, like he knows something the world doesn’t, the interviewer picks up on it. “Wait, you have a tattoo? Can we see it?”

“No! It’s for me only.”

You playfully swat at Charles’ chest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks as you both wander throughout the house, showcasing its beautiful décor. Despite your embarrassment at Charles’ antics, you can’t help but be thankful for him easing your nerves. You weren’t one for the public eye, normally. So, when you agreed to this interview it came out as quite a surprise.

“Okay final question of the day.”

You both stand by the front door, the interviewer on the front step outside of the home.

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Definitely ki—” You don’t get to finish your answer as Charles’ fingers grasp onto your neck, his fingers sprawled along your jawline as well, and tugs your face into his. He shuts the door as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It’s a few seconds before you push him off you. “You’re unbelievable!”

A giant smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you. “Only for you, mon chou!”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x you #f1 grid x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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flowersforbucky · 8 months ago

Text

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.”

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees.

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all.

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.”

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?”

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.”

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.”

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.”

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding.

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape.

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning.

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee.

“Thanks, but I think I can–”

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?”

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun.

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC.

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride.

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch.

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can.

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.”

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour.

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–”

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth.

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel.

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision.

“Never because of me.”

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line.

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly.

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?”

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.”

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you.

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind.

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion.

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it.

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it.

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up.

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced.

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee.

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain.

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you.

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them.

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake.

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–”

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!”

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.”

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down.

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.”

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him.

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.”

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity.

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.”

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee.

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver.

— — — — —

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite.

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts.

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month.

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room.

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing.

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit.

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons.

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?”

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.”

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?”

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.”

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues.

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.”

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?”

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.”

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender.

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.”

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?”

— — — — —

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table.

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are.

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here.

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago.

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you.

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening.

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself.

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.”

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?”

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit.

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath.

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night.

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky.

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.”

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion.

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening.

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards.

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.”

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour.

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position.

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying.

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.”

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?”

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — —

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound.

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.”

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin.

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room.

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you.

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win.

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long —

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box.

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–”

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more.

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans.

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?”

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.”

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you.

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile.

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare.

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission.

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.”

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.”

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly.

Truth.

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?”

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands.

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–”

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly.

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try?

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.”

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity?

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly.

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.”

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?”

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer.

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked.

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.”

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before.

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline.

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point.

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.”

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him.

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards.

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison.

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans.

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line–

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings.

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing.

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.”

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it.

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants.

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles.

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest.

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–”

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center.

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit.

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed.

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center.

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax.

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris.

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth.

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him.

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices.

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter.

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck.

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue.

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants.

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.”

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest.

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked.

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them.

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts.

"You're goddamn stunning.”

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering.

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance.

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once.

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already.

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head.

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?”

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back.

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.”

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you.

With you still panting and limp beneath him, his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you.

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you.

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened.

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before.

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #pvris #oil & water #oil & water by pvris #song fic

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osamucide · 2 months ago

Text

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #atsushi x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #akutagawa x reader #ranpo x reader #kunikida x reader #fukuzawa x reader #oda x reader #ango x reader #fyodor x reader #nikolai x reader #sigma x reader #bsd fluff #with love—reid

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nxsturn · 1 month ago

Text

license ( c.s )

warnings: nsfw! (car sex, rough sex, stomach bulg kink, overstimulation, praising — dirty and clean).

the night feels like it belongs to you and him, the air warm and alive, humming with something you can’t name. the engine of his car is soft and steady beneath you, a quiet heartbeat as the road stretches ahead, endless and dark. you’re not sure where you’re going, and you’re even less sure if it matters.

he has one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, his fingers warm and steady against the fabric of your skirt. the weight of his touch is casual, almost absent-minded, but there’s something deliberate about the way his thumb brushes idly over your leg, a slow, unconscious rhythm that makes it impossible for you to focus on anything else.

you glance down, caught in the sight of his hand there, the way it looks — strong, sure, like it belongs. the faint glow from passing streetlights catches on his knuckles, and you’re staring before you realize it, heat rising in your chest.

“you good?” he glances at you, half a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. it’s not the first time he’s caught you staring tonight.

“yeah,” you answer, but your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be, and you can feel the way it hangs between you, the weight of something unsaid.

his smile deepens for a moment, like he knows something you don’t, before his eyes slide back to the road. the streetlights blur as they pass, gold and soft, and the scent of him — faint cologne, leather, and something warm, something him, lingers in the air.

you shift in your seat, trying to focus on the faint music from the radio, the rhythmic push and pull of the tires against the pavement, anything but the heat of his palm still pressed against your thigh. but it’s impossible when the glow of the dashboard catches his profile just right, the sharp line of his jaw, the concentration in his brow.

it’s new, this version of him. Chris behind the wheel. him with this quiet, unspoken confidence. and it’s attractive in a way you hadn’t expected, in a way you’re not entirely sure how to handle.

“you’re quiet,” he says, breaking through your thoughts. his tone is light, teasing, but there’s something underneath it, a thread of curiosity.

“just thinking,” you say, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

he hums in response, and the sound is low, thoughtful. his thumb moves against your thigh again, just once, absent but enough to send a shiver through you. the road opens up ahead, empty and inviting, and he presses the gas just a little harder. the car hums like it’s alive, like it feels the same electric pull you do, and you’re struck with the thought that this moment, this night, could go anywhere.

as the car speeds down the empty road, the night air rushes past, a soothing melody that blends with the hum of the engine. you find yourself leaning into his touch, your leg pressing against his hand as if seeking more contact.

the car slows as he steers it off the main road, the tires crunching on gravel as he pulls into an empty parking lot. the sudden stillness is a stark contrast to the rush of speed and wind just moments before. he brings the car to a smooth stop, the engine idling quietly.

the dashboards glow dims, casting long shadows across his face. without the road's distraction, everything feels more intense, the way your heart beats a little faster in the silence. he turns towards you slightly, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

his fingers curl around your thigh, a gentle tug that turns you towards him. the movement feels slow, charged with unspoken possibility. his face is barely visible in the moonlit interior, all angular shadows and dark eyes that seem to glitter with hidden intentions.

his hand moves higher on your thigh, his fingers splaying out possessively. he pulls you closer, so that you're sitting sideways in the seat, facing him. he unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing it to retract slowly, the clicking sound punctuating the heavy silence.

his seat creaks as he leans back, giving himself more room. the command "c'mere," falls from his lips like a gentle demand, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. his hand moves from your thigh to grip your hip, urging you to move, to straddle him in the confined space of the car.

you shift your weight, lifting yourself onto his lap so that you're sitting astride him. his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as his head rests against the headrest. his hands splay out on your lower back, holding you securely against him.

the leather of the seat creaks under the new position as you settle against him. his breath catches slightly at the feeling of you above him, his fingers pressing slightly harder against your back. in the dark, his eyes seem to burn with intensity, studying your face.

as you shift your position, your skirt hikes up your waist, bunched around your hips. you can feel the thin lace of your underwear and his sweats doing little to hide his growing hardness prodding against you. his hands give you a little squeeze, his hips bucking upward slightly.

he presses himself more snugly between your thighs. he can feel the lace of your damp underwear, and it makes him ache. his hands slide down to your thighs, urging them wider so that he can fit himself better between them.

with his hands on your thighs, he uses his leverage to push his sweatpants down just enough for his erection to spring free. the cool night air hits his sensitive skin, making him hiss softly. he chews on his bottom lip as he begins to rub himself against you.

his eyes meet yours in the dark, watching your face as he reaches to pull aside your underwear, giving himself better access. "god, you're so wet.." he groans softly, pressing against you.

a shiver runs through you as the cool air hits your newly exposed skin. you gasp softly, your fingers tightening on his shoulders as you feel the heat of him pressing insistently against your entrance. "mmm.." escapes your lips as you wiggle slightly, coating him with your arousal.

he swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he looks down between your bodies. he hooks his arms under your thighs, lifting your legs higher around his waist. he rubs himself against you again, teasingly, "last chance to stop,"

with his hands under your thighs, you don't have much leverage, but you push down onto him as best you can, your entrance parting slightly around the head of his length. he groans at the sensation as he bottoms out to meet you. "jesus christ," he growls softly in your ear, his lips brushing against your neck. he uses his grip on you to lift you back up — just enough to line himself up properly, then lowers you slowly down his dick. you both groan at the tight fit, your bodies finally joined completely.

he pants heavily against your neck, his body shaking as he tries to hold back from thrusting up too hard whilst you adjust. his fingers digging into your soft skin possessively.

after a moment of stillness, he unhooks his arms from under your thighs, letting your legs rest on either side of him. he grabs your hips instead, his large hands spanning your waist as he begins to move you up and down, setting a steady pace.

you let out a soft moan as he starts moving you, the new position allowing him to thrust up into you more forcefully. each upward motion sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, your walls clenching around him tightly. "oh," you breathe out, your head falling against his shoulder.

he watches you intently, his eyes burning with a possessive fire as he listens to your moans and feels your body responding to his touch. a smug smirk spreads across his face and he lets out a mocking "yeah?" under his breath, clearly loving the effect he has on you.

"like that, don't you?" he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he adjusts his grip on your hips, pulling you down harder and faster onto him. he moves a hand to press on the bulge he was making in your lower tummy.

"look at you taking me so well," he murmurs, his eyes flicking down to where you're connected, watching as his thick shaft disappears inside of your gummy walls only to reappear coated in your wetness.

you can't help but let out a desperate whine at his words, feeling so full and used by him. the pressure on your stomach makes you clench around him, your inner walls fluttering as he continues to whisper dirty nothings to you.

"so, so tight," he growls approvingly, his hips snapping up to meet yours, driving his length deeper inside you. "i can feel you pulsing around me, ma,"

your cheeks flush deep scarlet at his vulgar praise, embarrassment and arousal warring within you. you try to roll your hips, seeking more friction, but he maintains his dominant rhythm, pinning you in place.

"nah, let me handle it," he chuckles darkly, giving your hip a sharp smack. "keep them pretty noises coming though," his commanding pace becomes relentless, each powerful thrust pushing you closer to the brink as he takes what he wants from your willing body.

your voice is lost in a string of incoherent moans and whimpers as he pounds into you, the sound of your slick filling the car and mixing with your desperate cries. tears of pleasure prick at the corners of your eyes as the pressure builds to an almost unbearable level inside you.

"fuck, you're close," he grunts, feeling your pussy begin to quiver and tighten around him. he leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers, "cum for me, baby,"

the vulgar command proves too much, shattering the last threads of your self-control. your back arches dramatically as ecstasy crashes through you, your pussy clamping down viciously on him in rhythm with your racing heart.

"there it is," he growls triumphantly, slamming into you through your orgasm, making it last longer as he hits that sensitive spot inside you. "look at you falling apart," he adds darkly, reaching around to tease your clit as you ride out your climax.

as you come down from the intense high, he continues to move inside you, his touch gentle yet insistent. "again," he murmurs, his fingers rubbing slow circles around your swollen bud, "i want another one before I finish,"

"mm.. no, I can't.." you protest weakly, but your body betrays you as your hips shift slightly, allowing him deeper. you bury your face against his shoulder once more, muffling your moans as the stimulation reignites the fire in your lower belly. "y-you're insatiable,"

he chuckles, his breath warm against your hair. "you love it," he corrects, his fingers never ceasing their gentle torture. another orgasm eventually crashes over you, this one just as intense as the last, your vision blurring as you sob against his shoulder.

he knows your body all too well.

©nxsturn

#christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo angst #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #nova writes ୨୧

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dulcescorderitas · 23 days ago

Text

impala sex

parings: dean winchester x reader

warnings: 18+, smut

the impala’s interior smelled like leather and old pine air freshener, the scent mixing with the sharp tang of sweat and sex in the abandoned parking lot. outside, the world was empty, lit only by the faint glow of a distant streetlamp and the moonlight spilling over cracked asphalt. no witnesses, no interruptions...just you and dean, tangled in the cramped confines of his baby.

your back pressed against the cool vinyl of the backseat, your legs spread wide, hooked over dean’s hips as he loomed over you. his jeans were shoved down just far enough to free his cock, thick and hard, the tip slick with evidence of how badly he wanted you. his hands were everywhere...one gripping your thigh, the other bracing against the fogged-up window as he drove into you, raw and unrelenting.

"fuck," he gritted out, his voice low and strained, the sound vibrating in his chest. "you feel so damn good... so tight, baby. always take me so fuckin’ perfect."

his words sent a shiver through you, your hands scrambling for purchase against his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as your body arched up to meet his thrusts. every movement made the impala bounce, the shocks groaning under the force of him slamming into you. the car rocked in time with his rhythm, the squeak of the seat springs mixing with the wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting.

