#also of course it's on the back of my thigh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seitmai · 1 day ago

Text

Many thoughts

He was wearing a black t-shirt. Short sleeves, you noted. Not something he wore often. He preferred to wear longer sleeves to cover some of the scarring on the inside of his elbows, understandably so. That was in the past. The shirt looked good on him. Very good.

Yes very good 😌

It was not the main attraction, though. He had stubble. More than a five o’clock shadow, but not a full beard. Probably a few days of growth, at most. But dear lord did it change his whole look. Bob noticed the extra attention you were paying him, insecurely rubbing his hand over the stubble and turning his attention back to the TV, away from you.

🤤🤤🤤

You knew he had some muscle on him, so why did you feel like a sinner seeing a woman’s ankles in the 1800’s?

Perfect allegory 🤭

“Thirsty?” He asked, holding up a bottle of soda. “Huh?” You blinked. You are a grown woman. Why are you getting distracted by him like this?

Yes, but not for soda lol

You knew Yelena noticed. Ava too, probably. At this point, you didn’t care. You were enthralled. He looked so different. It had only been a week. Had someone dosed you with an aphrodisiac on the plane back or something? Because it sure felt like it.

Of course they instantly clock it 😅

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair and pushed it out of his face, and just like that, you were done for. The nonchalant action was so hot, it wasn’t fair. You were starting to get angry with yourself, but also with him. Stupid Bob. Stupid beard. Stupid heart that won’t stop beating at a thousand BPM.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“I’m not too sure about it, yet. Think I might shave it tonight.” “NO. I mean. Why don’t you give it a little longer? It’s only been what, a week? Just test it out for a while,” you laughed awkwardly. “Well, I think it looks great. Makes him look a little more rugged. Don’t you agree?” You were going to kill Yelena Belova. It would be difficult. You would make it slow, torturous.

Haha this is too good

“Well, first of all, I think we all know you’re underneath the wrong person right now,” Ava laughed.

I mean, she's not wrong (but me personally I wouldn't say no to Yelena either 🤷🏻‍♀️😌)

“What? It’s true. I mean we knew you were into Bob, but the heart eyes you gave him when you walked in? Astronomical.” “What do you mean ‘we knew you were into Bob’?” You put quotation marks around it. The thought had hardly even crossed your mind before tonight. Both women laughed as if you’d made the funniest joke imaginable. “What do you mean ‘What do you mean’? You’ve been drooling over him ever since–” Ava was going to spill, but Yelena held her hand up, stopped her. “You’re saying you weren’t into Bob before tonight?”

This is just so funny 😂

“The beard is all it took? That was all he had to do?” Her voice held a tone of disbelief. “The t-shirt helps, too…” you admitted sheepishly.

Fair

“Go stop him?? I can’t just waltz into the bathroom and say ‘Hey, don’t shave because then I can’t imagine what your stubble will feel like between my thighs while you’re eating me out.’ I have no–” The amused shock on their faces spoke for them. You closed your eyes and turned around, where Bob stood with his jaw slack.

Well problem solved, in the most embarrassing way, but solved 😅

“Well he knows, now. What’s stopping you? Go climb him like a tree! Show him some of those wrestling moves you showed me just now, while you’re at it,” Yelena shoved you off the couch.

Love yelena 😂

Bob Reynolds stood before you with only a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. In all the months you’d lived at the tower, you had yet to see him without a shirt. That in combination with the new facial hair? Murderous. Lethal.

🤤🤤🤤

He was about to speak but was cut off as you decided to throw everything to all hell and just push into his room, place your hands on his face and pull him in for a kiss. He quickly recovered, putting an arm around you and using the other to quickly slam and lock the door behind you. The tenacity with which he kissed you was addicting. He finally pulled away to breathe. “If I’d known you liked it that much–” he started, interrupting himself with a soft moan as you kissed up his jawline. “I’d have grown it out months ago.”

Yes 👏🏻🥳

“We can shower together, if you want,” you suggested, fingering the edge of the towel still tightly wrapped around him. “Yeah– Yeah I pick that option,” he smiled, leading you into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Good choice 🙂‍↕��

He mouthed at your body, quickly sinking to his knees. The water hit him so beautifully. He gently rubbed his chin against your thighs, teasing you. The stubble tickled, sending goosebumps up your spine. He moved on to the other thigh, holding both of them in his hands. He peppered kisses all the way up your legs, making sure to leave a trail of tingles behind wherever his beard had made contact with your skin.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, and placed a soft peck on your inner thigh. He was so close, yet he kept kissing around where you wanted him. He didn’t break eye contact when he finally placed the smallest of kisses on your pussy. You’d never seen him so confident as in that very moment, on his knees between your legs. He brought his face closer and started sucking your clit. Your knees felt weak at the sensation. The added coarseness of his beard was the perfect combination of soft and rough.

Him being so confident doing this makes it 100 times hotter 🥵😮‍💨

“Fuck, Bob,” you moaned, wishing he’d just put it inside. You bucked against his face, seeking more friction. His beard was going to leave a rash if you kept this up. Somehow, you didn’t care.

Truly don't care 🤤

He held you against him, still holding you up against the wall. He let his head fall against your shoulder as he caught his breath. Both of you gasped lightly when he finally pulled out, cum dripping to the floor of the shower, immediately washing down the drain.

Extremely hot for no reason 🔥

“We’re going out tomorrow and buying you some actual proper products. Who still uses 2-in-1 shampoo?” You scoffed. He laughed and agreed. “Okay, boss.” You smiled up at him as you let the water wash away the suds. You took some of the shampoo and returned the favour, washing his hair. He had a dumb smile on his lips the entire time, looking down at you lovingly.

Great plan!

“Superhuman stamina, remember?” Bob grinned. “Amazing,” you sighed. You gave him a few experimental tugs, and he hissed, gently slapping your hand away.

Truly Amazing 😌

“God, if you do that we’re never going to make our way out of your bedroom,” you groaned. “Good. Then I’ll never have to shave again.” Bob wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

I could live with that 🤭

You walked out to the living room together, ready to face the music. Ava and Yelena were still where you’d left them, on the couch. At the sight of you, both grinned.

Of course they are 😅

You were about to jump her again, but Bob pulled you against his side. You melted into his hold. You could get used to this.

“I’m gonna personally shave your face in your sleep if this is gonna be a recurring thing. My poor, poor ears.” Yelena groaned. You threw a pillow at her face, which she caught, of course.

The drama 😂

🥰🥰🥰

After Hours | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: Clean shaven. That was how you knew Bob. But while you were away on a mission, he'd decided to change up his look. Who knew just a little facial hair was enough to shine a new light on the man and drive you absolutely insane?

Contents: SMUT, porn with some plot, fem!reader, No Y/N, thunderbolts!reader, Bob is taller than reader, reader has hair long enough to get in your face, matchmakers Ava and Yelena, shower sex, Oral (f receiving), Penetrative sex (p in v), slight overstimulation, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), creampie. If I missed any warnings please let me know!

WC: 4.4K

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Masterlist

A/N: As I've made very clear and made it everybody's problem, I'm currently going fucking insane over Lewis Pullman. Watched The Starling Girl, was not okay afterwards, wrote this. Bon Appétit.

Clean shaven, undetectable facial hair. That was how you knew Bob. You weren’t even sure he was able to grow any facial hair, until you’d spotted him in the bathroom one morning. Shaving was part of his morning routine. For a long time, he’d just preferred the look and feel.

Until last week.

You’d been overseas for a mission, nothing unusual. You returned, debriefed and made your way back to the tower, just like you’d done many times before. Not everybody was at the tower, but then again, it was once in a blue moon everybody was there at the same time. It was just Ava, Yelena, Bob and you for today, it seemed.

You took off your shoes, placing them on the rack next to the elevator. The sound of your heavy bag dropping to the floor caught the attention of the room’s occupants. Such dangerous people, yet they hadn’t heard the elevator? You met each of their eyes, giving them a tired but warm smile. Your smile faltered ever so slightly, eyebrows raising, at the sight of Bob. He looked different.

“Hey guys…” you finally spoke. You tore your eyes off the back of Bob’s head, meeting Yelena’s amused gaze. “What’s going on?”

“We were just watching a movie, you’re welcome to join, if you want,” Ava invited.

“I’m just gonna go put my stuff in my room and change and then I’ll join you,” you agreed. Bob casually put his arm on the back of the couch, leaning back, and your eyes snapped to the exposed skin of his biceps. You knew he had some muscle on him, so why did you feel like a sinner seeing a woman’s ankles in the 1800’s?

You grabbed your bag off the floor and hastily made your way to your room. God, what had gotten into you? Sure, Bob was very sweet. Why had your mouth gone dry at the sight of him, today of all days?

You unpacked your bag, throwing the dirty clothes in the laundry hamper. You grabbed a change of comfy clothes and changed into them, finally being able to unwind after a week away. You already felt more relaxed just by being back in the tower. It had really become your home over these last few months on this new team.

You walked into the kitchen to grab some snacks and a drink. Damn it. The one thing Walker and you had in common was your favourite brand of chips. Did he really have to put them on the tippy toppest of shelves? You were convinced he only put them there so you wouldn’t be able to reach them. Bastard.

“Need a hand?” Startled, you whipped around. Bob was closer than his voice had sounded. He was already reaching over you for the chips. You were now faced with his chest and the new stubble on his chin. He put a hand on your waist to steady you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled. He put the chips on the counter, grabbing a bag of M&M’s for himself. You took a deep breath to steady yourself as he moved away to the fridge. You followed his movements, frozen against the counter.

“Thirsty?” He asked, holding up a bottle of soda.

“Huh?” You blinked. You are a grown woman. Why are you getting distracted by him like this?

“You want a drink?” He had grabbed a glass for himself, offering one to you, too.

“Oh, yes, please. Thanks.” He poured two glasses to the brim.

“How was the mission?” He asked. You grabbed the snacks and the both of you walked back into the living room, putting your stuff on the coffee table.

“It was good. Quite uneventful, really. No wonder they sent me to go alone,” you shrugged. Surveillance for a full week without any real action. Boring.

“Well, at least you didn’t get hurt,” Bob smiled. You returned it and sat down next to him on the couch, on the free spot between him and Yelena. If anybody were to hold you at gunpoint and ask what movie they’d been watching that night, they might as well shoot you. Your eyes were on the TV, but your mind and peripheral were preoccupied with the man to your right.

“What did that bag of crisps ever do to you?” Ava asked, interrupting the silence. You looked down at your hands. You were grabbing the bag as if it had killed your family and owed you money. You had eaten one, maybe two hands of the stuff before your cravings had dwindled. Or shifted, more like. You were definitely craving something– someone else now.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, releasing the bag and deciding to just put it on the table. “Probably still a bit tense from the mission.”

“Hmmmm, right. I thought you said it was uneventful?” Yelena questioned.

“Uhu,” your voice went up an octave, betraying your lie. Bob gave you a curious look. You refused to return it, scared what you might do if you made direct eye contact right now.

Before you knew it, the credits rolled over the screen. Ava cleared the table and took everything to the kitchen, leaving you alone with Yelena and Bob. Yelena turned to you.