"dean," you gasped, your voice breaking on his name, raw with need. your fingers slid into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan, his hips snapping harder in response. the windows were completely fogged now, the heat inside the car a stark contrast to the cool night outside.

"you like this, huh?" he rasped, his green eyes burning as he looked down at you, sweat dripping from his temple. "like gettin’ fucked in my car? makin’ her bounce like this?"

"yes," you moaned, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails across his skin. "love it. love you."

his face softened for just a second at your words, but his hips didn’t falter. instead, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head against the seat. "you’re gonna be the death of me," he muttered, leaning down to press his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. it was messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue, and you drank him in like you couldn’t get enough.

his pace grew erratic, each thrust harder than the last, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. the impala groaned and rocked under the strain, the noise loud in the otherwise silent lot. "c’mon, baby," dean urged, his voice rough, his breath hot against your neck. "i need you to let go. need to feel you...God, i need it."

you shattered at his words, your body tightening around him, pulling him deeper as your orgasm ripped through you. the sound you made was somewhere between a moan and a cry, your back arching off the seat as waves of pleasure consumed you.

dean wasn’t far behind, his rhythm faltering before he buried himself inside you with a guttural groan, his grip on your wrists tightening. you felt him spill into you, hot and thick, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he rode out his high.

for a long moment, the only sound was the both of you trying to catch your breath, the occasional creak of the car as it settled back on its suspension. dean finally lifted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at the state of you...flushed, spent, and completely his.

"damn," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. "we’re gonna need to detail the hell outta her after that."

you laughed breathlessly, the sound light in the heavy air. "worth it," you replied, earning a chuckle from him as he shifted, reaching for something to clean you both up.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis

#lamy garden #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester drabble #jensen ackles #supernatural #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x reader angst #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #spn #dean winchester x y/n

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st4rfckerz · 8 months ago

Text

Hitchhiker | Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

word count: 4.7k

warnings: fingering, very brief titty sucking, fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, slow build up (SORRY)

summary: After your friends ditch you at a festival, you find yourself stranded on the highway and a kind stranger picks you up.

Fresh from the festival, the sun beats down on your skin as you squint against the glare. You're a bit disheveled from the wild concert, but you've still got a smile on your face. The highway offered a lonely walk, but the memories of the music still ringing in your ears. Staggering on, the lonesome highway seems to stretch on endlessly, with no escape from the scorching sun. As you continue, you decide it might be wiser to hitch a ride. You stick your thumb out, hoping to catch the attention of any passing cars, although glare from the sun probably isn't helping. After a few cars speed past you, ignoring your plea for a ride, a sleek, red mustang pulls up to the side of the road. It reverses slowly, coming to a stop next to you.

“You need a lift?” The man grins, the words rumble along with the car engine.

“You offering?” you say with a laugh. He's handsome, with a scruffy jaw and light blue eyes that hold an amused glint.

“Maybe.” He speaks again, his eyes searching your face. You approach the car, the gravel crunching under your feet. As you open the door, the scent of leather and clean air wafts over you. You slide into the seat, feeling a bit relieved that someone finally stopped for you. You shift in your seat, feeling the warmth of the day slowly dissipating. The car interior is cool and comfortable, the wind from the air conditioning brushing against your skin. Anakin starts the engine, the car rumbling beneath you.

There's a small awkward silence as the car begins to move, the sound of the tires against the pavement filling the space.

The man breaks the silence, his voice smooth and deep, “You didn't tell me your name.” The question is casual, friendly, and shot through with a sly charm. He steals a glimpse at you, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lips. You tell him your name with a friendly smile, glad that the awkwardness has been lifted.

“And you are…” You let your sentence trail off, gesturing towards him with a tilt of your head.

“Anakin.” he replies, his eyes never leaving the road. As you look at Anakin, the sun casting a warm glow on his fair skin, you can't help but admire his features. His light blue eyes seem to glisten in the fading light, his dark, honey-colored hair tousled softly on his forehead. His strong hands grip the steering wheel with a sense of confidence, his broad yet lean physique and stubble making him all the more ruggedly attractive. As the car smoothly moves along the highway, you can't help but feel a little thrill at being in his company.

You lean back into the seat, feeling the leather comfortably hug your body. “So, Anakin,” you ask with a playful note in your voice. “Where are you heading?” Anakin shoots you a sly grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just a little town off the highway. Nothing too fancy, but it's home.” He asks, glancing at you again. “What about yourself, where are you off to?”

“I was supposed to go back into town with some friends but they all decided to leave me the show early, so I just left.” you explain in a dull tone. Anakin's brows furrow slightly, a hint of concern etched onto his face.

“Well, that's not very nice of them, is it?” He says disapprovingly. You can see that he was a bit bothered by your situation. “But at least you got a better ride than you bargained for.” He adds with a chuckle.

“You know I really do appreciate the ride.” you say sincerely. Anakin smirks, his eyes still on the road.

“Well it’d be a shame to leave a pretty little thing like yourself out in this heat, wouldn’t it?” He says as he steals another quick glance at you, giving you a short look over before returning his gaze to the road.

You look at Anakin, your eyes lingering on his features for a moment before you look back out of the window, your cheeks flushed. “You can drop me off at the gas station coming up.” You say, trying to change the subject and regain your composure. As much as you’d love to stay in the vintage vehicle and chat with the man you met just a short while ago, you had to get your hands on some food.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a hint of disappointment in his voice. The approaching gas station signals the end of your impromptu road trip, a bittersweet feeling washing over you as you prepare to say your goodbyes.

“Yeah it’s okay, I’ll figure out somethin’.” You respond. You weren’t exactly sure what you’d do after leaving the gas station, but you were sure you’d figure it out.

“I might as well get some gas while I'm here," Anakin says, his tone lighter as he tries to make the best of the situation. “Thanks for the company.” he speaks with a smile, parking his car next to a gas tank in the process. You step out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath your feet once more.

“I’ll see you around Anakin.” With a final smile, you close the door behind you, the metal clanging softly. You move towards the small gas station, the glow from its windows beckoning you. The humidity smacks you in the face once again, the warm air heavy against your skin. Inside the little store, you can't help but steal glances out of the window towards Anakin. He's pumping gas, his broad shoulders and strong hands in full view. You turn your attention to the shelves, filled with a variety of snacks and drinks. You select a few items, the crinkling of the wrappers filling the quiet store, accompanied by the low hum of the shitty air conditioner.

You make your way to the register after grabbing a coke, the cold air from the fridge tickling your back as the door zips shut. The clerk smiles at you as you place your items on the counter, but you can't help but be a bit distracted, still thinking about Anakin.

You reach into your pocket to pull out your wallet, but are met with nothing. Dread prompts your eyebrows to furrow and your heart to miss a beat. You must've lost it back at the concert or maybe left it with a friend. You had to come up with something, and fast.

“$6.66.” The clerk's smile never falters as she informs you of your total. You offer her a weak smile, unsure of what to do about the missing wallet.

“Unlucky number.” you say with a nervous chuckle, gesturing towards the total. You felt stuck like there was absolutely nothing you could do.

The clerk chuckles, perhaps sensing your unease. “Some people believe in that kind of thing. But I think it's just a number. Besides, maybe it'll bring you some good luck instead.” She says, her tone friendly and reassuring. You smile, grateful for her lighthearted demeanor.

“I hope so.” You murmur to yourself, your eyes still locked on Anakin. Just as he finishes pumping gas, you turn and rush out of the store without thinking. The bell above the door jingles as you exit, your heart pounding in your chest. You make your way towards Anakin, the bit of a grin on your face conflicting with the guilt from leaving without paying.

You yell for Anakin while waving your unoccupied hand frantically. “Anakin! Go go go!” You call out, your cheeks flushed. Without waiting for an answer, you jump into his passenger seat, the door slamming shut behind you. Your eyes dart around, realizing the predicament you've just put yourself in. Anakin starts the engine, the car rumbling to life beneath you. You can see the surprise in his eyes when you jump in, but he recovers quickly, shifting the car into gear and speeding off from the gas station.

“Well that was dumb,” Anakin says with a wry smile, his eyes never leaving the road ahead, “What do you plan on doing now.” His tone is lighthearted, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the edge of your seat. “I don't know,” you reply honestly, your cheeks still flushed. “Hopefully nothing bad will come of it.” You can't help but feel a bit nervous about the consequences of your actions.

Anakin chuckles, his grin widening. He reaches over with his large, calloused hand and gives your thigh a consoling rub. “It was practically nothing. Just a few snacks.” He says. His confidence in you is comforting, easing some of the tension that had been building within you.

You look over at Anakin, your curiosity piqued by the events of the night. “So, you always pick up random strangers off the side of the road?” You ask, leaning back in your seat. You're intrigued by the man who's been nothing but kind and charming, making you wonder what drives him to be so generous.

“No, not always,” Anakin shakes his head. “But when I do, I'm glad I did.” As the car continues along the long road, you can't help but feel allured by Anakin. The way he carries himself, the charm in his wit, and the kindness he's shown you have created an indelible impression. His rugged exterior and the way he seems to effortlessly command the road make you feel safe and protected, despite only knowing him for less than a day.

Anakin peeks up at the sky, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “Looks like the sun's startin’ to set,” He muses, his eyes lingering on the horizon for a moment. The sky shimmers in shades of pink and orange as the sun dips below the horizon.

“So,” Anakin begins, his voice soft and curious. “Do your parents know where you are?” He asks, his eyes flicking over to you for a brief moment before returning to the road. The question, while seemingly innocent, carries with it a hint of concern. You can't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness beneath it.

“Kinda,” You hesitate for a moment, contemplating how much to share. “My parents didn't want me going to the show, but I went anyway.” A tinge of guilt lacing your words. The thought of the potential consequences of your actions weighs heavily on your mind.

“You know, they might be worried about you. Maybe you should call them when we stop for a bit. Let them know you're safe.” He suggests. You nod in agreement, knowing he’s right.

After a while, Anakin slows the car and pulls into the parking lot of a vacant auto repair shop. There, next to a broken-down Coke machine, stands an old-fashioned payphone. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of quarters before passing them to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Here, use these,” He says, the kindness in his voice as evident as the kindness in his eyes.

You take the quarters from him, the small gesture filling you with gratitude. You walk over to the old-fashioned payphone, the silver buttons shining in the dingy overhead light. You dial your parents' number, your heart beats faster as the phone rings.

“Whatever.” You mumble to yourself. After slamming the phone back on its cradle, you turn back towards the car. Anakin's eyes meet yours, concern etched into his features. “They didn't answer. Maybe they're asleep.” Anakin nods, recognizing your disappointed tone.

“Well, I'm sure they're just fine. Maybe they'll wake up and find your missed calls,” He says reassuringly. You offer him a weak smile, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “No, not really,” You admit, your voice soft. The truth is, you hadn't thought that far ahead, caught up in the excitement of the concert and the thrill of the unexpected journey. But now, the prospect of finding somewhere to stay in the middle of the night seems daunting.

Anakin considers this for a moment, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Well, if you'd like, you can spend the night at my place. It's not far from here.” He offers, his voice even, unrattled by the potential implications of his words. The proposition is unexpected, yet comforting in its simplicity.

“I could just get a motel room,” You say, feeling a pang of hesitation. The idea of spending the night at a stranger's house, however well-intentioned, is a bit unnerving. But Anakin shakes his head, his expression unwavering.

“The motels nearby aren't the safest, I'd feel better about you staying with me.” Anakin insists firmly. There's a sense of finality to his tone, as if he's made up his mind and won't be dissuaded.

You chew on your lower lip, contemplating the offer. The thought of navigating a potentially shady motel in the middle of the night is enough to make you reconsider. The trust and care Anakin has shown you throughout the night reassures you somewhat, making it easier to see the good intentions behind his words.

You nod, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “Alright then.” You say, grateful for the kindness and the offer of shelter. Anakin puts the car back into gear, the engine purring to life. You lean your head against the cool glass of the window and out at the darkness that surrounds you. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, the events of the night tumbling through your mind in a haphazard rhythm.

As the car hums along, you find yourself dozing off, the motion of the vehicle lulling you into a light, restless sleep. The world outside blurs as your eyes flutter shut.

“Hey sleepy girl,” The sound of Anakin's voice snaps you back to consciousness, your head jerking up from the window. “We’re pulling up now.”

Anakin pulls into a driveway and parks the car and you catch your first glimpse of his home. It's an old little house, nestled within a grove of trees, their branches reaching out like arms, enveloping the house in a natural embrace. The porch light flickers on, casting a warm glow that seems to beckon you.

The house has a charm to it, its weathered wood and stone, layered with a history that speaks of comfort and solace. A hammock swings gently from two trees, the scene reminiscent of quiet afternoons and relaxation. The porch is lined with potted plants, their greenery breathing life into the otherwise still night.