“So, what do you think of Bob’s new look? Quite dashing, no?” She proposed. Smug little– You were so going to get her back for this one day. You slowly turned your eyes to Bob, who was patiently, though anxiously, awaiting your answer.

“It uh– Looks good. Different,” you replied, scared to give yourself away.

“Different? Is that a good thing? Or…” Bob’s face had fallen, though only a little. He was masking the insecurity, but you saw it either way.

“No, no– I mean– Yes, it’s a good thing. Good different. Looks good,” you choked before he could feel any worse about it.

“I’m not too sure about it, yet. Think I might shave it tonight.”

“NO. I mean. Why don’t you give it a little longer? It’s only been what, a week? Just test it out for a while,” you laughed awkwardly.

“Hmmm, I don’t know…” Bob pushed a hand through his hair again. It was getting long. You closed your eyes and turned back to Yelena. Anything to spare yourself this torture. Yelena was barely containing her laughter. If Bob had any clue as to what was happening, which was unlikely– the man was as dense as lead– he didn’t show it.

“Well, I think it looks great. Makes him look a little more rugged. Don’t you agree?” You were going to kill Yelena Belova. It would be difficult. You would make it slow, torturous.

“Yup! Definitely more rugged. Hey, where has Ava walked off to?” You changed the subject. Speaking of the devil, she walked back in with a cup of steaming tea.

“I’m gonna go shower. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but please don’t kill each other while I’m gone,” Bob joked. So he had noticed Yelena was pestering you. He got up off the couch and walked down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

The second Bob turned the corner out of sight, you jumped Yelena, reaching for her throat. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you threatened. She wrangled your arms away from her throat and laughed loudly.

“I think you have more important matters to concern yourself with,” Ava interjected. You stopped wrestling Yelena into the couch, though you kept your grip on her wrists tight.

“Like what?” You asked Ava. Yelena took that opportunity to flip you around. You groaned as your back hit the couch.

“Well, first of all, I think we all know you’re underneath the wrong person right now,” Ava laughed. Yelena laughed too, having finally rendered you powerless. Damn Russian spies.

“But I’m pretty sure a shower means a shave, too. There might still be time to stop him, if you hurry,” she shrugged, sipping her tea.

“God, was I really that obvious?” You gave up. Yelena released your wrists, and you got up, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I think if it had been any more obvious we’d have to call a plumber over to investigate a leak,” Yelena said, catching her breath. Your jaw dropped at her words.

“What? It’s true. I mean we knew you were into Bob, but the heart eyes you gave him when you walked in? Astronomical.”

“What do you mean ‘we knew you were into Bob’?” You put quotation marks around it. The thought had hardly even crossed your mind before tonight. Both women laughed as if you’d made the funniest joke imaginable.

“What do you mean ‘What do you mean’? You’ve been drooling over him ever since–” Ava was going to spill, but Yelena held her hand up, stopped her.

“You’re saying you weren’t into Bob before tonight?”

“I mean, he’s cute. But… I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it, I guess.”

“But we’ve been trying to–” Ava was once again cut off by Yelena.

“The beard is all it took? That was all he had to do?” Her voice held a tone of disbelief.

“The t-shirt helps, too…” you admitted sheepishly. It was only then that it registered what Ava had said. “FUCK, you’re right. He can’t go shave now!” Your eyes shot towards the hallway he’d disappeared into, before meeting Ava’s.

“Well what are you waiting for? By all means, go stop him.” she gestured towards the hallway.

“We’re out of towels…” was all he said. He quickly walked into the laundry room, grabbed towels and hurried back to the bathroom. You turned to Ava and Yelena, unsure of what to do.

“Well he knows, now. What’s stopping you? Go climb him like a tree! Show him some of those wrestling moves you showed me just now, while you’re at it,” Yelena shoved you off the couch.

“You guys are horrible and I hate you very much,” you grumbled, getting off the floor.

“Yeah, yeah. You can thank us later,” Yelena got up and used all her weight to push you towards the hallway. You stumbled over your feet and dragged them to Bob’s door. You hesitated before knocking lightly. You held your breath as you heard him shuffling around before opening the door.

He finally pulled away to breathe. “If I’d known you liked it that much–” he started, interrupting himself with a soft moan as you kissed up his jawline. “I’d have grown it out months ago.”

“Shut up,” you said breathlessly. You ran your fingers through his hair and pulled him against your lips once more. You gripped his locks tightly. His stubble felt rough against your face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, unsure whether to take it off. You helped him take it off, making quick work of throwing it in a random corner. Your sweatpants followed, leaving you only in your bra and underwear.

“I should–” Bob spoke between kisses. “–at least go turn the shower off.” It had been on all this time, steaming up the bathroom and in turn his bedroom.

“We can shower together, if you want,” you suggested, fingering the edge of the towel still tightly wrapped around him.

“Yeah– Yeah I pick that option,” he smiled, leading you into the bathroom and shutting the door. You took off your bra and shimmied your panties down your legs, kicking them into the corner. The towel around his waist was gone. You put a hand on his abdomen, softly passing over his abs down to his hard cock.

“All for me?” You whispered.

“Yeah, you painted quite the picture back there. Something something, me eating you out?” He cradled the back of your head and brought you in for a soft, sensual kiss. You lazily stroked him, getting a feel for his length. You didn’t know what you’d expected. He was big.

He pushed you into the shower, soaking you with water. He brushed your hair away from your face, slicking it back so it wouldn’t get in the way as it got wet. His own hair fell in front of his eyes. He slicked it back once more before trailing kisses down to your chin. Your hands came up to his chest, steadying yourself. You leaned against the cold, wet tile of the shower when he kissed your neck hungrily.

You were growing impatient, but he took his time. Your breathing was rapid, and he hadn’t even done anything yet. He tenderly pulled at your legs. “Open them for me, baby,” he sounded as breathless as you felt. You obliged, making room for him to nestle himself fully between your thighs. The higher he worked with his mouth, the more sensitive you became. He leaned his cheek against your thigh and gazed up. It was a hungry, depraved look. You ran your fingers through his hair again, silently begging him closer to where you needed him most.

Your head hit the wall harshly as you threw it back, a loud moan echoing from your lips. He made out with your cunt as if he was a man starving. Your grip on his hair tightened when he experimentally added a finger into the mix, circling your entrance.

A deep moan rumbled from his mouth against your clit. The sensation was so good, your other hand reached down to tug him closer against it. He chuckled, another sound that had no right feeling that good when being made against your skin.

He pushed the finger inside, slowly working you open. Not that you needed it, at that point. You were soaked, and not just from the shower. The things this man did to you. Within no time he added a second finger, scissoring you open.

Heat built in your core as you quickly got closer and closer to the edge. You no longer had any control of the soft noises escaping your lips or your fingers tightening in his hair. Your toes curled and you squeezed your eyes shut. He added another finger, then.

You peeled your eyes open, enthralled by just him. He was humping the air absentmindedly at the same rhythm his fingers were working inside of you, desperate to be touched. He couldn’t touch himself though, one hand preoccupied holding you up, the other curling its fingers inside of you. He was dedicated to getting you to come in his mouth, and he was succeeding fast.

He circled his tongue around your clit just right. A high pitched keen left you as he curled his fingers against your G-spot repeatedly. You could feel your legs starting to tremble. His grip on your thigh tightened, determined to keep you standing. You ground against his tongue, breathing erratically.

“Shit, Bob. I’m gonna come,” you warned. He kept going, sucking and licking until you snapped.

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Come on my mouth.”

Your vision went blind for a second as you came, riding out your high on his fingers.

“Fuck!” You moaned, uncaring of who’d overhear.

Bob kept sucking, kept thrusting his fingers against that perfect spot. You hissed and tugged at his hair, trying to get him to get up. He didn’t relent.

“Taste so good,” he groaned. “So wet.”

He took his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. You were glad for the break, but his lips worked overtime. A newfound passion arose inside him to get you to come again now that he had a hand wrapped around his cock. He stroked idly, more focussed on your pleasure than his own.

“I– I can’t. Fuck,” you whined. Your body was on fire, the hot water pouring down on you not helping your case. How the man hadn’t drowned yet, whether from your pussy or the shower, was beyond you.

“Yes you can,” he grumbled. “For me?” It sounded so innocent. His pupils were blown wide as he sought eye contact, pleading you to come again. It was building up quickly. You hadn’t even caught your breath from your previous orgasm. Just as you were about to tip over the edge again, he stopped abruptly, standing up.

A frustrated sob escaped your lips, but it was cut off by a desperate kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

“Want you to come on my cock,” he mumbled. You nodded quickly, taking him in your hand and stroking him. He put his hands around your waist and lifted you up like you were a feather. God, that super strength was a turn-on. He pushed you against the wall of the shower and lined himself up. He didn’t waste any time, pushing himself to the hilt.

He moaned loudly in your ear as he bottomed out. It was the sexiest sound you’d ever heard.

“F-fuck. So tight– God,” he couldn’t complete a sentence as he began rhythmically pounding inside. You held onto him for dear life. You were still so, so close. He kissed you hard, like this was his only chance. You leaned your head against the wall, lips sputtering as the water hit your face.

“Bob,” you moaned. He sucked harshly at the bottom of your jaw. His hips snapped harshly, the sound of skin against skin vulgarly echoing through the bathroom. You tightened your legs around his waist, trying to get him to go deeper.

“Waited so long for this,” he gushed. “Wanted you so bad.”

“Yeah?” you replied breathlessly. He was mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with every thrust.

“Mmhmm. Didn’t think you wanted me,” he admitted, peppering more desperate kisses on your neck.

“I do. Shit,” you whined. “So much.”

“Fuck, baby. Come on my cock. Come for me, please,” he pleaded, hips speeding up.

Your nails scratched at his back, no doubt leaving red trails behind. You dug into his shoulders, gripping them tightly. The muscles underneath your fingers were sturdy.

You came again with a loud wail of his name. You put your hands on his face, tugging him against your mouth and kissing him deeply. You couldn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t stop feeling that delicious stubble against your chin. It scratched your palms as you caressed his face.

His hips stuttered against yours. You could only hope the sound of the shower drowned out the sound of his balls slapping against your cunt with every harsh thrust.

“Cum inside me,” you begged. “Please, need it.”

“Fuck, are you sure?” Bob asked, ever the gentleman.

“Please, Bob.” That sent him over the edge, shooting his spend inside of you.

“Shit,” he whimpered. His palm made contact with the tiles beside your head, cracking on impact. Neither of you seemed to care at that moment. Your eyes sought his, and you found them glowing. He held you tight as he rode out his orgasm, lazily pumping inside of you as the water washed away your sweat.

He gently put you back down, careful to not let you slip. Your legs felt weak. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself up. You tugged him down, craning your neck so you could steal another kiss.

You kissed softly for a while, before deciding you’d wasted enough water. He took his 2-in-1 shampoo and squirted some on his hands. He put some in your hair, softly massaging your scalp. You held your arms around his waist as he worked the shampoo through your hair.

“We’re going out tomorrow and buying you some actual proper products. Who still uses 2-in-1 shampoo?” You scoffed. He laughed and agreed.

“Okay, boss.” You smiled up at him as you let the water wash away the suds. You took some of the shampoo and returned the favour, washing his hair. He had a dumb smile on his lips the entire time, looking down at you lovingly.