The two of you step out of the car and make your way up the porch steps, the creak of the weathered, wooden planks adding to the tranquil atmosphere. Anakin unlocks the door, the brass handle yielding with a soft turn. He holds it open for you, gesturing for you to enter. The aroma of wood and spice wafts from within, a faint hint of tobacco lingering just beneath the surface.

You step inside, the door closing gently behind you. Anakin follows, the door's latch securing you both in this refuge for the night. The room is cozy, with a worn-in couch and a large armchair by the un-lit fireplace. A wooden table sits in the center, a lamp on its surface casting a warm glow.

“The bathroom's down there,” Anakin gestures to the hall, his voice a soft rumble. “Take your time. I'll bring you some clothes when you’re done.” He informs you, his eyes briefly meeting yours once more.

You smile gratefully, the offer of a shower after your long day feeling like a true blessing. “Thank you.” You say softly. You nod your gratitude and head down the hall, the wooden floor creaking beneath your feet.

The bathroom is clean and simple, with a shower stall and a tub. You turn on the water, the steam rising as the heat envelops you. The sound of the water washes away the residue of the day, the tension slowly draining from your body.

After a while, you turn off the shower, the sound of running water replaced by the gentle drip of water from the tap. You wrap a towel around yourself, your hair hanging in damp ringlets about your face.

You hear a soft knock on the door, followed by Anakin's voice. “I got you some clothes for tonight. I'll just be outside when you’re done.” He says, his tone gentle.

You open the door a crack, revealing just your face behind the barrier of wood. Your hands brush against Anakin's as he gently hands you a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. His fingers linger on yours for a moment, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

The pants Anakin left were a little too big for you, so you decide to just wear the shirt. It's a comfortable fit, the fabric soft against your skin. You tuck your hair behind your ears, gathering your things, before making your way down the hall. You make your way through the dark house, your footsteps light on the wooden floor. There, you find Anakin, seated in a long, outstretched lounging chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The faint glow from the tip illuminates his face, casting shadows that play across his features.

He looks up as you approach, his eyes meeting yours before returning to the night. The silence between you is comfortable, the hum of the night insects and the crackle of the fire serving as a soothing soundtrack. You join him on the porch, the chair creaking softly as you settle onto it. The stars above are brilliant, their light casting a dream-like veil over this unexpected sojourn.

The cool night air is punctuated by the sound of his inhale, the smoke curling upward like tendrils of fog.

Anakin glances over at you, his eyes lingering on your bare legs for a moment before he speaks. “The pants didn't fit, did they?” He asks with a smile.

You shake your head, feeling a blush creeping up your neck. “No, they were a bit too big for me,” You reply, your voice light, attempting to brush off the awkwardness. “You’ve got a nice place here,” You say, your words soft, as if to break the ice. You're not sure what else to say, the unfamiliarity of the situation making you feel a bit exposed.

Anakin nods, taking a slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke. “It was my grandma's house. She moved to a nursing home a few years ago,” He responds, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia. “I decided to keep it. It's been a good place for me.”

The revelation adds another layer to the enigmatic stranger before you. The house, with its charm and history, now seems like the perfect vessel for his stories. You can't help but feel a bit envious of the heritage and the connection it must provide.

“You got a girlfriend?” You ask. You're not quite sure why you want to know, but the question tumbles from your lips, the night seeming to demand answers.

Anakin pauses for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Not at the moment,” He replies, his voice even. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze for a brief moment before flicking back to the night. “If I did I don’t think she’d like the thought of me picking up pretty girls from the side of the road.” He says with a lopsided grin.

You reach your hand over, your fingers brushing against his as you take the cigarette. He passes it to you without hesitation, the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips. You take a drag, the smoke burning your throat, your eyes watering slightly. You cough, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you pass the cigarette back to him. “I guess I should thank you for that then.” You say, your voice light and teasing.

The two of you lock eyes, the silence between you thick with unspoken thoughts. Anakin's gaze is intense, filled with a desire that is, for the moment, unspoken. He slowly leans in towards you, his nose brushing against yours softly. Your heart races as his lips meet yours, the kiss tender and hesitant at first. But as your lips part, the kiss deepens, the sudden intimacy of the moment overwhelming. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you onto his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping you.

Anakin's hand glide along your thighs, the other coming up to brush across you now hardened nipple, his touch a trail of fire that leaves you shivering. The air between you crackles with electricity, the tension thick as you both surrender to the magnetic pull that has brought you together. As Anakin continues to brush his hands against your body, your hips shift, accidentally grinding down against his. The sudden contact sends a jolt through both of you, the heat between you reaching a fever pitch. Anakin's breath hitches, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he recovers, his hand coming to rest on your hip.

“Fuck- not here.”Anakin stands up from the chair, lifting you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the solid strength of his body beneath yours. He makes his way inside, the creaking of the floorboards echoing softly as he carries you through the house. His room is cozy, with a large bed dominating the center. He sets you down gently on the mattress, the fabric cool against your skin.

Anakin hovers above you, his body poised over yours as he continues to kiss you, his lips exploring yours with a steadfast passion. His hand reaches between your legs and begins to rub his thumb against your panties, the warmth of his touch making your cunt clench pathetically around nothing. You arch your back, your hands gripping his shirt, the fabric straining under your fingers.

“Please do something.” You whisper, the plea barely audible as your body writhes under his touch.

“Be patient,” He says, his lips barely leaving yours. He slips his hand beneath your panties, his fingers teasing your entrance before slowly sliding inside, his thumb still working against your clit. “You’re so wet.” Anakin groans at the slick warmth that envelops his fingers, his own desire evident in the sound.

Anakin begins to pump his fingers inside you, the steady rhythm of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your hips rising to meet his hand, the hunger for release growing with each passing second. He leans down, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. The sensation of his lips against your skin combined with the rhythm of his hand is almost too much to bear. His other hand cups your soft skin, his thumb brushing over your nipple, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. He slides your shirt up, revealing your breast to his eager gaze. Anakin takes your nipple into his mouth, the sensation of his lips and teeth sending a jet of pleasure through you.

“I'm s-so close, ‘m gonna cum.” You gasp, the words barely audible over your racing heart.

Anakin responds to your plea with unbridled fervor, his fingers digging into you, his mouth working furiously on your nipple.

“Cum on my fingers baby, you got it.” He growls, the command laced with a need that mirrors your own. Your voice rings out in a cry as your orgasm swallows you whole, Anakin's fingers soaked with your wetness.

Anakin pulls his fingers from your pulsating cunt, bringing them to his mouth. He sucks on them hungrily, his eyes never leaving yours. He leans in forward and kisses you again, the taste of you on his lips and tongue as he deepens the kiss.

You reach out, your hand finding the hard bulge in Anakin's pants as you kiss him. He groans into your mouth, the sensation of your touch sending waves of desire through him. Anakin breaks the kiss, his eyes filled with a raw hunger as he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. His erection springs free, standing tall and proud, the evidence of his intense attraction to you on full display.

He positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, Anakin pushes himself inside you, the sensation of his length filling you causing a gasp to escape your lips. He pauses for a moment, the two of you locked in a heated embrace, the weight of the moment hanging between you.

“Hold on just…give me a second.” Anakin's breath hitches, his head drops to your shoulder as he gathers himself, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

After a second or two, Anakin starts to roll his hips into yours, his rhythm slow and deliberate at first, the sensations building as he moves within you. His voice is heavy with yearning, the words spoken from a place of raw need.

“You’re so tight, clenching around me so good angel.” He murmurs into your ear, his hot breath causing a shiver to race down your spine. Anakin increases the pace of his movements, the new pace causing you to moan louder, the feeling of him inside you becoming more and more intense. Your nails latch onto his shoulder blades, your body arching up to meet his thrusts.

“Need more Anakin, please.” You breathe out between moans. Responding to your plea, Anakin leans back, his arms tightly gripping your waist as he tilts your hips up, driving himself deeper inside you. The new angle sends jolts of pleasure through your body, the intensity building with each subsequent thrust.

“You like that? ‘S that better?” He speaks breathlessly. Words babble from your lips, the coherency of your speech lost to the bliss that courses through you.

“Such a sweet girl getting fucked by a stranger.” Anakin teases you with a grin, aware of the circumstances that have led you here. You haven’t even known him for twenty four hours and you’re already dumb for his cock.

“I’m gettin’ close angel.” he growls, his breathing harsh and erratic as he continues to jackhammer himself into you.

You gasp as the sensation of him within you reaches a fever pitch. “Me too,” You manage to get out between breaths, your eyes locked onto his as you feel the hot coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each thrust.

Anakin eggs you on, his voice a guttural growl as he feels the moment drawing near. “Cum on my cock baby, give it to me.” He demands, the need in his voice only serving to fuel your own. The intensity of the moment becomes almost unbearable, your body convulsing your orgasm washes over you once more. Anakin doesn't hold back, following in your wake as he releases inside you, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm.

Anakin takes a moment before slowly pulling out of your worn pussy, the heady scent of sex hanging heavy in the air. Anakin kneels in front of you, his gaze locked on your throbbing core, savoring its abused form. His tongue darts out, cleaning the swirl of your shared fluids, his tongue lapping gently at your folds.

“T-too sensitive, I can’t-” His thumb rubbing your inner thigh offers a soothing balance to the sensations, the gentle pressure providing a comforting contrast to the lingering pleasure.

“ ‘M almost done.” He says, his tone calm as his tongue continues its delicate motions.

Anakin finishes cleaning you, his tongue retreating, leaving you slick and satisfied. His eyes meet yours as he crawls back up the bed, his lips claiming yours in a tender kiss. The two of you fall into a contented silence, your bodies tangled together. The weight of the day’s wild events fades as exhaustion claims you both, the warmth of the shared intimacy enveloping you as you drift off to sleep. Though the future remains uncertain, the intimacy of the moment lingers.

#nai writes ୨୧ #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin smut #hayden christensen #hayden christensen blurb #hayden christensen drabble #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen smut #st4rfckerz

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figthoughts · 16 days ago

Text

grumpy!bf!dean being overprotective of baby.

perhaps you’ll learn to not make a mess in his car again, huh? — FLUFF, MOODY DEAN, EST. RELATIONSHIP.

*°࿐

“no! no way, princess. you get back out there and finish cleaning that damn milkshake outta my car,” dean huffed as soon as you stepped into the motel room again, holding a bucket full of soapy water and a sponge.

you laughed at the look on his face and whined at him playfully, “dean, come on. i’ve cleaned it.”

sam, who was sat on the bed across the room, couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh at the whole situation.

you see, the three of you had been celebrating a successful poltergeist hunt, and on the way back to the motel, you had the bright idea of getting milkshakes to celebrate ‘properly.’

and somehow, your bright pink strawberry milkshake had ended up all over the backseat of the impala. and all over you too, not that dean seemed to care about that though, only about the leather interior of his damn car.

he was absolutely furious.

“like hell you have,” dean snapped and shook his head, “i’ve seen your so-called cleaning, sweetheart. that ain’t cuttin’ it. so get back out there and finish the job.”

sam snickered again.

“you think this is funny, sammy?” dean turned to his brother, “she spilt her damn milkshake! all over baby!”

sam shook his head and raised his hands in surrender, though he was definitely fighting off a smirk, “hey! i didn’t say a thing.”

dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, before turning back to you, “i’m serious. you leave even a drop of that milkshake in my car and you’ll have hell to pay.”

you laughed again, a grin spreading from ear to ear on your face.

“dean, relax! it’s clean,” you breathed out through your laugh.

dean’s face tightened as he stood a few steps in front of you with his arms crossed, clearly unimpressed and irritated at this whole ordeal and how blasé you were being.

“don’t tell me to relax. that car’s my baby!”

you pouted playfully, “i thought i was.”

“you know what i mean,” dean muttered and shoved past you, out of the motel room.

you looked at sam in amusement. he shrugged with a smile, before you turned on your heel and followed dean outside.

you found him with his ass hanging out the backseat of the impala as he inspected your cleaning. you tried not to laugh as you made your way over.

“see?” you raised your brows and waited expectantly for his snarky response.

dean climbed out of the car, a grumpy expression still splashed across his face.

“it’s sticky.”

“it’s not sticky.”

“no, it is. it’s milkshake sticky. and it smells of strawberry.”

you chuckled, which made dean’s face tighten even more.

“dean, i’ve been cleaning it for like an hour!”

“and still… it’s not clean!” he huffed, his green eyes tracing over your features.

you scoffed and walked over to him, putting the bucket on the ground and throwing the sponge in it.

“dean… c’mon,” you muttered softly and crossed your arms as you stood in front of him.

he looked down at you and sighed, “it’s still sticky, baby.”

you glanced past him to look into the car. truthfully, the inside of the impala was clean—perhaps cleaner than it had actually been in a long time. you didn’t understand why dean was biting your head off about it, though you were amused nonetheless.

“you’re being a princess about this, dean,” you laughed.

he didn’t find that funny. he stepped forward and cupped your cheek, an irritable expression on his face.

“no, you’re being an ass. you know how much i love this car and—”

“yeah, i know,” you muttered softly, leaning into his touch, “i’ve really cleaned it, dean. i promise. and anyway, you're always spilling like… burger juice and monster blood all over it, what's a little strawberry sauce too?" you giggled softly.

dean sighed and studied your face for a moment, before softening his expression and leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“you’re right. i’m sorry,” he chuckled breathily, though he was still a little tense, “you're right, it's clean. i’m just… i’m just being a pain… i think today’s hunt just really took it out of me. you did a good job, babygirl.”

“course, deanie. it’s been a long day. and i do actually listen when you speak about baby. i know how much you love her,” you nodded along as you spoke.

“mhm… and i love you too, my sticky girl. your turn for a wash now i think,” dean smirked down at you, the tension having left his body almost completely.

you chuckled again. “finally,” you breathed out playfully in relief that he’d finally cooled off about the car, “i need to get this milkshake out of my hair. do you... maybe wanna help me, de?”

dean's eyes raked over your figure, “course, angel. let me clean you,” he spoke softly despite the smirk on his face.

he took your hand and guided you back to the motel room and into the bathroom, ignoring the amused scoff that came from sam as you both passed him. you stripped off each other’s clothes and hopped into the shower, proceeding to forget all about that damn milkshake…

A/N: i’m ngl, i found this WAY back in my drafts and it’s probably the stupidest thing i’ve ever written (i was high idk what goes on in my brain when i smoke) but slay ig?? i’m debating even posting this tbh ahhHhHH ANYWAYS happy late bday to my pookems,,, i didn’t write anything for his bday (i haven’t written in like two weeks oops) BYE

feedback and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!!!! thank uuu

✩ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4jackles @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @legalmente-loca @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @aileenunfiltered @minettacreekk @jackleslvr @winchester-whiskey @emeraldcrs @freyabear @floralscented @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @deansbeer @artemys-ackles @bluemerakis @misatxox @star-yawnznn @ambiguous-avery @deanswidow @psychicnatural @ghostlyaccurate @k-slla

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jenosbliss · 23 days ago

Text

pairing. agent!reader x agent!haechan | genre. enemies to lovers | wc. 2.2k | warnings. none except mentions of gunshots | requested. here

You always thought Haechan was more of a problem than a solution.

From the moment you were paired together as partners in the agency, you had clashed. Where you were precise and calculated, he was reckless and unpredictable. He had a smirk that could infuriate you within seconds and a habit of throwing out snide comments at the worst possible moments.

He was everything you despised in a partner. Every mission with him felt like a battle—except instead of fighting the enemy, you were fighting the urge to throttle him.

For three years, you’d been stuck with him—on every mission, in every briefing, and in every shared debriefing room. Every single time, he managed to both annoy and outperform you. And you hated it.

No, you hated him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

The truth was harder to face. Haechan wasn’t just annoying—he was good. Too good. He was brilliant under pressure, and no matter how much he mocked you or teased you, he always had your back when it counted. That might have been the most infuriating thing about him.

But liking him? Admitting that you admired him, even for a second? That would never happen. Not if you could help it.

He thrived on pushing your buttons, from his arrogant smirks to his snide remarks. It didn’t matter how high-stakes the mission was; Haechan always found a way to get under your skin. And yet, for some reason, your superiors kept pairing you together. You balance each other out, they’d said. Your focus and his resourcefulness make you an excellent team.

You didn’t see it that way. To you, Haechan was a liability. A walking, talking headache.

But tonight? Tonight was going to test every boundary you had.

The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a secure facility, retrieve classified intel, and get out undetected. Simple. Clean. A mission you could’ve completed on your own if the agency didn’t insist on sending Haechan with you.

The two of you had argued in the car on the way there, as usual.“You’re not taking point,” you said firmly, checking your weapon.

“Why not?” Haechan leaned back in his seat, his legs spread lazily as if the mission was just another stroll through the park. “Because you’re reckless,” you snapped. “And you’re uptight,” he shot back, grinning. “We’re a perfect match.” Your jaw clenched. “You’ll follow my lead, or I swear—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, leaning closer. “Yell at me again? Go ahead. It’s kind of hot when you talk back.” You glared at him, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t want to examine. “Inform Jaemin to be ready with the car at the end of the third alley.” You muttered getting out of the car and Haechan just smirked following your suit. “Already did Princess”

God! You absolutely hated him.

The facility’s interior was cold and sterile, the hum of machinery filling the silence as the two of you navigated the dimly lit hallways. Your footsteps were soft, your breaths measured as you scanned for signs of movement.

“The server room should be up ahead,” you whispered, glancing at the map on your wrist display.

Haechan nodded, his eyes darting around as he took in the surroundings. Despite his constant teasing, you couldn’t deny that he was good at what he did. His movements were fluid, his reflexes sharp, and his ability to stay calm under pressure was something you begrudgingly admired.

As you approached the server room, you stopped, holding up a hand to signal him to halt. A security camera was mounted on the wall, its lens sweeping back and forth.

“Wait for it,” you murmured, your heart pounding as you timed its movement. The moment the lens turned away, you darted forward, disabling the camera with a quick tap on your wrist display.

“Impressive,” Haechan said as he followed. “Almost like you know what you’re doing.” You ignored him, walking ahead.

“I don’t like this,” Haechan said, his gaze darting down the hallway. “You don’t like anything,” you shot back. “Yeah, well, something’s off,” he said, his voice tighter now.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the sound of boots echoed in the distance. Haechan stiffened yanking you back. You stumbled into him, your back colliding with his chest.

“Get behind me,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

“What—”

“Get. Behind. Me.”

Something in his tone made you obey without question.

A group of guards appeared at the end of the hallway, their weapons raised. Before you could even process what was happening, Haechan stepped forward, his gun already aimed.

The next few seconds were a blur of gunfire and movement. Haechan was quick, his aim precise as he took down each guard with terrifying efficiency. You watched, frozen, as he moved with the kind of confidence and control you rarely saw in the field.

When the last guard fell, he turned to you, his breathing heavy. “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

You nodded, your throat dry. “I’m fine.”He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “Don’t scare me like that again.” You blinked, taken aback by the raw emotion in his voice. “I—”

“Let’s go,” he said, cutting you off as he grabbed your hand again.

You thought you were safe when you reached the control room, but the moment you stepped inside, you knew something was wrong. It felt quite too easy to retrieve the intel. The server room was small and unassuming, its walls lined with blinking lights and rows of humming machinery. You worked quickly, plugging in your device to extract the intel.

Haechan stood by the door, his weapon drawn, his body tense as he kept watch. The playful smirk he usually wore was gone, replaced by a look of intense focus.

“How much longer?” he asked, his voice low. “Two minutes,” you replied, your eyes glued to the screen. “That’s two minutes too long,” he muttered.

You ignored him, your fingers flying over the keyboard. The progress bar crawled forward agonizingly slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. The moment there was green ‘completed’ pop up on the screen you smiled quickly removing your device as you whispered to Haechan “Done.” He nodded and carefully stepped out of the server room.

Then there was it…

The first shot rang out, shattering the silence and kicking your instincts into overdrive. Haechan moved like he was made for chaos, his body a blur of precision and control. He fired with deadly accuracy, each shot taking down another guard as you covered his back. But there were too many.

“Go left!” he shouted, shoving you toward an open corridor. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, his smirk returning despite the gunfire. “Just don’t slow me down.”

You didn’t have time to argue. You sprinted down the corridor, your heart hammering in your chest. But you didn’t get far.

A guard stepped out of the shadows, grabbing you from behind and slamming you against the wall. Your gun clattered to the ground as his grip tightened around your arm.

“Touch her, and you’re dead,” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. The guard hesitated, and in that split second, Haechan took the shot. The man crumpled to the floor, his grip on you loosening as you stumbled forward.

“You okay?” Haechan asked, his hands steadying you. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice shaking. “You don’t look fine,” he said, his gaze scanning you for injuries.

“Can we save the commentary for later?” you snapped, stepping away from him.

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Stay close,” he said again, his tone leaving no room for argument. Haechan’s grip on your wrist was firm as he led you through the labyrinth of hallways, dodging guards and weaving between crates and machinery. Your heart was pounding so loudly you could barely hear the shouts behind you. Suddenly you saw more guards marching in your direction. Haechan shoved you behind a pillar, his body shielding yours as he fired back. The heat of him against you, the sheer intensity in his gaze as he protected you—it made your breath hitch in a way that had nothing to do with fear. “Stay behind me,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos.“No,” you said, your own weapon raised. “I can handle myself.”

“Damn it, Y/N!” he snapped, his eyes blazing. “Why can’t you just let me protect you for once?”

“Because I don’t need you to!” you shouted back. “Yell at me again,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “and I’ll give you a real reason to scream.”

The tension between you was palpable, even in the midst of the fight. But there was no time to dwell on it. As he took the guards down you both moved ahead finding a potential exit. The two of you burst through a set of double doors and onto the roof, the cool night air hitting you like a slap in the face. The city lights stretched out below, a dizzying reminder of how high up you were. “This was your plan?” you asked, your voice tinged with panic as you looked around. “There’s no way down from here!”

“Relax,” Haechan said, pulling a grappling device from his belt. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You’re kidding,” you said, eyeing the device warily. He smirked, his confidence infuriating as always. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Before you could argue, the sound of footsteps echoed behind you. You spun around, your weapon raised, as more guards spilled onto the roof.

“We’re out of time,” Haechan said, tossing you the grappling hook. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Use it to get out of here,” he said, firing at the advancing guards. “And leave you behind?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised. You attached the hook to the edge of the roof, your heart pounding as you prepared to rappel down the side of the building. he drop was dizzying, the ground far below illuminated by the glow of streetlights.

The sounds of gunfire faded as you neared the ground, replaced by the rush of blood in your ears. When your feet finally touched solid ground, you looked up, your chest tightening as you saw Haechan still on the roof, firing at the remaining guards.

“Haechan!” you shouted, your voice breaking. Moments later, he secured his own grappling hook and leapt off the roof, the rope unspooling as he descended rapidly.

Your breath caught as he landed beside you, his chest heaving, his face streaked with sweat and dirt.

“Miss me?” he asked, flashing you a tired grin. “Shut Up” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of relief and anger.

The two of you didn’t stop running until you were several blocks away, getting inside the car Jaemin had already parked. Without wasting a second Haechan drove off, getting away from the chasing guards as soon as he could. The car ride was silent, as he drove to the secret headquarters of the security agency. You gave your superior the intel you both somehow managed to retrieve. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered, breaking the silence as you turned around the corner and into an empty hallway after exiting your superior’s office.

“Believe what?” he asked, leaning against a crate. “This,” you said, gesturing around the room. “Every mission with you turns into a disaster. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to work with someone who doesn’t take anything seriously?”

He frowned, his playful demeanor fading. “You think I don’t take this seriously?”

“Obviously not,” you said, turning to face him. “All you ever do is joke around and make everything harder for everyone else.” His jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. “You think this is easy for me? Do you have any idea what it’s like to stand next to you every day, knowing you hate me?”

You froze, his words catching you off guard. “What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice softer now. He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Forget it,” he said, turning away.

“No,” you said, stepping closer. “What do you mean?” He exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense. “Do you hate me?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You hesitated, your heart pounding. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

He turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. “All I’ve ever wanted,” he said quietly, “is for you to trust me. To look at me the way you look at anyone else. All I want is for you to see me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the vulnerability in his voice breaking through every wall you’d built between you.

“Haechan…”

Before you could finish, he stepped closer, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fiery, desperate, filled with all the anger, frustration, and unspoken emotion that had been simmering between you for so long. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as you tangled your fingers in his hair, giving as good as you got.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“This changes everything,” you whispered. “Maybe,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “But at least now, we’re on the same side.”

The mission might have been a disaster, but for the first time, you didn’t mind.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv navigation.

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quillcraftconquer · 5 months ago

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John “Soap” Mactavish x Female reader

TW: Smut, spanking, (kinda) rough sex? Bj, piv.

Soap deserves more x reader content. Just sayin.

WC: 1.9k

Maybe a WIP? Idk

—————-

You didn’t intend to go out tonight and get unequivocally drunk, especially the night before you were deploying with a new unit.

But here you were, a couple beers deep, watching the muscled back of the man with the short, dark mohawk as he attempted to catch the attention of the bartender.