The same process repeated with his body wash. It wasn’t anything special, but you loved the scent. It smelled like him. He roamed your body with his hands, massaging your shoulders as he went. He spent some extra time fondling your chest. You still hadn’t fully recovered from the heated session just now, yet you could feel the fire starting again.

“Hmmm,” you moaned. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” You washed down his abdomen, and already found him hard again.

“Superhuman stamina, remember?” Bob grinned.

“Amazing,” you sighed. You gave him a few experimental tugs, and he hissed, gently slapping your hand away.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not sensitive.”

You finished up in the shower and realized there was only the one towel to dry the both of you. You made do and walked into Bob’s room.

He lent you a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. “I didn’t know you owned several short sleeved t-shirts,” you joked.

“I don’t wear them very often,” he laughed, putting on some sweatpants and a sweater. He looked like his cozy self again, if you didn’t count the stubble. The very very sexy stubble.

“Well, I like you in them. You should wear them more often. Really highlights your biceps.” You flexed yours as a joke. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and mirrored your pose.

“God, if you do that we’re never going to make our way out of your bedroom,” you groaned.

“Good. Then I’ll never have to shave again.” Bob wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Please never shave again. It’s so hot. Like. So hot.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Asshole,” you slapped his chest.

You walked out to the living room together, ready to face the music. Ava and Yelena were still where you’d left them, on the couch. At the sight of you, both grinned.

“About time, loverboy,” Ava commented.

“Remind me to never buy a razor again,” Bob said as he plopped down on the couch.

“I’m gonna personally shave your face in your sleep if this is gonna be a recurring thing. My poor, poor ears.” Yelena groaned. You threw a pillow at her face, which she caught, of course.

“I’ll kill you for real if you do, Belova,” you threatened.

“I’d love to see you try.”

You were about to jump her again, but Bob pulled you against his side. You melted into his hold. You could get used to this.

1K notes · View notes

demie90s · 3 days ago

Note

Reader is Geno Auriemma’s daughter, and she’s told the team she’s off limits romantically. But that doesn’t stop like three of the players (your pick!) from falling for her anyway. They try to hide it…but Geno starts to catch on.

(PAIGE / AUBREY / KK (gone laugh you out dem draws))

Off Limits

Paige x Aubrey x KK x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Being Geno’s daughter comes with rules. Rule #1? I’m off limits.

Warnings: Secret crushes, team tension, coach’s daughter drama, flirty chaos

Word count: ~ 0.6k

When I committed to UConn, Geno had one rule for the team—don’t touch my daughter.

He said it just like that. At the start-of-season meeting.

“Y’all can joke, y’all can be friends. But if I find out any of you are trying to date her, it’s gonna be a long-ass season.”

The room laughed. I didn’t. Because I knew what was coming. And I was already eating it up.

See, I was raised around this team. I knew the game and the girls. I knew how to flirt without flinching and tease without getting caught. I also knew exactly what I looked like walking into practice with lip gloss and thigh tattoos showing under my hoodie.

So, naturally, it didn’t take long for the tension to get weird.

Paige was the first one to fold. Of course she didn’t say anything. She never does. She’d just sit next to me in film, throw an arm across the back of my chair, and mumble things like, “You always smell like vanilla or trouble.” The first time she said it, I turned my head and smirked. She didn’t blink. Just nodded like she meant it, then went back to taking notes on the Princeton offense.

Cool. Blonde. Nonchalant final boss…be frl. But I saw how she looked at me during warmups. Like she was trying not to blink and miss something.

Then there was Aubrey. Sweet, low-key, absolutely failing at playing it off. Every time I walked into the gym, she’d sit up straighter. Eyes on me, then anywhere but me. I caught her dropping her water bottle once when I waved at her. Legit dropped it and kicked it across the floor trying to recover. She tried to play it off like she was stretching. It was… adorable.

KK though? Man. She was the worst. And by worst, I mean the funniest. That girl would flirt like it was a contact sport. Always talking about something like, “I know you Geno’s kid, but you be lookin’ grown.” Laughing at her own jokes, doing TikToks in the locker room while sneaking glances at me in the mirror.

She’d catch me in the hallway and say, “You got a ride home?”

I’d say, “Yeah.”

She’d go, “That’s wild, cause I was gon’ give you one… on my face.”

Loud as hell. And wrong for it. I’d double over laughing, and she’d just look smug while the rest of the team screamed in the background.

Meanwhile, I’m just existing. Cackling. Kekeing. Acting like shit is sweet. Geno’s pacing at practice yelling about turnovers, and I’m in the corner tying my shoes while KK stares like I’m the sun. Paige watches like she owns me. Aubrey brings me an extra protein shake and won’t meet my eyes.

And Geno…He’s starting to catch on.

The first time he paused mid-sentence at practice and looked between me and Paige, I knew he felt the shift. He narrowed his eyes. Paige stayed cool, flipping a ball in her hand. I smiled. Geno’s jaw tightened.

Two days later, KK gave me a ride to campus and walked me to the dorm. Geno called her into his office the next morning. He’s not stupid.

Last week, he caught Aubrey holding the door open for me like we were in a Nicholas Sparks movie. Said nothing. Just stared for a full five seconds.

Then finally, in the middle of team breakfast, Geno looked around and said, “Let me ask y’all something. Is ‘off limits’ confusing now? Did the definition change?”

The whole table went silent. Paige didn’t look up from her eggs. KK pretended not to hear. Aubrey turned bright red.

I took a bite of my cinnamon roll and smiled.

“Daddy, you good?”

He just stared at me. Then looked back at the team.

“I ain’t stupid. I see everything. And y’all not slick.”

KK coughed into her juice. Paige finally raised her eyes, met his stare, and said, “Cool. But like… hypothetically?”

Geno stood up and walked out. I damn near choked laughing.

Hypothetically, I’m somebody’s problem. Realistically? I’m about to be all three of theirs.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @zizi-bee-yapping @kaliblazin @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey

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ofbatsandballads · 3 days ago

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i’m aliiiiiive!!! please have this offering that I started writing last month and finally finished this month (it is literally the only thing keeping me going imagining this rn). anyways, i’ve always thought that jay would be great with periods bc one: he’s a grown ass man who knows it’s perfectly natural, and two: he’s seen way, way worse on a nightly basis. also he’s a yearning lover boy who would take care of his partner like they were precious.

tw: explicit discussion of menstrual cycles (symptoms + treatments + the messes that come with it), moderately suggestive at the end

Thinking about Jason Todd who is so good at handling your period that he ruins you for any other man. You wake up to the telltale ache in your lower belly and the feeling of damp fabric sticking to your thighs and you just know. Your face burns with embarrassment and you foolishly contemplate if there’s some way that you can extricate yourself from his arms and change the sheets without waking him. But Jason has a sixth sense when it comes to you and he’s fluttering his pretty seafoam eyes open the second he feels your breathing shift in rhythm. He smiles sweetly at you and hums as he pulls you closer. Normally you’d snuggle into his chest and savor the warmth he provides, but right now you can feel the blood slowly seep out of you, your back and belly feel like someone is stabbing you, and you’re so frustrated you could cry.

“Good mornin’, baby,” Jason yawns.

“Morning, Jay,” you wince. “I’ve got to get up, angel. Can you let me get up?”

Perhaps your pain drifts into your tone because Jason’s gaze sharpens, all traces of sleep vanishing.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong, ma?” he asks, eyes scanning you like he’s assessing for injuries.

God, he’s going to make you admit it. Your face burns hotter.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say unconvincingly as a cramp tears right through you. “Just have to get up and change my clothes. And probably our sheets. I’m sorry, Jay, I should’ve known it was coming.”

You hope he gets it without you having to say outright that you’ve gotten blood everywhere. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You choose to focus on the wall right over his shoulder instead. You’re bracing for some reaction of disgust or annoyance, but Jason is surprising as ever.

“I’ll get the sheets, sweetheart,” he says softly, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead. “You just get yourself a shower and try to relax. I know our water heater is shit, but try to get it as warm as possible for yourself, okay?”

Oh. Oh, he’s perfect. You already knew that, of course. It's just nice to be reminded of it.

“You’re not…upset?” you ask hesitantly.

Jason just laughs low and gentle, soft as the sunlight that filters through your bedroom window.

“Baby, why would I be mad about a bit of blood? It’s natural. Far more natural than all the times I’ve come home bleedin’ over everything,” he reassures you.

He kisses you sweetly and rubs your lower back before ushering you off to the shower. You do as he says and you swear that he’s magic or something, because against all odds your water stays hot the entire time. You get out warm and refreshed and find that Jason was true to his word. Your bloodstained pajama shorts have been removed from the bathroom floor and replaced by a fresh pair of your underwear and a set of Jason’s soft black sweatpants. Beside the fresh clothes sits the dark gray set of towels that you two always use when Jason comes home bloody and bruised. They’re warm to the touch, likely straight from the dryer, and if you loved him any more you think you might combust with the sheer energy of it.

You will explode with it, you realize, when you see him in the kitchen chopping up fresh fruit for your breakfast. Jason sees you and the blend of fondness and concern in his eyes is a testament to how much he loves you.

“I read somethin’ about how fresh fruit helps with period cramps, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to try,” he explains a bit sheepishly as he pours you a glass of orange juice.

You nod and hum softly, your throat suddenly choked with emotion and tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You can’t help it. You literally throw yourself at him. Your hands grasp his sleep-tangled curls and you kiss him desperately, messy and warm and full of love. Jason’s left panting, his lips kissed red and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion when you’re done with him.

“If I knew fresh fruit would get me that, I’d be goin’ to Louie’s produce stand every fuckin’ morning,” he chuckles breathlessly.

“You do know you’re perfect, right? And I can’t possibly live without you, right?” you confess.

You’re holding on to him so tightly that Jason might just be inclined to believe you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, because I’ve got no plan of goin’ anywhere any time soon,” he whispers sweetly. “Now drink your orange juice.”

Jason is true to his word. He stays by your side all day. He lets you cuddle up to him and steal his body heat for your own, only making a few little jabs about how he’s “nothin’ but a personal space heater to you”. He presses his big, warm hands to your tummy when your cramps hit and rubs firm circles that miraculously ease the ache. Your beloved heating pad serves a dual purpose wedged between his stomach, bruised and sore from a few hard hits on last night’s patrol, and your lower back.

When evening comes and you start to drift in and out of consciousness, body exhausted from the pain and hormones ravaging it, Jason cradles you in his arms and carries you to bed. You’re hazy and tired, but you still giggle when he cleverly lays down your fluffy, waterproof blanket. It usually serves to protect your poor sheets from your rather…messy sex life, but it works just as well in this instance.

“You’re a very smart man, Jason Todd,” you say as you make grabby hands at him.

“Hm. I try,” he replies.

The second he’s within reach you’re burrowing into him again. Jason, as always, obliges and wraps your entire body up in his. A sense of peace and pride courses through him at the satisfied sigh you let out.

“Y’know what else helps with period cramps?” you ask through a yawn.

Jason just watches you lovingly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as he shakes his head.

“Orgasms,” you nod sagely.