You didn’t intend to try to bring anyone back to your hotel tonight, but damn if that man didn’t look good. He was leaned forward over the bar, palms splayed out on the sticky wood. His thick, Scottish accent was carrying over the other voices around him as he got more and more frustrated at being ignored. The bartender, your poor friend Feliks, continued to ignore him, bustling around the bar to serve the rowdy regulars who ordered in his native language, occasionally glaring at the Scot who threw his hands up in exasperation each time. It didn’t help as the night went on, the regulars were getting rowdier, pushier, shoving against him.

You looked down into your empty glass.

Fuck it

You approached the bar, sliding into the empty space next to the man and called out to Feliks for another drink.

“You’re losing a customer.” You joked to him in Russian, nodding your head to the Scot who guffawed when Feliks set another beer down in front of you.

“Tell him to leave a yelp review.” Feliks barked out, swatting the wandering hands of a patron who was reaching over the counter.

“Am I fucking invisible?” The Scot grunted, stiffening his shoulders as another person bumped into him.

“He doesn’t speak English.” You laughed, turning to face him. Finally, the Scot peeled his eyes off the bartender, glancing down at you. His eyes darted from one of your eyes to the other, to your lips, and back to your eyes.

You were an interpreter, and you could definitely interpret that look.

“What do you want?” You asked, glancing down at the beer he was holding.

“Same thing.” He answered, and you flagged Feliks down, who begrudgingly passed another beer your way. You slid it to the man, letting your eyes wander over his chest before meeting his eyes.

“You’re a ways away from Scotland.” You joked.

“Military.” He grunted, fiddling with the tab of the beer until it popped open, raising it to his mouth to take a long drink.

“Mm.” You hummed in response, resisting the urge to crinkle your nose. You definitely didn’t intend to take one of them back to your hotel.

“Like a man in uniform?” He asked, giving you a cheeky grin. You wanted to groan and roll your eyes, but if you were going to get laid before being in the middle of fucking nowhere for months, you had to take what you could get.

“I like when they take them off.” You said, lifting an eyebrow, hoping he could take a hint. The way his grin widened you knew he was picking up on what you wanted.

“Yeah?” He smiled, eyeing you over the can, fingers tightening on the tin as his gaze fell over the tight dress covering your body.

“Too bad you’re not in yours.” You said, running your hand up the hard muscles of his chest, resting it there as the patrons around you bumped your bodies closer.

“Still looks pretty good outta this, if you want to try it out.” He breathed, catching your waist in his hand and idly grazing his thumb over your hip.

And just like that, you’re letting him lead you through the crowded bar, out the door and to his car. A car that is much too clean to be used daily. You punch in the address to your hotel, tossing the phone down as it loads the ETA.

9 minutes.

You can work with that.

You wait until the gravel is crunching under the tires as he pulls out of the bar, driving through the dark, illuminating the interior of the car when it passes under the occasional street light. You unbuckle, and he glances over to you suspiciously until your fingers graze against his waist band. His eyes widen and his hands squeeze the steering wheel, shifting his hips to give you better access. You unzip his fly, fishing his cock out as it hardens in your grasp. You let a small smile fall across your face when he moans, working your hand up and down his thick length, the precum beading at the top.

“Condom?” You ask husikly, and he nods.

“Wallet.” He groans, bucking his hips into your hand.

You reach into his pocket, fishing out the brown leather wallet and opening it. Your eyes dart over the I.D

John MacTavish.

One condom.

“Just one, John?” You ask, holding it between two fingers with your eyebrows raised. You didn’t want to put this strangers cock in your mouth without protection, but god, it looked delectable. He smiled at you sheepishly, and you tucked it back in the wallet, tossing it on the dashboard. You returned your hand to his cock, leaning forward to press your lips against the shell of his ear.

“Make it count.” You whispered, giving his earlobe a playful nibble. He groaned, and you dipped your head lower, drawing your tongue across the mushroom head. You sucked him further into your mouth, jaw aching as it stretched to accommodate him. You could hear the squeak of the leather on the steering wheel as his grip tightened.

“Fuck.” He moaned, laying a hand tentatively on the back of your head, gathering your hair into his fist. You nodded, allowing him to move you freely up and down his cock, eyes watering when he bucked up, groaning as he attempted to fit all of him into your mouth.

“You’ve arrived at your destination”

He sighed when you pushed up against his hand, pulling him from your mouth with a pop. You led him up to your room, his hand resting on the small of your back, occasionally dropping lower to give your ass a squeeze. You opened the door to your room, tossing the key on the dresser and turning to face him. His hands were immediately on you, his length straining against the denim of his jeans. You reached for the hem of his shirt and he paused, pulling away from your touch.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, turning to face the dresser and digging under his shirt, pulling out a holster and laying it on top. He bent, pulling up the pant of his leg and unclipping another from his ankle and placing it next to the other. He reached into the other boot, pulling a knife out, laying it with his other weapons. He rose up, gauging your reaction.

“Two guns, a knife, but one condom?” You said sarcastically, shrugging the dressing off your shoulders and peeling it down your body.

“Use those more.” He joked, pulling his shirt over his head, his jeans and briefs quickly joining the discarded clothes on the floor. He pressed his naked body against yours, his hard cock trapped between your stomachs as he kissed you, tongue dipping into your mouth. You moaned as he backed you up until the back of your knees bumped into the bed. You sank into the mattress, expecting him to join you. Instead, he knelt on the carpet at the edge of the bed, gripping your hips and dragging you to him.

“What’re you-“ You started, gasping when you felt his tongue lap at the wetness that had pooled between your thighs.

“Thought I’d return the favor.” He said, drawing a long lick up to your clit, his hands wrapping around your legs and pulling them over his shoulders. You moaned, tossing your head back into the bed as you fisted his dark mohawk, grinding into his face with need.

“Oh, fuck.” You gasped as he dragged two fingers across you, pressing against your entrance. He curled them inside of you, thrusting gently as he focused his mouth on your clit.

“Oh god, please don’t stop. Fuck, John.” You moaned, and he groaned against you when you said his name. You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, bucking against his face as you felt your orgasm hit, clenching around his fingers. You sighed when you felt him pull back, opening your eyes as he rolled his one and only condom on. You scooted up the bed until your head hit the pillows, his body draping over yours, knees pushing your legs further apart. He reached behind your head, grabbing a pillow and placing it under your ass. Your lips twitched at the corner, fighting a smile.

This was a well practiced man.

He leaned forward, his dog tags jingling as they dangled by your face. You felt the tip of his cock press against your entrance, and his eyes met yours.

This was much more intimate than you intended.

You both groaned in unison when he pressed forward, his length causing you to tingle with a burning stretch that felt so good. He pressed his forehead against yours, panting. Your nipples hardened when the cool metal of his dog tags brushed against your chest, arching your back into him.

“Fuck, you feel good. So good.” He mumbled, drawing back a few inches before driving into you again, the top of your head gently bumping against the headboard with each thrust.

You weren’t into military men. In fact, you did your best to avoid them. You were in the military, you knew how terrible these men could be.

But holy shit, this man was working your body in ways you didn’t know it could be worked.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, dragging your nails across his back.

“Harder.” You begged, clasping one hand on the back of his neck. He grabbed one of your ankles, maneuvering your leg over his shoulder as he drove deeper, harder, smashing his hips against yours. But it wasn’t enough.

“More, please.” You pleaded, embarrassed at what this man was turning you into. He choked out a laugh, pausing his thrusts.

“What do you want?” He asked, using the opportunity to catch his breath. You placed a hand against his chest, pushing him back off of you, out of you. He stared at you in question, eyes darkening with lust when you flipped around, raising your ass to him and burying your face into the mattress. You felt his hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto his cock. You gasped as he pulled back, ramming into you again roughly. A small smack on your ass made you moan into the pillow, and encouraged by the sound, he did it again, harder this time.

“Better?” He asked, massaging the spot his hand had connected as he thrusted. You nodded, unable to contain the small whimpers that escaped your throat each time he surged forward and hit that delicate spot inside of you. Your ass tingled with each smack, followed by the massage from his calloused hand.

“Feels so fucking good, god I can feel you gripping my cock. I’m not going to last long.” He moaned, hips quickening as if to make a point. You nodded again, your eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion and pleasure as another orgasm overtook you.

“John…” You moaned out, for the first time wishing there wasn’t a barrier between you.

He groaned as you felt his fingers tighten against your hips, draping his body against your back, pressing his sweat drenched forehead against your shoulders blade as the condom filled with his release. He stayed like that for a moment before pulling out of you, the mattress creaking as his weight left it. You felt the comforter fall over your body, the faint rustling of clothes and keys filling the silence as you kept your eyes shut, body spent.

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hrrtshape · 6 days ago

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insane, dream-like things that were normal in my better cr . . . in other words, what it was like being part of the 1%

i never carried cash : i didn’t need to. if i ever found myself in a situation where cash was required, idk, a farmer’s market or bribing someone, i’d just apple pay!?

i never waited for anything : reservations were booked months in advance. lines were always skipped. at clubs we just walked right in. theme parks? VIP passes only. i have never stood in a queue longer than 90 seconds in my life...or...in my better cr.

my closet was bigger than a new york apartment : and everything was colour-coded. yep. yep !!!

i never read price tags : not because i was being reckless, because i simply did not need to know. it was always fine.

if i wanted something, i got it : saw a dress in a magazine? had it by the next morning. craved a specific croissant from a bakery in paris? it was flown in. life had no delays.

luxury was so normal i had to actively remind myself it wasn’t : by the 13th day, i would have moments, small ones, where i’d be like, " wait, not everyone has their own perfume custom-blended by a french artisan? " and then i’d move on.

the ‘poor kid’ still had a trust fund. . . they just had less in it.

errands? what errands? dry cleaning, post office, buying toothpaste. these were not my problems.

skincare was medical : not just a ‘good moisturiser’ situation, i mean dermatologist-designed, prescription-only, lab-created serums. my facials involved lasers. my face was someone’s full-time job.

my mom had a florist on retainer : fresh-cut flowers appeared in my room like magic. i never asked for them. they just were.

celebrity run-ins were painfully normal : “oh yeah, we had dinner next to tilda swinton last night.” “who?” WHO?

we never parked our own cars : valet, always. i had a friend who didn’t even know how to use a parking metre.

there was no such thing as ‘saving up’. in those two weeks i never thought, “hmm, should i buy this now or wait till christmas when i get 50 euros from my grandma?” PFTTTTT.

everyone had a ‘family office’ : financial advisers, lawyers, accountants. my money was managed. someone in my school had three.

coffee orders were wildly specific : not ‘latte with oat milk’ specific. i mean custom-roasted beans, flown in from a single farm in costa rica, brewed at a precise temperature, delivered in a monogrammed cup.

doctors made house calls : i have not seen the inside of a waiting room. ever. feeling sick? someone arrived.

vacation homes weren’t a flex, they were a given : there’s the paris apartment (1st arrondissement, obviously), the villa in lake como, the chalet in gstaad. the only real estate question was, “are we summering in capri or st. barths?

your signature scent is impossible to buy : it’s either a discontinued hermès perfume from the ’70s that you miraculously still source, or a custom blend from a perfumer who only takes five clients a year.

flying commercial is a horror story, not an option : tsa? baggage claim? delays? these are foreign concepts. you had a netjets membership at the very least, but most likely, you have a family jet with an interior designed by someone who also did a yacht.

your tastebuds have standards : your daily coffee comes from a faema e61, your eggs are from a private farm, and your idea of a snack is burrata flown in from puglia that morning. did i mention my private school had michelin chefs?? yea.

you own art. like, real art : not prints. not posters. actual, museum-worthy pieces that are either inherited or sourced through galleries that don’t even have websites.

most people don’t know what anything costs : a gallon of milk? no idea. a metro ticket? couldn’t tell you. you swipe, tap, sign, and never check.

you don’t shop in stores like normal people : you go to private showrooms, have pieces sent to your home, or shop off-runway. waiting in line… horrendous.

i’ve had a ‘house account’ somewhere : a boutique, a jeweller, a tailor. places where you don’t pay on the spot, just ‘put it on the account’ and settle later.

i was taught how to eat properly : which fork for what course, how to use a butter knife, the correct way to hold a wine glass. it’s not something i learned. it’s something i absorbed from watching adults at endless dinners, benefits, and polo events.

i don’t remember learning how to ski or ride horses : because i was doing it before i was fully conscious. i have childhood photos in full equestrian gear, little skis strapped to my feet in gstaad or zermatt. it’s just something i always did.

an art education by osmosis : grew up hearing adults talk about rothko, basquiat, and duchamp in casual conversation. dragged to the louvre and the tate before i could even read. instinctively know the difference between an original and a print.

i have a family lawyer on retainer : and not because i ever committed a crime. they exist to handle things. NDAs, reputation management, keeping your name out of the papers. they know where the bodies are buried, metaphorically (or not).

most families’ wealth is so old and so layered in offshore accounts that even they don’t fully understand it : trust funds? sure, but also shell companies in the caymans, art holdings in geneva, real estate portfolios under LLCs. money isn’t in banks. it’s spread across continents.

most parents’ have had affairs with each other for decades, and it’s not even a scandal anymore : it’s just part of the ecosystem. marriages aren’t about love, they’re alliances. the wives turn a blind eye, the husbands keep it discreet, and the real betrayal is talking about it.

i’ve been name-dropped in a deposition : it was a divorce case. i was never involved, but my name was adjacent to power, so it got dragged in. the case was settled out of court, of course.

most families has multiple passports : not for fun, not for aesthetics. because sometimes you need an exit strategy. a villa in capri, a château in france, a penthouse in dubai. doors are always open, should you ever need to disappear.

i’ve seen actual generational feuds play out in real time : my parents have enemies. their parents had enemies. the grudges go back decades, and nobody even remembers what started it.

i grew up around people who have gotten away with actual crimes : white-collar, mostly. insider trading, fraud, tax evasion. but sometimes things darker. people go to rehab, people “retire early,” people take extended trips to monaco until things cool down.

i’ve seen billionaires (and their kids) break down over the pettiest things : a bad seat at a gala, a misplaced monogram on their jet, a slight from someone whose family has less money than theirs. the richer they are, the more fragile they get.

my family has a pr strategy : this is largely because my mom is a ceo of a billion dollar company. and everything is managed. what photos are released, what stories are planted, which journalists are “friendly.” nothing is random.

i know that philanthropy is often just money laundering with better optics : charities set up for tax reasons, “foundations” that quietly funnel wealth back into the family, billionaire donations that conveniently coincide with favourable legislation.

i’ve seen people lose their fortunes overnight : one wrong deal, one lawsuit, one scandal that sticks, and suddenly, the private jets are getting repossessed. the real old money…they watch from a distance. they never risk everything.

i know that some billionaires don’t actually have liquid cash : they’re over-leveraged, playing financial gymnastics with their own net worth. yachts, art, mansions. but the second they need actual money? suddenly, things get complicated. this is why everyone in my school donated possessions instead of actual money.

met people who don’t own their clothes : couture is loaned, jewellery is borrowed, yachts are rented to themselves through shell companies. it’s all about optics. they don’t need to own when they can access.

heard rich kids joke about things that would make normal people physically ill : laughing about tax evasion, casually mentioning private rehabs like summer camp, making bets on stocks that could ruin lives.

met billionaires who are bored of being rich : the thrill is gone. the yachts, the jets, the parties. it’s routine. they start chasing danger. high-stakes gambling, extreme sports, secret societies. anything to feel something.

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shoeistars · 1 year ago

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— NO PHOTOS ! pt. 2

༺ feat. reo, barou, rin, sae, shidou

༺ outline. where the boys keep their slutty polas of you <3

༺ w. pro!players, 18+ content, minors dni, photos/polas, fem!reader, read at your own discretion as I don’t do individual tagging for element of surprise <3

༺ pt. 1 (isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, nagi)

— REO ! car dash

When Reo got his hands on his first hypercar, his main priority was keeping the thing clean. No trash, no eating inside of the vehicle, you weren’t even allowed to do your makeup when you’re playing your role of passenger princess. He just wanted to keep the interior spotless, despite the fact that he could buy as many overpriced vehicles as he fucking desired

So, when you hopped into the car one day and noticed the pola of you that he had resting against the dash of his brand new Bugatti, you were stunned. He hadn’t even put a goddamn air freshener on the rearview yet

Whenever you got around to questioning him, all he did was shrug, a smug grin on his face as he drove you to your nail appointment. After all, he got bored when he was sitting in traffic. The picture of you, perched on his California king with the prettiest bra and panty set hugging your body juuust right was worth bending a few rules over

— BAROU ! wallet

The polaroid itself was your idea in the first place. He didn’t really understand what the hell the hype was about, but he’d bend over backwards to see that pretty smile you’d give him when you got your way. Whenever he saw the photo, however, his perspective was changed immediately

You’d been hiked up onto a bathroom sink, always getting way too horny for your own good at events where attendance mattered. He’d sneak you away when you’d start touching on him and whispering dirty shit in his ear, never able to say no to his queen

Thus the birth of the pola nestled in his wallet, right beside his bank card. The view of his thick dick stretching your tightness out was too good to pass up, milky ring of cream wrapped around his base and spilling out of your hole. He just had to have it with him at all times

— RIN ! under his pillow

Pushing the pussy whipped loser boy agenda for Rin because you’re most definitely his first love, the first girl he’s ever touched, fingered, fucked. Having popped his cherry, he can’t help but be completely enamored by you. The mere thought of you gets him hard and he hates that factor to his core

Which plays into why exactly he has a nasty polaroid of you tucked under his navy-clad pillow, right where he rests his head to sleep for the night. It’s safe there, it’s within easy reach for him to fuck his fist to when you’re too far away, which is too often for his own liking thanks to away games

The photo itself is his treasure, a simple one where you’re on your bruised knees, showing him what exactly a facial is. Although he loves you most barefaced, he can’t even lie and deny that your face dripping wet and sticky with his seed isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on

— SAE ! checkbook

Weird place, sure, but there is nothing normal about Sae as a whole. In his eyes, there are three prizes in the world: wins, money, and you. The polaroid fits perfectly right where he has it

There’s nothing more rewarding to him than whipping out his checkbook to buy something big, just to be greeted with your cunt on full display, the photo clipped front and center onto the leather book cover

It’s a real looker of a photo too, his thumb spreading your glossy folds to show off the stream of his cum dripping out of your hole, coating your asshole in thick nut. All he can ever think about is how you whimpered when he licked it up after snapping the shot

— SHIDOU ! pola wall

The consequences of dating a shameless, unhinged individual consists of your nudes being shown off any and every possible chance presented to him. He’s sick, sometimes unreasonable, but you’re too goddamn pretty for him to just hide away

Hence why he’s got a nice slab of white wall in his bedroom, fully dedicated to you. He calls it romantic, of course. All sorts of polas are taped up as decoration, different positions and scenarios

Maybe it’s awkward for guests that just so happen to step into his bedroom for whatever reason, but you like being shown off, don’t you? He figured a slut like you would wanna be put on display, considering you’re just like him

#bllk smut #blue lock smut #reo smut #reo x reader #barou smut #barou x reader #rin smut #rin x reader #sae smut #sae x reader #itoshi smut #itoshi x reader #shidou smut #shidou x reader

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lay-z · 2 months ago

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✨️ Day 4 ‒ Mama's boy

Synopsis: Captain Price knows he can count on his team; no matter what and no matter when. He knows it and his soldiers know it, too. 1–4–1. Still, to say you were shocked when he’d asked you to play his darling girlfriend at his annual family Christmas gathering, is an understatement.

Pairing: John Price x fem!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | military!Reader; humour; fake dating (or is it???); awkward flirting; sexual tension; cussing; fluff; happy ending; teammates to lovers

Word count: 2.4k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

This is for the lovely @staytrueblue ! You've become the absolute Captain John Price expert to me. Hope you'll like it! 🩵

You pick at the hem of your dress; deep red velvet with elegant long sleeves, a tight top with a Carmen neckline which allows a peek of the soft curve of your shoulders, and a bottom that flows seamlessly into a skirt that reaches just above your knees.

A white pearl choker adorns your neck, along with the matching earrings. You’ve done your hair and make-up, and added a spritz of your most expensive perfume – and you don’t question yourself why you’re even doing this much, but perhaps it’s simply the all-consuming urge to please and impress your Captain, like an eager pup with its owner.

You’ve cleaned up nicely for tonight and you’d be more focused on that if it wasn’t for that tight ball of anxiety manifesting deep down in your gut since this whole ruse had taken root a few days ago. It didn’t help when Price gave you a genuine compliment after picking you up from your apartment on base, either.

Trying to relax back into the soft leather of the passenger seat, you decide to glance out of the window and distract yourself by watching the steady storm of snowflakes flutter furiously outside, covering the scenery in fresh powdery snow while the engine of the car purrs steadily.

Aston Martin Vantage. V8. British racing green. Jet-black rims. Sleek interior. Holy shit.

You’ve never sat in a car like this before, nor did you expect Price to own something fancy and flashy like this. Then again, you didn’t expect him to ask for this favour, either.

“Would you stop worrying, darling? You’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrow quirks as you glance at Price, giving him a side-eye as you hear how casually he drops that pet name in that gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t feel like this, this right, shouldn’t make the hair at the back of your neck bristle this pleasantly.

Darling.

“Getting into character already, sir?” You can’t help but ask teasingly, unable not to take the piss out of this whole situation you’ve found yourself in.

Your Captain and superior asking you, one of his Sergeants of all people, to accompany him to his annual family Christmas get together, and what a shit show it is going to be. You’re sure of it.

However, Price huffs, brows furrowing as he keeps his sharp eyes focused on the snowy road.

“Might as well,” he counters curtly, “and stop calling me ‘sir’, will ya? We’re not on duty and I need this – us – to be believable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you make a dismissive gesture with your hand, pondering for a moment before turning your head to really take a good look at him this time.

John looks handsome, too handsome and too civilian, wearing a dark grey chequered pair of chino pants that accentuates his firm rear a little too well, with black dress shoes and a simple black turtleneck sweater that stretches over his broad chest, shoulders and bulging biceps.

The cab of his car is cosy warm and filled with the scent of his tangy yet subtle cologne, a smell that makes you want to hook a finger into the hem of his turtleneck sweater, tug the fabric down to expose his neck and then bury your nose in it to take a sniff.

Yes, no, you’re absolutely normal about all of this.

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink those thoughts away at once, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“So, uh... W-What should I call you, then? Honey buns? Babe?” You quip and cringe internally at your own joke, though you’re gauging his reaction as he drives over to his parents' house.

“Baby? ... Good boy?”

His jaw clenches under his beard, you can see it in the way his temple twitches, and the leather of the steering wheel creaks softly as he grips it tighter. Interesting.

“John is fine,” he answers eventually, “Sweetheart or love if you’re feeling bold enough after a glass of wine, ya bloody lightweight.”

“Sweetheart... Love...” You repeat those pet names quietly, testing them out on your tongue regarding him, still your Captain and superior – and the man you’ve been harbouring feelings for, for the past few years, if you’ll finally start to be really honest with your damn self.

“Okay, I can do that.”

He reaches over and pats your knee; the warmth of his rough palm seeping through the thin fabric of your black tights, “I know you can, darling.”

The first few minutes were incredibly awkward, but that’s just you – being incredibly awkward in general.

Put yourself in any gunfight, jumping out of planes, fake dating Gaz or Soap for a mission, or stalking a target for days on end without a break – no problemo, – but social interactions outside of the field? One such as this?

Oh, boy.

However, you stick to the plan, to the detailed briefing John has given you prior to tonight, and it does seem to work.

His father, William, is surprisingly chatty, but you could also already smell the bourbon on his breath when he went in for a brief hug at the front door.

His mother, Margaret, though, she’s not an easy read, and you quickly realize where your Captain got his steadfastness from. A proper lady who’s obviously the head of this household. He’s got her piercing eyes and appraising look, and you know you’re being scrutinized thoroughly, but she’s friendly enough and gives you space, though you’re already anticipating the moment she’s going to herd you away from her son to put you through the wringer like a wet kitchen towel.

His older brother, Robert, wife Deborah, and two kids, Luke and Ben, are easy to fool, though it seems old Bobby gets a kick out of trying to make his younger brother and especially you flustered. It doesn’t work on John, but after a first glass of wine, you have to admit that it does work on you.

Robert is even less funny than John and that’s just because he’s trying too hard; trying too hard to make everyone like him, and you wonder why John lets him get away with it, but then again, Robert’s the firstborn son, so maybe it’s just the respect John is forced to have for his older brother that’s holding him back. Classical sibling and brother hierarchies, and all of that.

“Say, how did Johnny even manage to woe a woman like you? He’s as charming as an ice pick that one.” Robert dares to ask during dinner, and you actually get offended by that.

“Charming enough for me,” you retort, staring daggers at him and wishing you had an ice pick to throw right about now, “I prefer a straightforward man over some bootlicker.”

Deborah laughs while Robert looks bewildered, eyes flickering between you and John, who’s seated next to you. You cringe internally at yet another blunder, but then you see John’s smug smile out of the corner of your eyes, and his hand finds your knee again under the table, lingering there for the remainder of dinner.

His mother keeps watching and observing from her seat across from you at the long table, a small smile tugging at the corner of her red-painted, wrinkly lips.

John’s younger sister, Alice, shows up right after dinner, before everyone is moved back into the spacious living room to exchange presents; with the large, decorated Christmas tree looming in the corner next to the fireplace, where the birch wood is already crackling nicely.