Jason snorts loudly, his joyous laughter echoing across your bedroom walls. You smile and think that you’ve never been happier, body actively fighting against you and all.

“Uh huh. Sure. Maybe we can work on that one in the mornin’, ma. Now go to sleep,” he says, his face lit up with a boyish grin and a warmth in his sea green eyes.

You hum in agreement and smoosh your face into his chest. He’s warm and he smells like cedar and something distinctly Jason, and you can barely keep your eyes open a second longer. You idly hope you dream of him when you finally fall asleep.

“I love you more than all the stars in the universe, Jason Todd,” you murmur sleepily.

“I love you more than life itself, sweetheart.”

You drift off to sleep nestled between the warmth of your lover and your electric blanket, content and happy and vaguely looking forward to the promise of trying that one in the morning.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #remy writes 🖋️#I know I haven’t written in ages #writer’s block is a bitch and I have like…50 wips in my Google docs and notes app rn #anyways i NEED jason todd desperately. need that big warm loving man to take care of me please please please.

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hearts4hughes · 2 days ago

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wallstreet!rafe au but his girlfriend is in the wallstreet game and they’re always head butting and stuff.. and maybe at home, they’re really soft for each other.

ೃ࿔:･ this isn’t apart of my series ‘due diligence’. it’s just connected to the wallstreet!rafe au!

you storm out of the meeting first. heels loud against the marble, jaw tight, lips parted like you’ve still got one last thing to say but you’re choosing mercy over murder.

behind you, rafe follows, two steps slower and ten times smugger. he’s rolling up the sleeves of his tom ford button down like he didn’t just nearly derail your entire merger pitch in front of half the board.

“you’re welcome for saving your ass in there,” he drawls, catching up. his tie is loose, that stupid grin plastered across his face—the one that says i know you want to hit me and i also know you want to kiss me.

you glance at him sideways, smoke still pouring out of your ears. “you weren’t saving me, you were showing off.”

“same thing,” he shrugs.

you stop in front of the elevator, arms crossed, pulse still high. “you’re insufferable.”

he leans against the wall beside you, watching the numbers tick down. “and you love it.”

you roll your eyes. “i tolerate it.”

he hums, eyes dragging over you slowly, warm and low like he’s already undressing you with his mind. “funny. you were saying very different things last night.”

the elevator dings. you step inside without looking at him, but he’s already following. of course he is. like two planets orbiting each other but also in a galactic war.

the ride down is silent. you peer at him through the corner of your eye, not daring to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. he stares at you with a grin and reaches to intertwine his fingers with yours. you snatch your hand away and cross your arms. he chuckles.

by the time you’re in the car, the silence turns soft. his hand finds your thigh. your hand traces his fingers as the tension melts like ice on a hot day. and when you get home, the fight is gone. suits peeled off like armor, wine poured, shoes kicked off in the entryway.

he watches you move through the kitchen like something holy. something worth losing wars over. when he comes up behind you, he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and you lean into it like it’s reflex. because at the office, you’re rivals, but here, under dim light and shared scents, he’s just yours, and you’re just his.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa

#nora’s writings 💐#ೇ wallstreet!rafe au #wallstreet!rafe #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #ceo!rafe cameron #ceo!rafe

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ruinix · 11 hours ago

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I think I have this severe disease where every time I see him I need to bite and kiss him all over until he's a full-on blushing mess, y'know?

Hello, lovely. When I see this, I instantly thought of Quinn, of course. I, too, have that urge. It's not even cut aggression. It is full on FERAL, you know. Hope you're still there, lovely.

[Also, mini update: writing for the TikTok trends will take a pause for a day. i am out of words, aka, i am overthinking them]

18+. Whore Thoughts. Biting and kissing Quinn. Slight subby Q (not full on / if you squint.). Slight choking (just a little squeeze, y'know). Body worship (m receiving). Unprotected sex. (Optional) Bonus content: Your POV. ⬇️

Quinn would just be facing you, listening to you recount your day on the bed, while you two wore your comfortable pajamas—thin cotton shirts, sweatpants for him, and cotton shorts for you.

Sometimes his eyes would wander down to your tits, marveling the sight of them and your nipples turning into pebbled peaks at his attention or maybe because of the airconditioning. To your lips as you grinned and talked, letting him hear your beautiful voice. To your eyes which sparkled and widened and squinted depending on the topic you touched. To your hands that you moved with you. To your legs that were crossed like his, your shorts riding up your thighs. He was mesmerized.

He tried to speak, but he ended up just gazing at you. He was so honed in with your words yet also not, because at some point, you were on his lap. Your legs wrapped around his waist, crossing on his lower back. Your eyes were as dark as his. Your breaths were warm and minty on his face. Your arms wrapped around his nape, your fingers slipping through his hair, tugging them to crane his head up.

He had no clue how this came to be, but he wasn't surprise. He was already so used to this. To you. He didn't speak his confusion. He couldn't. If he did, it would expose him getting so lost in the sound of your voice.

"You're dangerous, Quinn," you said, when you were the one looming over him, the one with a hand around his throat, the one that slightly put pressure on his arteries that his mind clouded, his eyes almost rolling up. "I just want to eat you."

'What do you mean?' was the question he wanted to ask but you were already kissing him.

He had to kiss you back. His tongue slipped past your soft lips, tasting you. He groaned, needing and seeking more of your taste. His hands came around your waist, gripping tightly at your softness, shuddering when your lips strayed to the corners of his lips, to his cheeks, his jaw, his fucking neck.

Oh, this was what you meant.

You sucked as you kissed as you licked. Each motion lit his blood in flames, bursting and boiling as it rushed inside his veins. You made him feel alive while also destroying every piece of him. He welcomed your destruction. Everything you gave, he needed.

You were aware that he had a game tomorrow. That he had practice in the morning. Yet you marked him in places he couldn't hide even with his hoodies. Along his jaw, under it, behind where his ear met it. Beside his Adam's apple which you lightly bit, making him whine a pathetic moan. The flesh right above where his collarbones met. Every bruising suck seered head down to his abdomen, to his leaking and dripping cock.

Then your hand slipped under his shirt, tugging it upwards. Groaning, you said, "Remove your shirt, Q."

He did so quickly that his head spun as he threw it beyond the bedside. He would start to be a fucking mess when your head dipped, marking your way down his pectorals, growling a protest when your fingers traced over his nipple, when your lips found the other.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" He gritted, feeling so fucking weak as you teased him. "My Love."

He would only curse, because you ignored him, muttering that you were eating. He almost fucking sobbed when he realized that you were making true of your words. All by torturing him. He couldn't complain. Not when he had marked you so many times before events. Not when he would still find your inner thighs filled with kissmarks before and after he ate you out for hours last night.

His body felt so hot that he thought his breaths were steaming. His cheeks felt flushed, so hot that his eyes watered with the heat. This felt so fucking good. So good that he knew he was leaving stains on his sweatpants, that he knew one touch would make him fucking come.

He would flinch from the drowning and burning pleasure when you moved to the other nipple, when you moved back up to give him more kissmarks on areas you have not marked, when you licked up a bead of sweat that ran down his cheek to his neck, when your hand finally slipped inside his pants and jerked his leaking cock. He would really come—

"Don't. Wait for me. I'm so close," you whimpered.

Quinn tried to help you out of your shorts but both of you were a mess. Instead, he just forced the crotch of your shorts and panties to the side, hearing the fabric rip, but you two didn't care. Just a few maneuver, he was inside of you, thrusting up desperately needing to feel your release.

The sound of your pussy being so slicked and being fucked, of his groans mixing with your moans, and of his name slipping past your lips drowned his ears, filling his mind with nothing but bottomless need.

"Come, my Love. Fuck!" He hissed as he came in harsh spurts, pushing you over the cliff of your orgasm, making your pussy walls spasm around him. "So good. Fuck. Fuck."

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You were shaking. It was a quick fuck yet the aftermath was just as intense as your longer tryst with Quinn. His rumbly voice continued to mutter, cursing when you purposefully squeeze around his still-hard cock.

You looked over at him, grinning at how utterly ruined he was. His beautiful eyebrows were drawn tightly. Sweat dripped down his temple as much as youra. His cheeks were so red, even splotchy at his cheekbones. His pants were rugged. His pupils were swallowing every millimeter of his irises.

He looked gone, trapped in his own thoughts, as he gazed at you. His focus was the reason why you craved him. You were talking about a cookie you found in TikTok but he was devouring you with the way his eyes marked your words, your gestures, your actions. You couldn't help yourself. He was literally luring you in and you had only taken the bait.

Now, he filled you while his chest and neck were bruising with your marks. He hadn't realized that you outlined a heart on his chest. If only you could spell your name on his skin with just kissmarks, you would, but that would be so taxing when you were so horny.

You could still taste his skin on your tongue. The saltiness of his sweat. You needed more. So you leaned and kiss him. His response was instant, melting your heart all over again, turning you into a mush.

"I love you," you whispered in the kiss.

His grip tightened on your hips, his blunt nails digging into your skin. "I love you more."

That made you laugh. You felt his smile until he pounced, overturning your positions. You were the one whining now as he fucked you while wearing your marks on his skin, while his cum dripping around his cock.

Good night, lovelies 🏃🏻‍♀️

-> more thoughts? List. Want to be notified? Join my taglist!

#ruinix answers #ruinix thinks #quinn hughes #qh43 #qhughes #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes drabble #quinn hughes smut #nhl x reader #smut #sweet #sweet quinn

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ssa-aaron-hotchnerr · 1 day ago

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may i request sub!hotch 🤲🏻

Relaxation

about: Aaron needs to relax and giving him a massage to help turns into something more (18+)

warnings: smut, basically porn without plot, hotch loves his wife, dom/sub dynamics, sub!hotch, previously established consent (there is a safeword in place), use of good boy, use of Y/N, edging, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), face sitting, reader pins Aaron’s hands to the bed, kind of an abrupt ending cause idk how to write endings

word count: 1400

a/n: this is my first dom!reader fic so hopefully you enjoy

Aaron Hotchner was the kind of man who commanded any room he was in. He was unit chief of the behavioral analysis unit, a well decorated FBI agent, and a former (very successful) prosecutor. But behind closed doors, he was all yours.

It was necessary for him to have a moment to relax, to turn his own brain off. Under your hands he was able to do that.

Currently you were straddling his back. He was in nothing but his boxers as you kneaded the tense flesh of his shoulders.

He’d come home from a case this afternoon and nearly collapsed in bed after showering. You’d gone out to pick up his favorite Chinese food while he slept and dropped Jack off with Jessica. He’d wanted to have a sleepover with his aunt. You were grateful for the time you’d have alone with your husband.

After he’d scarfed down his food you’d pushed him back into bed, stripping him down.

“Just relax, honey. You’re so tense,” you cooed.

A soft groan escaped his mouth as you dug into a particularly tight knot in his shoulder. “I’m trying,” he murmured, voice muffled by the pillows.

You laughed softly.

He was trying to relax but it was always hard for him to turn off his mind sometimes. That’s why you had this arrangement of sorts. When he needed to fully relax – and when you saw that – you had full permission to do what you wanted with him.

“You gonna let me help you relax?” you asked softly, voice dropping low.

He was always screwed when you talked to him like that. “Yeah.”

“Good boy.”

Once you’d finished working on his back muscles, you moved onto his hamstrings. You’d lathered your hands up with your favorite body oil – you always used it when you gave him massages – and started kneading it into the skin. You moved all the way down his body. You tapped the body of his foot.

“Turn over.”

Aaron eagerly flipped around for you. And once he had, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his boxers. You tugged them down his hips. You tossed the garment off to the side. Eyes raked over his body, taking in every dip and curve, until you found his cock. He was already half-hard. But you ignored it. Instead you continued to work your hands into the thickness of his thighs.

“You’re a tease,” he groaned.

“But you love me,�� you quipped back.

“Of course I do.”

You smiled softly. You loved this man more than anything in the world and he loved you. You were the calm in the storm, the thing he looked forward to coming home to (along with Jack). You brought him a sense of peace he never thought he’d find again.

But the moment of gentleness was quickly gone. You loved him, yes, but you also craved him.

You crawled up his body, knees bracketing either side of his hips, but you hovered above him as to not give him anything yet. You weren’t going to until you finished your massage.

“Y/N, please.”

He reached out for you but you batted his hands away. You clicked your tongue. “Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Hotchner,” you tutted.

Teasing Aaron definitely was one of your favorite things. Seeing the oh-so-stoic Aaron Hotchner crumbling underneath your touch was something you’d never get enough of. It was the only time he’d finally let go enough for you to hear those perfect little moans he made.

When you finally wrapped your hand around his cock, his hips instinctively jumped. You could feel him getting harder by the second as you twisted your wrist.

He moaned softly. That was what you had been looking for. “Shit–”

You swallowed the sound with your own mouth. He eagerly returned the kiss, but he let you lead. When he was in this kind of mood he always let you lead. He let you devour his mouth, parting his lips to make room for your tongue.

When you pulled back from the kiss, his lips were swollen and red from your teeth pulling at the flesh. And his eyes were closed. God, he looked perfect like this. His moans increased in frequency and volume the closer he got to the edge. The feel of your hand around his cock had him bucking his hips to meet your movements.

“Y/N, please, I’m close–” Yet the second he said that, you pulled your hand away. The broken noise that escaped his lips fueled you.

“Not quite, honey. You know the drill.”

This happened every time you were in control. You liked to leave him hanging until he was squirming. You always liked to make him get you to the edge before he even got to think about it.

“You’re cruel, you know that?” he said, breathless from the near orgasm.

“Now that’s not very nice, Aaron,” you teased. You shifted further up his body. He knew what that meant. And even if he wanted his own orgasm, the thought of your thighs on either side of his head was too enticing. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

“I’ll forgive you if you make it up to me.”

He nodded, eyes wide and fixed on you as you peeled your panties off. The second the fabric wasn’t in the way, he latched onto your clit, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. He lapped up your arousal like he was a man starved and you were the only thing that could satisfy his hunger.

You threaded your fingers through his hair. “Oh, fuck,” you moaned.

You instinctively rolled your hips against his face. Aaron didn’t mind you taking what you wanted from him. In fact he wanted you to take it. He’d die a happy man if it happened while he was buried between your thighs.

Aaron’s hands found the flesh of your ass, aiding you with your movements. He moaned against your cunt as he swallowed more of your leaking arousal. The vibrations sent shockwaves through your body, lighting each nerve on fire.

“Keep going, honey, I’m close.”

That only doubled Aaron’s efforts to make you finish. He’d drown in your release if it was up to him. And he got his wish the moment your thighs tightened around his head. You tightened your grip in his hair as the coil in your stomach unravelled.

He looked satisfied as you finally moved, allowing him the space to breathe. “You are way too good at that,” you said.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” he inquired.

“Mm I might need a little more.”

“Anything.”

Anything. Aaron was always so eager to please you when he got like this. He’d turned his brain off finally which was what you wanted to happen. His eyes were practically glazed over as you finally sunk down onto his cock. His fingers dug into your hips and he practically whined your name at the feel of your warmth wrapped around him.

You tutted softly as Aaron bucked his hips, forcing himself deeper. “Stay still,” you chided. You pried his hands from your hips, pushing them down onto the bed, your fingers laced with his. “Let me take care of you, honey.”

It was excruciatingly difficult for him to try and stay still, but he wanted to please you. He wanted to make you happy. So he tried to stay still for you as you rocked against him.

“So good for me,” you cooed. “Taking it so good for me.”

He moaned softly at the praise. “Feels so good.”

You sped up, trying to get yourself and him over the edge. He was clearly struggling to hold it together and as much as you liked edging him, you liked seeing him come apart even more. The way his brows pinched and his eyes clothes, head tilted back. He looked perfect.

He hissed your name as you kept moved even after he’d cum.

“Shh.” You squeezed his hands. “I’m close. Just a little more, honey.”

“Fuck, I can’t–”

“Yes, you can.”

It only took a few more well angled thrusts and you were clenching around him, coming undone. You practically collapsed on top of Aaron in a sweaty, boneless heap. You kissed his neck softly.

“You relaxed now?” you asked.

He laughed softly. “Definitely.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #sub!aaron hotchner #sub!aaron

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sturniphone · 2 days ago

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𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . . introducing:

; ⌗ dealer!chris && bambi!reader﹒🍥 ⸝⸝

Chris is the guy everyone wants: hoodie up, eyes sharp, always smelling like weed and cash. Bambi is the girl everyone stares at—tiny dresses, glitter lip gloss, and a pink bunny plush peeking from her purse. They shouldn’t work; he’s cold and careless, and she’s all feelings and tears, but they orbit each other like gravity. He sells, she sulks, they argue in his car and make up in the backseat. No matter how much they fight, he always comes back with her favourite snacks and mumbles, ❝Don’t cry, baby. You know you’re mine.❞

Bambi cries a lot. Because he was mean. Because he didn’t answer. Because her bunny plush dropped on the floor. Chris used to lose it, but now? He sighs, rolls his eyes, and wipes her tears with his sleeve. ❝You done?❞ He’ll mutter but pulls her into his lap anyway. She’s dramatic, pouty, and painfully cute, always climbing into his lap like she belongs there (she does). Her world feels too loud without him, and when she sniffles, ❝I just want to be near you,❞ he holds her tighter and whispers, ❝Then stay forever, yeah?❞

She doesn’t know how to lie or pretend to be cool. She needs love in excess, melts under praise, and her voice cracks when she says, ❝You’re not going to leave me, right?❞ She’s impossible not to spoil. Chris never even tries to stop himself.

At parties, she’s the quietest one in the loudest outfit. Pink fishnets, a leopard mini skirt, hair ribbons, and lip gloss too sparkly to be real. Everyone watches her, but she never flirts back; she just blinks her big Bambi eyes and hides behind Chris like, ❝Why’s he looking at me?❞ He eats it up. Puts a possessive hand on her thigh, tells people, ❝She’s off-limits. Look again and I’ll break your jaw.❞ She giggles, kisses his cheek, and whispers something filthy only he gets to hear.

They fight way too often—she’s clingy, he’s cold, and both of them have tempers. But the love is insane. Chris could be mid-deal, yelling at someone, and if she texts ❝I’m sad,❞ he’s ghosting the guy and driving to her with a blunt and a cupcake. She’ll scream at him for forgetting to text and then, two minutes later, be crying in his arms while he kisses her forehead. It’s not perfect—but they don’t want anyone else. ❝You drive me fuckin’ crazy,❞ he mutters. ❝Yeah? Well, you love me.❞ He does. More than anything.

Chris acts like he doesn’t care about pictures, but his lock screen is a blurry photo of Bambi asleep with her bunny, drooling on his hoodie. He tells everyone it’s just ’cause she looks dumb. The truth is, he checks it a hundred times a day just to see her face.

They’re obsessed with each other. Like gross, horny, can’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other obsessed. Quickies in his car, her moaning his name into her bunny plush, his chain hitting her chest while he tells her, ❝You love when I ruin you, don’t you, Bambi?❞ But it’s not just sex. It’s post-party bath time with her in his shirt. It’s him doing her lip liner while she sits in his lap. It’s her tracing his face and whispering, ❝You’re safe with me.❞ Freaks, yes. But freaks who are endgame. Forever, no matter how loud or messy or filthy it gets.

what to expect?

So yeah, basically everything for them. I’m obsessed. I’d love little texts or blurbs for them, especially since they fight a lot and she’s always texting him like, “I’m sad, come over and cuddle me.” Definitely need smut too because, let’s be honest… they’re total freaks. But also fluff and angst, of course—they’re messy but madly in love. I actually have a moodboard for her saved in my drafts if you guys are into it?? please asks and questions about them !!

@chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274 @oopsiedaisydeer

#; ⌗ dealer!chris && bambi!reader﹒🍥 ⸝⸝#chris sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris stuniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #girlblogging #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x you #girl blogger #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x y/n

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killishin · 1 day ago

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domestic hcs with dick grayson

here's the jason one.

again, heavily inspired by prompts from this post by @novelbear (her prompts always manage to get my mind running)

dividers by @cafekitsune

dick was someone you couldn't help but love immediately. you had an instant crush on him, your friendship was even better. his charm was always something you couldn't resist. to everyone else the tension was crystal clear, if not suffocating. so it wasn't a surprise when you got together with him, just a bunch of relieved sighs.

it didn't take much time before both of you fell into a tandem, like in sync. he just knew what you needed, when you needed. his way of loving was open and free, he didn't shy away from loving you loudly, it wasn't annoying— it made you feel utterly loved.

living with him had its surprises everyday, it was the little things, it always made you sleep with a smile. domesticity was like a blessing with a person like dick.

and those little moments were as sweet as they were silly.

"dick no! don't do that!" you quietly groaned yet instead of moving your head away you further leaned back. you were sat on the floor while dick was on the couch with you between his legs. his hands were carding through your hair, his nails scratching your scalp gently— its a bliss, pure bliss. you always doze off when he does that.

"do what?" he asked amusingly as he tilted your head back for a second to see your helpless smile. he then looked up to see what you were browsing through before seeing you stop at that one series that you always slept through.

"this again?" he scoffed as his hands stopped, "you always fall asleep half way through an episode."

you fake an inaudible gasp in offence as you jab at his leg with your elbow, "i do not."

"i speak with evidence." he has taken several pics of you sleeping open mouthed every time you doze off while watching that show.

"well— well you always do this whenever we're watching that." you point to his hands in your hair, "so its your fault that i sleep. technically."

"that so?" he muses as he leans down to catch your eyes, "so i should stop hm? " he begins to pull away before you hold them at their place.

"i will murder you."

he simply laughs under his breath which you ignore as you pretend to focus on the show, and he decided that instead of brushing your hair, he'll braid. so he does, and it turns out very pretty and neat too.

but then he realises the slight weight on his thigh, and thats when he notices your head lolling to the side, completely squishing a cheek against his thigh. he looks up and like he said, the episode isn't even halfway done.

despite the urge to be smug about his words, his eyes are fond as he peers down at you, poking at your puffed cheek gently. he leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead, admiring you for a moment longer.

a million thoughts running through his mind and yet he stops at one.

he takes out his phone and takes endless pics from every embarrassing angle imaginable.

after all, evidence.

a vigilante's life isn't easy. nights are spent cleaning up the streets, sniffing out the criminals— then there are tough nights where they are lucky to leave in one piece. its demanding, excruciating. so a lot of his time is understandably dedicated to it.

but he is also dedicated to you, so he always directs his full attention to you when you come back from a tiring day at work, full of gossips and complaints. and he's happy to hear them all.

like right now, you're chattering away about some office gossip, all animated and hurried while sitting on the counter with dick standing in between your thighs. he's holding a pint of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in another. his brows are furrowed in absolute concentration, like he's hanging onto every word you're saying.

and he is, of course, but his attention is divided by your lips. they're too distracting!