Alice is an artist, a photographer, living in Paris. Her flight got delayed due to the weather, hence why she’s late. It’s clear by the way John pulls her into a tight hug while simultaneously calling her a muppet that he prefers her over Robert.

She’s a cold breeze of fresh air; a whirlwind full of buzzing energy, joy and kindness, and she would almost be too much for you in any other situation, but when she embraces you gleefully and welcomes you into the family, it’s too easy to get lost in that fantasy for a moment.

This whole ruse is starting to turn cruel on you, really.

Especially, when John’s large and warm hand comes to rest on the small of your back, just above the curve of your rear, once Alice demands to take a picture of you two in front of the Christmas tree. You glance up at him as he towers next to you, smiling boyishly at his little sister while he pulls you closer into his side, one arm curling around your waist and making you go somewhat rigid as you practically feel his strength and dominance radiating off his body, and there is a touch of possession in the way he’s holding you, too.

Or perhaps, you’re simply imagining it.

A sudden camera flash goes off, blindsiding you momentarily and you blink away the dots blurring your vision when Alice speaks up again.

“Alright, thanks for the mugshot, cherié,” she quips, snapping her fingers at you as if to wake you up, “Give me a good one now, aye? I need to capture proof that John actually brought a woman home for once. Look at your poor man; bloody sap’s completely infatuated with you.”

Infatuated? You blink dumbly and glance up at him instinctively as if to check for that yourself, acting as if you could tell how said infatuation would even look like.

And then, your stomach drops and the blood in your veins starts simmering, toes curling in your pumps to ground yourself as soon as your eyes lock with his slightly glazed, steel blue eyes, like a steady flow of ice melting in a rivulet.

Sometime, somehow, in this moment, your hand reaches up to rest on his chest, manicured fingers splaying over the fabric of his sweater to feel his strong heartbeat thudding against your palm–

... and then, Alice coos at you two – breaking the spell.

“Yes! That’s more like it, cherié!”

You excuse yourself after Alice gets the perfect picture to her liking, and before John can follow you, his mother urgently calls out to him, asking for his help in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, you almost feel bad that Alice’s family photo album will have a staged picture of a fake relationship in it, one that will taint it with a big, fat lie.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be here tonight and yet, you are, after having agreed way too quickly and eagerly to the Captain’s request to play his girlfriend and help getting his family to back off.

Now, you find yourself wandering the hallways upstairs of his old family home, where he grew up in, you’d learned; sipping your glass of white wine absentmindedly while you study the rows upon rows of pictures littering the walls, like a walkway through time.

It feels like overstepping a boundary, but John should’ve expected you, a trained special forces soldier, to sneak off at some point to snoop around a bit; he never explicitly told you not to, after all.

You get stuck on graduation pictures of all three siblings, though your eyes linger on John, standing at attention in his dress uniform; tall, handsome, very beardless and fifteen years younger, at least, and you catch your smile before it can spread into something too fond.

Taking another slow sip, you feel a familiar presence behind you; still, you wait for him to address you first and maybe chew you out for being nosy.

“Don’t get caught up in the past, darling,” his gruff voice cuts through the peaceful silence, “I’ve long lost that youthful charm and vigour.” He chuckles gruffly.

Darling. There it is again.

“You can drop the act when we’re alone,” you mumble into the glass as you take another sip, trying to get rid of that damn flutter of nerves deep in your stomach, “I’m positive we’ve fooled them well enough tonight, sir.”

His footsteps are dulled by the carpet covering the hardwood floor as he keeps approaching you from behind, and your grip tightens around the wine glass, nearly shattering the delicate glass, when John’s powerful arms come to wrap around your midriff from behind; his buff body moulding against your back like it’s meant to be.

Admittedly, you go rigid again, holding your breath, stiff as a board.

His breath is warm, a hint of smooth bourbon catching in your nostrils as he leans in to murmur against your ear while his arms tighten around your waist, “I told you to stop calling me ‘sir’, haven’t I? Mhm, darling?”

You shudder involuntarily in his sudden embrace, this forbidden intimacy, breath hitching as your brain begins to short-circuit at once.

“Yeah… You did,” you croak out, voice coming out too breathlessly for your own liking, “But there’s no one to fool here right now, John.”

His chest rumbles and reverberates against your back with something like a pleased hum when you use his first name.

“Not trying to fool anyone, love. ’s just you and me now. ‘sides–”

He then nuzzles his nose against the exposed juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, trailing the tip of his nose along the smooth curve while his beard scratches over your skin pleasantly.

“My bloody mother knew the moment we stepped over the threshold of this house. Thought I’d trained ya better than tha’, Sergeant, or were you not faking any of this after all, hm?”

Despite your better judgement, you allow yourself to lean into his embrace, feeling his body heat seeping through the velvety fabric of your dress.

“Were you?” You counter-ask overzealously, tongue loosened by the alcohol you’ve already consumed, before biting down on your bottom lip, though you can’t take your question back to swallow the words like you probably should have.

“Faking it… I mean.” You add, clearing your throat awkwardly as you continue clutching your wine glass.

There is a heavy pause, one that has your pulse thrumming violently in your neck with each passing second of his silence, until John’s low, gravelly voice murmurs, his lips brushing over that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“Thought I was already being terribly obvious, darling.”

#call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #cod:mw #tf 141 #reader insert #cod advent calendar 2024

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mojavebluez · 24 days ago

Text

Choke - the salesman x fem!reader

Chapter 3

“You can take it.”

summary - one week since your last arrangement, he finds you again. He offers you a game of ddakji that quickly turns into a fight for your life.

tags - choking, blowjob, non-con, age gap, 18 mdni, sadomasochism, crying kink, choking kink, sub!reader, dom!salesman, sadomasochism

a/n - guyssss thank u so much!! It’s been a little while but I’m back… and I’ve got some big plans for the rest of the series. I think you’re gonna LOVE the next part ;))

Series masterlist

4.6k words

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You hadn't heard from him since that night, when he called you and simply stated, "next week. Be ready." Then he hung up.

You were conflicted. On the one hand, now you had proof: you were practically coated with his DNA - inside and out. Going to the police was an easy solution to this whole ordeal. But it seemed too easy. He was far too thorough, far too careful not to have considered that possibility. Maybe it was simple. He knew you would never turn him in.

Aside from some aching in your limbs and a little mental scarring, you were relatively unscathed by what he did to you the last time you met. The clinical way in which he had cut you made it so they healed into clean lines within a week. You almost forgot they were there - though, when you caught a glimpse of your thigh in the mirror, your stomach still twisted. You just hoped that they wouldn't scar. You weren't sure that you'd like a permanent reminder of him on your body for the rest of your life. Perhaps that was his goal.

A week later, you are all-too aware of what is to come. You had spent the whole day with your eyes trained on the clock, counting down the minutes until the end of the day (partially out of anxiety, partially eagerness). He was just so unpredictable. You make a mental list of what he could possibly do to you this time. Every item on that list was a synonym of 'torture'.

Finally, it was time for you to leave. Class had ended for the day. You pack up your things and head outside, feeling yourself growing slightly faint. You almost fainted for certain when you step outside the building. Because there he is.

He stands, arms folded and legs crossed, leaning on the door of a car. He adorns his usual suit: jet black and paired with a dark red tie. The colour seems like a purposeful reminder of what he drew from your skin seven nights ago. His eyes don't exactly light up when he sees you, but his lips curl into his signature empty smile. You can barely distinguish his pupils from the black abyss that they swim in. They must be there, somewhere, though.

You contemplate avoiding him and walking in the opposite direction. Knowing that would just end in some sort of punishment, you steel yourself and walk towards him, barely feeling your feet hit the ground. You are painfully aware of the stares you're receiving. He doesn't seem to care though. His eyes are only trained on you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your skin crawl.

"Good afternoon," he says, straightening up to greet you, "how was your day?"

You don't reply. You stare ahead at his chest, fighting the urge to curse him out. The audacity of him to infiltrate your personal life like this. You were determined to keep him separate from all of this - yet he has wormed his way into the one place you thought you were safe from his influence.

He bends down slightly to catch your eyes. "Feeling a little non-verbal? That's alright. I'm sure I'll get you talking soon enough."

He waits for you to respond, then chuckles quietly when you don't. He turns to open the car door behind him, gesturing for you to enter. You pause for a brief moment. It would be so easy for you to turn on your heels and run. You don't. Instead, you slip inside and stare him down through the tinted window. He taps on the glass mockingly then moves around to the other side of the car, letting himself in.

You glance around the interior. It's sleek, entirely black and laden with real leather. The two back seats are separated from the front by a window, indicating to you that this is some sort of chauffeur car. It checks out. You can't picture him driving himself around - he's far too superior for that. He slides in beside you on the backseat, arranging his legs over his briefcase, which sits at his feet.

"Don't you have a job or something?" You say bitterly once he shuts the door, not meeting his eyes.

You can hear the smirk in his voice. "Yes, I do. My hours are... flexible, though."

"How fantastic for me," you reply, not able to keep the sarcasm from your voice.

"Indeed," you can feel his eyes on your profile.

It's silent for a moment before your gaze drifts to the briefcase at his feet. "What's in the case?"

Instead of responding, he bends down to lift it up and places it down in the space between you. You wince as he opens the latches, still remembering the last time you saw it. Instead of a gun, this time two squares of folded card sit inside. The shape is familiar to you.

"Ddakji?" You ask, tilting your head. Was this his plan for tonight? Another one of his games?

He nods once. "Left over from work today."

"You play ddakji for work? What, are you some kind of professional?"

He laughs dryly. "You could say that."

By day, a professional ddakji player. By night, a sadist. He just keeps surprising you. "But, last week you said..." you trail off, recalling your game last time the two of you met. You didn't manage to find the lie in his list of professions, but you knew he must work either in an office or as a recruiter. So which one is it?

He holds up a hand. "Something you'll learn in the future. Don't get ahead of yourself."

You sit back in your seat, slightly embarrassed. He was right, of course - you had misjudged your relationship with him. There was no way he would tell you something so incriminating as his profession. You couldn't help but laugh at the double standard; he is allowed to violate you in any way he pleases, but you can't even ask what his job is? You almost laugh, but decide against it. Instead, you stare out of the window to your right. The city flies past in a blend of grey hues. Normal people walk the streets, probably on their way home from work or school. You try to imagine yourself before all this, but struggle to, knowing that you can never have that life back now.

After several minutes of silence, the car slows to a halt. Stupidly, you hadn't concentrated on the journey. If something were to happen, you would have no idea how to get back home. This fear is further cemented when you look outside to see that the area is completely unfamiliar to you. It seems like an industrial neighbourhood. Huge building blocks, their windows either boarded or broken, close you in. The streets are empty as well as the roads - you seem to be the only people in a five mile radius. He's brought you to the middle of nowhere.

"Where are we?" You ask, concern evident in your voice.

He doesn't reply, just taps the window as if to thank the driver and picks up his briefcase. He opens the door to his left and steps outside. You stay sat in the car, utterly terrified. If he were to finally put an end to all this, this would be the perfect place to do it. He doesn't wait for you, instead opening your door and gesturing for you to exit the car.

"Out," he says, obstructing your view. As slowly as you can, you step out of the car and onto the street, barely having time to gather yourself before the car speeds away.

"Where did-"

"Too many questions," he interrupts, straightening his tie with one hand, "I thought you would trust me by now."

"How can I?" You raise your voice, the noise echoing through the empty street.

"Follow me," he walks away from you without checking to see if you'll follow. He seems to know every decision you make before you make them. You speed after him, jogging slightly to match his long stride.

You had never walked beside him like this. It seemed like an action too normal for your dynamic. He towers over you, his legs covering almost twice the distance you can with one step. His briefcase swings at his side. You feel a small reassurance knowing what sits inside.

Eventually, he stops in front of a door to one of the large redbrick buildings. It looks like a warehouse to you. He unlocks the door with a ring of keys, pushing it open and stepping aside to let you enter first. Always the gentleman.

You find yourself in a cavernous room. You crane your neck to look at the ceiling, but notice that it ascends several floors up into darkness. Every window is boarded, but natural light still seeps through the cracks in the wood. Your steps echo as you move further inside, shoes slapping against the concrete floor.

"What is this place?" You ask, but with anxiety instead of awe.

"I own the building," he replies, voice monotone. He overtakes you, walking past and deeper inside the building. It is practically devoid of furnishing aside from a few empty boxes or planks of wood here and there.

"Is this where you murder people then?" You say, remembering a sentence he spoke last time you saw each other. It was something along the lines of, 'I am a mass murderer'.

"No," he doesn't smile as he says it. You have the feeling that the time for jokes has passed. "I wouldn't kill you here anyway. You deserve something a bit more... dignified."