"that guy is such an asshole you know—" you stopped as he fed you a spoon, and you gulped it down quickly to continue, "he always used to pick on me, but after that complaint— i thought he might have straightened up but nooo-" another spoon. "now, he's picking on some poor new guy."

"a real piece of work." dick scoffed and you nodded, "i know right!" you licked the side of your lips, getting that cream off and dick swears under his breath, his jaw clenching a mere second.

"oh yes! you know Sal? the one who threw coffee at—"

"yes cheating ex boyfriend in the cafe opposite to your office." he completed as he held the spoon, brows still furrowed as he tried his best to not stare at your lips.

"yes!" you gulped down before continuing again, "yes her. so.." forgive him for doing this. after feeding you he licked the spoon slowly, yet innocently all while holding contact. he knows exactly what he's doing.

you paused at your words as your brows furrowed, "her.... what are you doing?" your eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion. you'd be an idiot to not know that look by now.

"what? im just listening to my pretty lover." he answered innocently, the corner of his lips almost tugging up.

"ah i get it." you chuckle under your breath as you shake your head and he simply appears confused, though a laugh escapes him too. "what? can i not call my lover pretty?"

"oh you coy little thing." you grinned as you hooked a finger on the collar of his tshirt and pulled him close.

"little? hey im bigger—"

"shut it."

you liked cooking on your day offs, you could take your time and experiment. it helped to unwind from the week's stress. so you kept dick away from the kitchen until everything's done to not add onto that stress.

"dick?" you called out gently and upon hearing no reply, your brows furrow as you lean your weight on your other foot while your hand rested on your hip, "grayson!" this one wasn't so gentle.

"i said im coming!" he called out frantically, his rushed steps stopping right in front of you, a small over dramatic pout on his face.

"did you?"

"i did!"

his pout deepened when you gave him a unimpressed side eye. "anyway, taste this for me hm?" you look back down at the piping hot food you made, taking a spoonful before raising it to your lips to blow on it.

he had literal heart eyes as he awaited patiently, he loved your food. says he's the number one fan, and compliments every time you cook. he was the one who told alfred about your "magnificent" skills, his words, and thanks to him, you got tons of little tips from alfred.

after blowing on it a few times you raised it to his lips, holding another hand right under his chin while he leaned down. it may be a small thing but this particular moment, whenever you made him taste your food, like this, it made his heart flutter worse than when he confessed.

"sweet god thats amazing!" he moaned, almost obscenely and you cringe at it before your eyes went to the little broth trickling down the side of his lips.

"the sounds you make.." you tutted as you wiped the broth off his lips and licked your thumb.

he froze.

his eyes stayed stuck to your lips for a moment, his ears tuning out everything else as blood rushed to his face.

"shit that was hot." he mumbled to himself as he exhaled heavily while rubbing his eyes and you paused to look at him in confusion.

"but i blew on it."

"what? no not the food—" he paused to give you a pointed look, "are you acting coy or are you seriously that dense?"

"hey im not dens—"

but he was a fast man, always was. immediately turning off the stove he grabbed you by your hips and hoisted you up before settling you on the counter. your eyes widened but before you could protest his mouth was already on yours, urgent and heated.

maybe you were dense.

dick grayson's love language is physical touch. but its not just that he likes touching his partner, but he feels safe feeling them close, he needs the warmth to ground himself, anchor himself to them so his demons won't tear him apart.

and that, follows to bed. he's a very cuddly sleeper. he needs to feel some part of you while sleeping, and its beyond a habit now. its like second nature to him.

sometimes he's draped over you, or the other way around. sometimes he curls in your arms like a little fluff ball, he likes being held too. but most times he has an iron grip around your waist. barely ever lets go, even when you have to pee.

"i have to pee— dick let go." you sleepily groan as you swat at his arm but its like an immovable rock. he simply groans in his sleep before going quiet and you mentally cry, because your bladder is begging you. how can a vigilante be such a heavy sleeper?

he isn't, he hears you but he truly doesn't want to let go.

"dick babe let go i really gotta pee come on." you whine as you pry his arm off, try to. he further nuzzles his face in your shoulder while pulling you even more closer, if that was even possible with the negligent space between you two.

but upon continous pestering, when his sleep was offically ruined he lets you go with something thats between a grumble and a whine.

"what are you doing out of bed?" he asked as if you didn't just tell him that a hundred times.

"for the love of god, i need to pee."

"come fast."

"i might just sleep in the bathroom."

your job might not be as demanding and life-threatening like his, but it does make you rise up way too early for your comfort.

and somehow, for some unknown reasons to you, he likes to be a little shit in the morning. it wasn't intentional at first, but when he saw the annoyed little frown at your face that was more like a pout to him, it made his heart crash. and laugh evil like a maniac.

"dick get the hell out of there!" you yell as you pound at the bathroom door, rubbing your face helplessly before whining again.

“i told you i have a meeting in an hour! get out of the bathroom!” you bang your fists at the door again before looking up at the ceiling as if praying to every power in the universe to give you patience and strength. strength to beat the crap out of him.

"dick i swear to god I'll kill—" you stumble as he suddenly opens the door, not even bothering to feign innocence, instead he's grinning wide and toothy.

"you jerk." you inhale slowly as you point a finger at him, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

"yes my love?" he has the audacity to say before leaning down and resting his chin on the tip of your finger, tilting his head a bit with that mischievous glint in his eyes that you so love.

"you do this everytime im late! deliberately! " you accuse and he just laughs before wrapping his arms around your waist as if to gather you up from the floor.

"i do? well im so sorry." he said with the most cheeky smile ever and your glare deepens. "this isn't a laughing mat– hey- hey stop it—"

he starts to lean down and pepper kisses all over your face, even when you bend away he follows right over, his hand splayed on your back to support you.

"im sorry." a small peck, "really really sorry." a proper kiss, "forgive me?" bombards you with kisses.

well... he sure is lucky he has an adorable face. damn him.

but you're just as chaotic as him, maybe you weren't before but people in a healthy relationships do learn a thing or two from their partner.

and so did you.

"babe! babe!" dick comes rushing, his eyes scanning the whole room with frantic eyes, before stopping at the washing machine. horror and panic seeped in his eyes as he saw the machine was rinsing the clothes at the moment, draining the water out.

"did you just put my hoodie in the wash?" he asked, praying you didn't. you raised a brow before putting a hand on your hip, "yeah? why? it had a stain remember?"

"love, my phone was in there!" he immediately rushed to the machine, switching it off before opening it.

"dick what the hell—"

he rummaged through, his hands getting all wet till his forearms while the panic in his eyes increased. but he couldn't feel his phone in there, his brows furrowed and he turned to you in confusion. but paused at the sight of you biting your lips, wheezing quietly.

"wha— where's my pho—" you slowly pulled his phone from your pocket, holding it up. silence ensued as he stared at you deadpanned while you cackled loudly.

and then you both bolted.

"you're such an idiot oh my god!" you laughed as tears blurred your vision while you ran for your life, around the living room with him quick on his feet.

"stop running baby its just a matter of when." he called out, eerily calm and you let out a helpless groan before sprinting for the bedroom.

and you had the wishful thinking that you'd outrun your vigilante boyfriend.

his arm hooked around your waist and he yanked you back towards him, your back hitting his chest. your clothes got damp due to his arms still being wet.

"nooo! no you got my clothes wet!" you groaned through your giggles. his smile widened at the sound of your laugh, cheeks reddening and heart warming.

"yeah baby? should have thought this through you know." he murmured amusingly against your ear, making you squirm in his hold.

he swiftly turned you around before grabbing your face, with his wet hands and smashed his lips on yours before you could yell at him. you could feel him smiling against your lips, making the butterflies go all chaotic. you didn't even register the soft moan that escaped your lips and he pulled away with a chuckle, his mischievous eyes filled with delight and mirth.

he pecked your lips again before booping your nose, "we're even now."

dick may have his charm on most of the time, his confidence unwavering. but there are also times when he is nervous.

"im home!"

you got up from your bed and walk out of the bedroom with a soft smile on your lips.

"hey— oh! whats that?" your eyes widen before you rush to him, staring at the bouquet of lillies with awe.

he brushes his hair back before rubbing his nape with a hesitant smile, his eyes darting from your face to the flowers that you take in your hand. "you were talking about that table there being a little...bare, so i got you some flowers to put in it's space."

his eyes pause at your face, a small smile coming on his lips, one filled with fondness. he was nervous, what if you won't like it? what if it doesn't look good at that particular place? he hides those concerns behind that pretty smile.

you look up at him and your smile widens helplessly. you keep the bouquet aside on the coffee table before wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him close.

"aren't you the sweetest?"

"yeah?"

you hum before pecking his cheeks, his nose and finally his lips. "you like em?" he tilts his head, and behind the assured smile is a need to make sure, make sure that he is indeed loving you right.

"mhm."

dick lives for those over the top, dramatic confessions of love, kissing under the rain, getting you all charmed with ease— but these small, sweet and slow moments... they stick in his mind. they stay and carve out a special place in his heart.

and a silly yet sweet domestic life is all he wants, all with you.

"by the way did you finish that show I've been wanting to see since a week...all by yourself?"

"....yeah about that—"

NOTE: somehow this one became longer than jason's.

reblogs are appreciated! :D

#dc x reader #dc comics x reader #dc x you #dc fanfiction #dc fluff #dc headcanon #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson headcanon #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson x you #nightwing fluff #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing fanfiction #nightwing headcanon #nightwing x y/n

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lunicxie · 1 day ago

Text

୨९ 𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕

Toji takes his bimbo girlfriend, you, shopping at the mall and you're buying too much and taking too long

cw: ♡ nsfw / mdni ♡ age gap ♡ power imbalance ♡ dumbification ♡ daddy kink ♡ size kink (?) ♡ belly bulge ♡ creampie ♡ mean!toji ♡ brat taming ♡ manhandling ♡ spanking (ass/thighs) ♡ semi-public sex ♡ quickie ♡ mirror kink ♡ lingerie ♡

You’re in a changing room, trying on a a slutty, lace baby pink lingerie set. The thong’s basically useless, and the bra’s more decoration than support. You turn to the mirror, checking yourself out with a satisfied little hum. “When will you be done, doll?” he groans behind you. You smile with fake innocence, being your eyelashes at him, hopping up slightly, making your perky tits bounce. “Wait a little more.”

Toji stands. You catch his reflection behind you, tall, broad, and intimidating. He doesn’t even ask, just pushes you gently forward so your hands press to the mirror and your hips tilt back. “Toji—” you start, but his palm smooths over your ass, then lands with a sharp slap that makes you gasp. “This the fifth set you’ve tried on,” he mutters, fingers sliding under the thong, “and we’ve been at the mall all day, I just earned that money.” Your breath catches.