"Thanks, I guess?" The way he says the words must mean he's considered it before. You stand a few steps away from him, watching him cautiously.

You had many ideas about how this evening might play out. You certainly weren't expecting this. He lowers onto one knee, settling his briefcase on the floor and letting it open. Then, he lifts the two ddakji squares and holds them up with both hands, presenting them to you. A slow smile spreads over his features - though it never reaches his eyes. You have learned from experience he only smiles fully when he's about to make you either cum or cry.

"Red or blue?" He asks, still holding them in the air.

You'd had enough of the colour red for a while, and always felt a bit more partial to blue. "Blue, please."

"A good choice," he hands it to you, and you try your hardest to take it from him without making contact with his skin. "Do you know how to play?"

You knew the rules well enough. It was a common game played in school as the paper components were easy to make - you weren't exactly the greatest at it, though. "Yeah, I know the rules. I try to flip your tile. If I don't, it's your turn, but if you can flip mine then you win the point."

He nods, clearly pleased. "Clever girl."

You wait for him to initiate the game, flipping your tile in your hands anxiously. There has to be some sort of catch. It's completely out of his nature to suggest an innocent game like this with no consequences.

He sets his tile on the floor. The red square is the only colour amid the sea of grey stone beneath your feet. He looks up at you expectantly. "Ladies first."

You nod slowly, readying your tile in your hand. It's been years since you last played, but the general concept seems familiar to you. You're fairly assured with yourself. Gradually, you raise your arm and bring it down in the air, releasing the tile. Not enough power. It hits the edge of his red square, barely moving it an inch.

You slowly look up to meet his eyes. A shadow seems to have fallen over his features. You aren't sure if it's your imagination, but his expression alone makes your blood sing in your ears. There is something distinctly shark-like about him - black eyes, perfectly white teeth and his unending desire to make you bleed.

He picks up his tile and arranges himself to the correct stance. Something about his professionalism makes your gut twist with dread. You already know how this will turn out. Just as you guessed, he moves back his arm and slaps his tile against yours, perfectly in centre. Yours flips over to its flat face with ease. His lips curl into a small satisfied smirk, and he folds his arms before him, looking down at the tiles.

He makes no move to continue the next round, so you bend down to pick up his tile and hand it to him. Once you reach your full height, though, he catches your chin in his hand and holds you there with a vice grip. Ah. Here is the punishment for your loss.

Faster than you can register it, he brings his hand back, then strikes it across your face with terrifying force. The sound of his palm hitting your skin echoes throughout the building. Your breath catches in your throat and you recoil from the pain, bringing a hand to your face. The skin of your cheek already feels hot and angry, and you feel tears prick in the corners of your eyes. You can barely find the words to question him.

"What- why did you-"

"You lost," is all he says. His hands are clasped before him, weapons in their own right. In a way, his hands are far more terrifying than any knife or gun - he has complete control of them. And he uses them as he pleases.

"You didn't have to-!" You cut off, pressing your palm against your face to soothe the pain. There is no point in arguing the point with him. Now you have learned of the penalty for failure, and that is just how his games work. All you can do is hope that you won't lose again.

The next few games continue in silence, aside from the crack of his tile flipping yours and his palm against your face. Each time, you add a little more strength behind your throw, but each time you fail to flip his square completely. By the fourth round, tears flow in flick streams down your face, and your skin hums with the heat of his strikes. He remains stoic, a smirk on his lips the only sign of his enjoyment.

It's the fifth round and you can feel your hands twitch with frustration. This time, you go first, and throw your own tile down with enough force to make him flinch. His red square flips easily. You can't help but laugh at your triumph. As long as he fails his turn, you're free to slap him right back.

He picks up his red square and positions himself, then throws his ddakji. It strikes the ground nearly 5 inches from yours. You frown. He would never overlook or allow a loss like that - it must have been purposeful.

You meet his eyes and he smiles, clasping his hands before him. Something about his silence unnerves you. You step towards him, bridging the gap between you both, flexing your fingers. You'd been imagining the expression he might make. Gradually, you line up your palm with the side of his face and pull your arm back. Quicker than you can see, he grabs your wrist before it connects with his skin, digging in his fingers until you can barely move any further. You make a frustrated noise, trying to release yourself.

His eyes seem to twinkle as he watches you struggle. Then, with no warning, he crashes his lips against yours. You cry out, voice muffled by the force of his kiss. There is no affection, no softness in the way his mouth fights your own. You pull at your arm, but he keeps you there, not releasing until you both pull away to catch your breath.

"What the-" you start back, wrenching free from his grasp.

He swipes a thumb over his lips, examining the saliva you left on his mouth. "A reward for your win."

You stare at him, utterly baffled. The kiss felt more uncomfortable than loving. More of a punishment than an award. You search his eyes for an explanation - nothing. Two black abysses staring right into yours without a trace of humanity. Kissing him didn't even see like a possibility in your mind; it was far too affectionate.

You hold a hand to your mouth and stare down at your shoes, not ready to continue the game. The tiles sit, expectant, by your feet. After a moment of silence, you hear his voice. "Pick it up."

After a brief moment, you obey, lowering to one knee to pick up his red tile. On your way back onto your feet, though, you feel his hand press firmly on the crown of your head. You look up at him, eyes wide and questioning.

"Get on your knees," his voice is cool and commanding. It sends a strange dread through your bones that forces you to stay down. You bring your other knee to the floor, letting your skirt pool around you. You raise your chin to watch his expression. He seems completely passive; the situation has played out exactly as he desired.

"Let's get on with it, shall we?" You see his teeth flash white as he speaks.

You feel a small spark of defiance within you. You stare ahead at his knees, not daring to look up at him. He waits, silent, for you to respond, before he loses his patience and grabs a fistful of your hair. He yanks your head back, forcing you to look at him.

"Is this really how you want to do things?" He asks, condescending.

You don't speak. He slowly untangles his fingers from your hair, bringing them to the waist of his trousers. His hands diligently undo the button, then the zip, finally coming to rest on the waistband of his boxers.

"Open," his voice is dark. He reveals his cock to you, and you try not to gasp, despite knowing that you'd seen it before. You remember how it felt inside you. Impossibly big and impossibly perfect. You shiver.

You force your lips shut. He runs a veined hand from the tip to the base of his cock, tilting his head as he looks down at you. He slaps it against the skin of your cheek, which is still warm from your punishment. You can feel him get harder at the sight of you on his knees for him. Your face is still stained with tear-tracks, and your eyes are red-rimmed. All things he has done to you.

You part your lips in an attempt to catch your breath. He grabs your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider. You whimper in protest, pulling at his arm, but it’s no use. He forces his cock inside your mouth with no warning. You gasp around him, voice muffled by his girth. He makes a quiet noise at the damp heat of your mouth, forcing himself deeper.

You can’t control it. Your teeth graze his cock, harder than you mean to, and he makes a disgruntled noise in his throat. You nearly scream when he shoves his cock in even further until you feel it grazing the back of your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping his leg for support.

“You can take it,” he says, pressing a hand to the back of your head. His fingers twist into your hair and he controls your movements like a puppet. Your body goes limp, your throat relaxing just to save yourself from choking to death on his cock. It’s no use - he’s just too much. Even with your mouth full of him there’s still room at the base for you to run your hands across.

Your vision is blurry with tears, and he uses this as a sign to thrust harder. He guides your mouth over him with his hand, pulling your hair to move you back and forth over his length. With every thrust you feel him get harder, and he makes deep grunting noises when his tip touches your throat.

Eventually, it becomes too much. The room echoes with the sounds of your gagging and sobbing. Tears flow freely down your face, hot and thick, some landing on his cock. He sucks in his breath, head falling back, the curve of his neck illuminated by the faint light. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. You bristle slightly at the sight - you’re clearly pleasing him. It almost motivates you.

“Don’t- ah…” he trails off when you bring a hand to the base of his cock, curling your fingers around his thick girth. You bob your head, picking up momentum, trying to take his whole length. You twist your hand, moving it up when your head pulls backward. One hand still grips his leg for support, but you can feel him tense under your fingers when you pick up speed.

“S-such a whore,” he stutters, tilting his head to look down at you, “trying to make me cum, huh?” He takes in a shaky breath, pulling on your hair so hard that it makes you whimper with him still in your mouth. The vibration of your throat makes him shiver.

He doesn’t falter though, keeping himself buried in the heat of your mouth. You begin to tire, squeezing your eyes shut and dropping your hand to the ground. You pull backward, a string of salvia connecting your lips and his swollen tip. Your body wracks with your heaving breaths, hands trembling.

“Fuck-“ he starts, his eyes darting downward, “don’t you dare fucking stop.”

His voice is deep and commanding, and an incredible motivator. Your chest heaves with exhaustion as you bring up both hands this time, placing them side by side around his cock. He does the same, but to your head, taking fistfuls of your hair and holding you with extreme force. You cry out when he shoves his cock into you, harder than before, until you can basically feel it bruising your throat.

He grunts with the effort of forcing you over him, using his hold to face-fuck you until the tears flow hot and fast. The vibrations of your sobs don’t put him off, in fact, they make him thrust with more aggression. He sighs at the soft heat of your mouth against the stiffness of his erection. When he looks down at you, he nearly comes undone - the mark of where his fingers struck your cheek have settled into thick red lines. He is struck with the sudden overwhelming urge to hold your throat and press down until you choke on him. So he does.

You make a strangled noise as he releases one hand, curving his body so he can grip your neck. You look up to search his eyes. Utter terror chills you. A dark look has settled over his features, melting his face into a mask of serenity. His lips barely curl with the effort of holding you. He seems utterly at peace watching you choke, and his fingers press, one by one, around your neck with increasing pressure. His entire hand almost fits around your throat.

You try to pull away from his cock, but he doesn’t let you, using his neck to constrain you. You feel, quite suddenly, like you might die. Your vision swirls as you feel the lack of oxygen finally set in. He keeps thrusting, faster, faster, even when your body goes slack. His breath picks up, his cock twitching inside your mouth. You know he’s close. You fight for your breath, hoping that he will grace you with oxygen soon.

He curses as his orgasm finally arrives. He shoots warm, salty cum into your throat and you sob, nearly choking all over again. His body curls inward, his head hanging over you, and he finally releases his hand. He rests his core on the crown of your head, using you for support. You cry to yourself, taking in deep lungfuls of oxygen until your vision returns to normal. You feel his whole body tremble with the release.

After a moment, he moves back, standing to his full height. He swipes a thumb over the corner of your lip, flicking away a drop of his own cum that leaks out of your mouth. It is the extent of his affection. You hang your head, feeling exhaustion deep in your bones. He used you. Pushed you to your limits. And you almost died with his cock in your mouth.

You see him open his mouth to say something. Then, his back pocket vibrates. His eyes flicker with confusion. You watch expectantly, still on your knees and too tired to stand up.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, at the same time zipping his trousers up again. He looks just as he did before, though his hair flops messily over his forehead, slick with sweat.

His eyes scan the number on his phone. Then, to your complete astonishment, he answers. He turns away from you, mumbling a ‘hello’ into the phone. His voice is slightly broken, but still sickeningly professional.

Your mouth hangs open, hands limp in your lap. He has left you, tear-stained and on your knees, to answer the phone. He barely spoke a word of acknowledgment before walking away, speaking quickly into his phone.

Several feet away now, he turns back to you, holding a hand over the speaker. “There’s a car waiting outside,” he says, voice as regular as if he were talking to a work colleague. That’s it. He walks away, deeper into the building, until his voice becomes an incoherent mutter.

For a moment, you barely register what has just happened. Your entire body aches as the product of his aggression. He manipulated you to his will.

Gathering yourself, you wipe your cheeks with the heel of your hand, wincing at the soreness of your face. You can feel the heat of where he slapped you several times. How are you going to hide the marks?

You smooth your skirt and stand up, swaying on your feet slightly. Your throat feels sore and dry, breath raspy, and you press gently on your neck. It feels bruised. You’ll have to wear turtlenecks for a while, you think to yourself bitterly. You nearly marvel at the control he has over your life now, but decide not to. It will just make you hurt.

You cast one last downhearted glance at him. He is a distant figure across the floor of the warehouse. He stands, completely still, one hand holding his phone and the other in his pocket. You feel suddenly sick at the sight of him, and decide to leave.

True to his word, the same black car from earlier is parked on the street, waiting. You open the back door and slip inside, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You feel humiliated. The car speeds away and turns the corner, leaving the building, and him, behind.

On the drive home, the tears fall all over again, but this time you let them. You hold yourself as your body jerks with sobs. You keep holding yourself until fatigue sets in, and your eyes grow heavy.

You make a vow to yourself as the car slows to a halt outside your apartment: you are never, ever, going to see him again.

But, of course, you do.

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