The lace is tugged to the side before you can think to argue. His fingers dip between your thighs, checking just how wet you are. “Yer fuckin’ soaked,” he says low, dark. “Of course you are. Bet you’ve been dripping since the second I got up.” He tugs his shirt up and his pants down slightly, revealing his toned abs and defined V-line. “Y’want daddy’s big cock?” Another shark also delivered on your ass, making you whine. “Shut yer pretty mouth up.” He chuckles as he hooks a finger into his pants and boxers to pull them down. “You want it?” he asks, voice dropping. His tone’s cocky, but the look in his eyes is darker. “Then be patient.”

He leans down, grip firm on your waist, pressing you gently against the mirror. His body’s warm behind you, big and overwhelming. The mirror fogs up some more as your face is pressed against the mirror now, fingers scrambling against the cool material as he bullies his member into you, slow and deep, and you let out a soft whimper in response. “Too much?” he asks, showing down his pace slightly. He didn’t want to hurt you, after all, you were still young. Why would a beautiful 24 year old date a 38 year old man with a son? Never made sense, but you dated him anyway.

His palm lands sharp across your ass, again. You gasp, the sting blooming warm under your skin as you steady yourself on the mirror. Lace panties tugged just high enough to expose everything he wants access to, and that smug look on his face says he’s nowhere near done. “Count it,” he says, low and rough.

Smack

“That’s one,” he says when you don’t. “Wanna start again?” Your cheeks flush as you mutter, “One…”

Smack

“Two…” His hand smooths over the spot he just hit, warm and firm, then grips tight enough to make you squirm. “You keep buyin’ stuff you don’t need, but I’m being merciful, only one more.” he murmurs. Another sharp slap, this time delivered on your thighs, making them press together as if you like the attention (which you did, of course). And he noticed, as always. “Filthy little girl, gettin’ turned on by a lecture.” he spoke as he leans down behind you.

“M’sorry…” you pout, “I didn’t mean to spend all of it…” He laughs under his breath, not buying it for a second. “No you’re not,” he says, pushing the back of your neck into the mirror just firm enough to keep you in place without hurting. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be this wet.”

The lace is bunched high on your hips now, your reflection flushed and trembling in the mirror, lip gloss wiped off and mascara rolling down your face in the form of tears. Toji’s standing behind you, looking like a man who’s seconds away from completely losing patience. “Ya think I gamble for fun?” he growls, voice right at your ear. “I do it so my girl can live like a princess. But this was too much, understand?” You nod in response, slow and wide-eyed. One hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing your upper body down just enough to deepen the arch of your back. You feel the heat of him behind you, teasing you. You whimper, thighs squeezing together, lashes fluttering.

His hand trails from your waist down to your lower belly, his large palm covering the entirety of your lower belly. “I’m not lettin’ ya outta this room until ya feel me right here.” He grinds his thick, throbbing cock against your folds, leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum while he reaches down with his hand to spread your legs apart, his fingers digging into your inner thighs. "You like feelin' how much dick I got for ya, don'tcha?" His calloused hand remains firmly planted on your belly, claiming it possessively.

"Fuck, yer little pussy’s so tight," he grunts, his thick head slowly spreading your tiny lips apart as he pushes harder, the fabric of the panties stretching taut around his massive size. "Goddamn, it's barely fitting." He grunts and pushes harder, his thick shaft slowly forcing its way into your tight entrance. “Fuckin’ hell,” he groans as he feels your tight walls clench and try to avoid the intrusion up. "Fuck, doll, yer stranglin' my cock," he groans, pushing deeper. "Slut, look at ya takin' this huge—h-hah—dick like it was made for ya." he groans, his free hand roaming upwards to squeeze your breast, making you let out a moan.

He grunts and thrusts deeper, his massive cock stretching you to your limits. "Yer little belly's gonna be so full of my hot cum." He slaps your ass hard enough to leave a red mark. You feel his massive length throbbing inside you, your tiny pussy struggling to accommodate his size. Every thrust sends shockwaves through your body, your stomach bulging slightly as his thick head hits your cervix. You let out a pornographic moan, your voice echoing in the room as you feel your first orgasm building.

"Look in the mirror, ya nasty little slut," he grunts, pounding into you hard enough to make your breasts bounce. "See how yer stomach's all bloated with my dick? Ya look like a damn whore, takin' this huge cock. Yer gonna cum for me, aren’t ya, ya little slut?" he pants, his hips moving like a jackhammer. "I can feel you clenching around me. Cum on daddy’s dick, now." His fingers twist and pinch your clit, pushing you towards the edge. As your orgasm hits, your body convulses around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. He lets out a deep, guttural groan, and you feel a sudden warmth flood your insides. His cock pulses powerfully as he releases his thick, hot cum deep inside you. His release seems endless, filling your tiny belly to the brim, to the point that some of his seed spilling out of you, dripping down your thighs as his massive member remains inside you.

Slowly, he pulls out his thick, glistening member from your stretched and filled pussy. You whimper at the sensation, feeling a flood of his hot cum spill out and drip down your legs. “Look who lost the race.” he mumbles, letting out a snicker. Meanwhile, you’re still catching your breath, legs a little shaky as you smooth your hands down your thighs. Toji’s already tugged his shirt back into place, watching you with that smug, satisfied look as you carefully cleaned the unbought lingerie.

“Y’good?” he asks, voice low but amused. You nod, cheeks flushed, lips still parted. “My legs feel sore.” He grins, stepping behind you to help you steady. “That’s what happens when ya run my card and yer mouth.” You pout, putting on your tiny, pink crop top and slip back into the glittery micro skirt.

You give him a wide-eyed, sugary look. “Daddy…would you be mad if I asked you to buy it” He snorts, reaching for your shopping bags. “Shameless brat.” But he’s already pulling out his wallet again. His little doll needed new lingerie anyway, what would be the harm? After all, he gambles for her.

You loop your arm through his as you walk out of the changing room together, still a little messy. “So small ‘n pretty.” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Thanks, daddy!” you smile sweetly, pressing up against his side, a hand on his chest to guide him down just a little. When he leans in, you kiss his cheek softly, leaving a glossy pink mark behind like a signature. He glances down at you, lips twitching into a smirk. “Making me yours, I see?” he mutters, voice low. “Cute.” But he doesn’t wipe the rest off. Doesn’t even try.

Divider credits (in the order they were used):

@purefantasia ノ @cursed-carmine

#𐔌 . lunicxie ! ୧ #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #smut #mxf smut #lunicxie #ao3 #writing #toji fushiguro #toji smut #toji x reader

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attabxy · 9 hours ago

Text

NSFW Headcanons - E. Campbell

Pairing: Erik Campbell X Reader (romantic, gender-neutral).

Media: Final Destination: Bloodlines.

Content Warning(s): Talks of sex, Erik's a switch, light bondage, piercings used in the context of sex, marking, brief mentions of blood, exhibitionism/public sex, no beta we die like [REDACTED].

(Author's Note: My contribution to this character is my first time writing smut. Please go easy of me, this is my first time writing in, like, two years. I'm writing this while I'm still riding the high of my Erik Campbell/John Murphy/Richard Harmon fixation, so this was written in the span of thirty minutes).

Erik is lowkey a freak, but we knew that.

When he violated that garbage truck, nobody was the same afterwards.

He's doing shit like this in public on the regular in front of you. This man has no shame.

If he's not outright grabbing your ass while shopping for groceries, he's sliding your hand down your back pocket to discreetly grab your ass.

Now, if you grab his ass, there's no guarantee that he won't drag you to a changing room or anywhere remotely hidden.

Favorite place to have sex? The tattoo parlor. Sweet God, does Erik love to close the blinds, flip the sign to 'Closed,' and take you on the table.

Is this during closing time? No, absolutely not. He gets off on potentially getting found out by pedestrians or God forbid his boss.

He's a certified switch. He told me himself.

While he loves to take control, he also loves when you put him in his place.

He loves seeing you with his markings (whether that be during sex, or a piercing/tattoo he gave you), but he's flaunting the swollen lip or love bite on his hip like he won a marathon.

Personally, I don't think Erik likes making you bleed. While he's into marking you, he wouldn't like seeing you in pain if you're not into it. With that being said, draw a little blood from him all you want.

He's into bondage, more in the sense of him taking off his belt and tying your wrists to the bedpost. Ride him while he's tied to the bedpost and thank me later.

If there was a piercing or tattoo he did on you, he's paying special attention to it (once it's healed, of course).

Kissing and tracing the outline of the tattoo with his fingers, gently biting on your piercing because he knows how sensitive it is.

Of course, he loves it when you pay special attention to his piercings. They're uber sensitive, though he doesn't want to admit it.

Loves a good blowjob please let him fuck your throat. It's a surefire way to get him to orgasm quickly, and loves it when you flick your tongue over the Prince Albert piercing.

He's also good at giving head, even if he's a fucking tease. And if you have genital piercings? Oh man.

He's got the prettiest moans and isn't afraid to be loud.

Oh, God, please ride his face. Have you seen his nose? His face?

You may be asking yourself how you draw out those moans. Play with his piercings, deepthroat him, or let him rail you from behind.

As much as I've been playing Erik out to be rough in bed, he can make sex be weirdly tender and romantic like it's nothing.

He's not lighting candles or laying rose petals around the place, but he knows how to touch you and speak to you in a way that lets you know how much he desires you.

Getting this out of the way to say that he has a sex playlist.

Erik's a thighs guy. While it's hard for him to choose because he genuinely loves all of you, he lives by the mantra of thick thighs save lives.

He's the kind of guy to immediately cuddle you after sex. No talking, no sarcastic comment, he just holds you for a moment and relishes the feeling of you in his arms because he feels like the luckiest guy on the planet.

(Author's Note: So, this was the first thing I've written and posted in about two years, and this is the first thing I've written that's about sex. I'm not sure if it counts as smut, but it's definitely close. This was my most self-indulgent thing that'll get two hits. And if it gets more than two hits? Then I'm immensely grateful for all of you. Blah blah blah thank you for everyone that keep enjoying my work years after I posted it. Anyways, Richard Harmon and his nose. That is all.

Signing off for now,

-Libby)

#final destination #final destination: bloodlines #final destination 6 #erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #erik campbell headcanons #erik campbell smut #richard harmon

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makeyoumine69 · 1 day ago

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hey! hope this isn't too weird lol but could you write headcanons for how patrick bateman would act if the woman he was dating was ovulating? like would he notice? get weirdly possessive or more obsessive? just curious how that would play out with his whole psycho control thing 👀 thanks!!

Patrick Bateman x Ovulating GF (Headcanons)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: NSFW, smut, Patrick is an animal.

𝐀/𝐍: Thank you so much for sending me this request! I enjoyed writing it and hope you enjoy reading it. Many thanks to my dear @moriohpsyker for proofreading!💕

🪓He would know because he tracks it.

Patrick is a very organized man, and tracking your menstrual cycle is part of his practical nature. He probably has a calendar or spreadsheet of your cycle, but he wouldn't tell you because you might think it's creepy or weird, even though it really is. So he keeps this information to himself. Once he notices the subtle changes in your mood, the way you talk, how flirty and sassy your tone becomes, how wide your smile is, and how you're absolutely radiating from the inside, he'll definitely check the calendar to see if he's right on time. He can practically taste your arousal in the air whenever you’re around, and it drives him insane.

"You're glowing, darling," he murmurs into your ear, burying his nose in your hair and pressing you tight against him. "And this scent—so sweet. Lemme taste it.”

🪓His attraction would spike, but it would also piss him off.

Basically, I see him being much more aroused than usual because you’re glowing, your smile hits differently(it's more playful in his opinion), and you’re like a gift with a bow on it, walking around him, asking to be unwrapped. Patrick would be bothered by all of this, especially at work when it gives him a boner. He’s already upset that he has to lock himself up in his office and jerk off to trashy porn magazines instead of eating you out; to settle inside your dripping pussy. The notion that he could impregnate you would rile him up and speed up his orgasm. He'd see it as an obvious con and another reason to complain—you having a special effect on him while you're just living your life. He could blame nature, but it's easier to blame you and fuck you harder as punishment.

"Shit, I couldn't stop thinking about fucking you all day long," he'd whisper into your parted mouth while doing you missionary style with your legs looped around his lower back. The curve of his cock would massage the front wall of your throbbing pussy so fuckin' perfectly. Patrick would groan, grabbing both your wrists with one hand and pinning them over your head. He'd slam deeper, his hips grinding against yours with the lewd sounds of flesh meeting flesh. "Hey, don't close your eyes, honey. I want you to see the things you’re doing to me.”

🪓The potential of breeding you? What if he has a breeding kink?

Okay, but what if the two of you were actually planning for a baby? That would change everything, since this man would take days off from work to have sex with you throughout your ovulation period. He'd be so genuine about it. He'd be dedicated as hell. Patrick would find ways to impress or shock you with his "absolutely normal" ideas.

One day, he'll suggest filming the conception process so he can rewatch it later. When he notices your face going blank, he'll raise his eyebrows and ask, "What's wrong with that, baby?"

Even if you say no, he’ll drill a goddamn hole in your brain with his whining and preaching about how he wants to memorize your perfect body when he manages to pump you full of his cum; and how he’d spread your legs wide open on camera to show it leaking down your thighs. No, there’s nothing depraved about it. Patrick will wait and let you simmer. He'll persistently feed you pieces of his twisted fantasy, like a demon sitting on your shoulder and buzzing in your ear, until you surrender.

And he eventually, of course, gets everything he wants.

He'll dress you in pretty pastel lingerie because he wants you to look soft and innocent for the video, to make it look like something that was made in heaven. First, he’ll make you suck him off before delving between your legs. After he’s sure the camera is recording, he’ll feast on your succulent pussy as if it were his last meal. Of course, he'd do it with the wettest, filthiest, slurpiest sounds to gratify his own desires while also humiliating you further. For the sex position, he’d debate between mating press and the prone bone only to try them both.

Then, Patrick will break you in half, with your legs splayed open and pulled up at your knees. He'll drape them over his broad shoulders and squat down so intensely that his heavy balls will slap your ass. God, he'll definitely jerk off to your moans while watching this recording on the days when the doctor forbids you to have sex.

🪓The opposite side of his hyperfixation over your ovulation would be his jealousy.

Patrick would be extremely jealous and territorial on the days when you’re ovulating. He’d be on edge, and even just a small smile given to a waiter, passerby, or anyone else would instantly set him off. He would lose his mind, and he hates it, but he hates other men staring at what's his even more, so you better not provoke him. If you do, be ready for revenge.

"We're leaving," he would hiss, annoyed and spitting venom. "This place is so fucking overrated. The alcohol they're serving here is pure garbage.”

He definitely wasn't acting like that just because you thanked a random guy for helping you pick up a napkin you dropped.

What a tragedy.

Yeah, Patrick is unhealthily possessive, especially when you’re vulnerable and blossoming like this. He’ll see every man as a potential threat if they dare try to get too close to you.

Thank you for the reading!🖤 [MAIN M-LIST]🪓[KO-FI]

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

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mydearzero · 6 hours ago

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The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader - Chapter 11 | Distance

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter.

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, therapy, depression, anxiety

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 10

WC: 2.4K

A/N: this took a little longer than the rest has, sorry! Very busy at my job currently. Will try to update more regularly!

Another week, another appointment with Dr. Sofen. You were becoming quite familiar with the waiting room by this point. Bob had insisted on going by himself, you had insisted on coming along. You won, of course. Bob proved to be an easy person to win over.

You picked at the loose threads of the couch, scrolling through your phone for any news on what O.X.E. was up to. Valentina’s surprise visit a while back still hadn’t left your mind. What did she want with Bob? Hadn’t she done enough?

You came up empty, again. Whatever Valentina was up to, she was doing it under the radar. She was a smart woman, you had to give her that.

The door opened very early into the session, revealing Dr. Sofen when you had expected Bob. She made eye contact and called you inside. Confused, you put your phone in your pocket and got off the couch, following the woman into the room where Bob was still seated in a comfy chair. He gave you an awkward smile as a greeting. You returned the smile, before turning to Dr. Sofen.

“Please, sit,” she gestured to the empty armchair next to Bob’s. She sat across from you both, crossing her legs and picking up her clipboard to continue writing.

“So, from what Robert explains, you’ve been tasked with taking care of him and keeping him company, correct?” She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She was pretty, you noted.

“Correct…” You confirmed. What did his therapy sessions have to do with you?

“I’ve discussed it with Robert and we think it’s best to keep you away, maybe for a little while, just to try it out. It’s not that I don’t think your presence is useful, it definitely has been, but I think we need to see what Robert can achieve on his own now that he has professional help. We thought it best to also discuss it with you, seeing as you’re the one who currently spends the most time with him. What do you think?”

You were speechless. Sure, Bob was doing better. And she had a point, he was getting professional help now. Were you even necessary anymore?

“It feels a bit soon…” You winced. “It’s not that I think Bob can’t do this himself, he definitely can, I’m just not sure if the timing is exactly right. Maybe further along the process?”

You turned to Bob, who seemed to be avoiding your gaze. He was biting at the skin of his lips and bouncing his leg. He was nervous.

“Bob, what do you think?” You asked. His eyes snapped to you, mouth agape at being addressed.

“Well– Like Dr. Sofen said… It could be good to, y’know, try… It’s not that I don’t want you around!” He sputtered. “It’s just… For my process… The being alone part– I’m gonna have to do it sometime. Why not now?”

You slumped in your chair. You couldn’t exactly go against Bob’s wishes. Was it selfish of you to say you weren’t sure this was the right thing to do? Was it the money talking? No… It hadn’t been about the money for a while now.

“Are you sure?” is all you managed to get out after thinking it over for a while. You thought Bob might’ve been unhealthily attached to you, but maybe, just maybe, the attachment was somewhat mutual.

Bob looked to Dr. Sofen, who nodded, before he turned back to you, also nodding. “Just to try it out. A few days.”

“Okay,” you sighed, rubbing your hands on your thighs. You were more nervous about this whole ordeal than you’d expected. Whether it was concern for Bob, for yourself or both, you weren’t sure.

“Thank you,” Dr. Sofen smiled. “You may leave. I will continue the session with Robert and he will make his way back home by himself as a first trial. You can contact Ms. Belova if you have any concerns.”

You got up off the armchair and walked to the door. You put your hand on the handle and gave Bob one last glance over your shoulder before leaving the room. He looked content, giving you a small, supportive smile.

Everything in your mind was screaming at you to go back and go get Bob while you were on your way back to the tower. All your stuff was there, you’d have to go get it before being able to go home. It felt wrong to leave the therapist’s office without Bob. Anything to help him in the long run, I guess.

Bucky looked surprised to see you get off the elevator alone. You gave him a small wave before retreating to your room to pack your bag. You’d leave some of your things. An excuse to come back? Maybe. Definitely.

A knock came at your door, which you’d left open. You turned around to find the Winter Soldier standing in your doorway with a look of concern. “Everything alright? Where’s Bob?”

“Everything’s fine,” you smiled tightly. You didn’t convince yourself, but hopefully it fooled him. “He’s still with Dr. Sofen. We’re doing a bit of a trial run to see how he does without me around. Nothing to worry about.”

“Isn’t it a bit soon?” Bucky wondered. He sat on the chair in the corner of the room as you continued gathering your things.

“That’s what I said! But it was a mutual decision between them and I’m inclined to trust the opinion of the professional. I’m sure they deal with stuff like this all the time.” You looked under the bed for your charger, but only found Bob’s pyjama pants. You scrunched them and threw them in the laundry hamper to Bucky’s side.

“Oh I’m sure they deal with people with superhuman abilities and the capability to destroy the entirety of New York in a blink all the time, yes,” Bucky scoffed a laugh.

“You’re not exactly making me feel any better about this, Barnes,” you sent him a lighthearted glare.

He shrugged his shoulders. “‘M just saying… I’m not sure how I feel about this arrangement. Did you talk to Yelena about it?”

“No, I came straight here to come get my stuff. Have you seen my charger?” You opened your bedside drawer for the third time.

“Bob’s side,” Bucky pointed. “You should at least tell Yelena before you leave. I’m sure she has… opinions.”

“It’s not Bob’s side! And besides, even– Oh you’re right, thanks.” You found the charger on the other side of YOUR bed, lying on the floor next to… Bob’s sweater. “I’ll talk to her, but I’m still leaving. Doctor’s orders.”

Bucky got up wordlessly as you zipped your backpack closed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Even when you’d packed all your essentials, the room was still littered with you. God, when was the last time you’d even been home? A week ago? Two? Maybe some distance would do you some good, as well.

You walked to the elevator and pressed the button for one floor down, the training floor. Leftovers from the OG Avengers Tower. Thank you, Valentina, for being so damn lazy and stingy with renovations. It worked out in the team’s favour.

It was on the floor below where you found Yelena, aggressively punching a dummy. The kicks she was performing were impressive, to say the least. You sometimes forgot these people were all trained assassins, killers, super soldiers.

“Where’s Bob?” She questioned, without turning around.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Footsteps. You start to recognize them after a while,” she finally turned around and spotted the bag flung over your shoulder. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, just for a little bit. Bucky told me to come talk to you about it.”

She grabbed a bottle of water from the floor and pointed at a towel hung over some other workout equipment by your side. You threw it to her and she wiped her forehead. She started unwrapping her hands and sat down on the bench. You took it as an invitation to join her.

“Bob’s still at Dr. Sofen’s, by the way,” you mentioned, remembering the question she’d asked. You handed her the discarded protein bar that had been lying on the other side of the bench. She unwrapped it and took a generous bite.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re here or why you’re leaving. Are we not paying enough? You’re a college student, I’m pretty sure there’s no job in New York that pays more than we pay you.” Always speaking with her mouth full.

You laughed. “If I wanted more money I’d have to go rob a bank, or something. I’m pretty sure I can retire by the time I’m like… 40, if we continue at this rate.”

“Not earlier? We pay a lot.” She offered you a bite of her protein bar, but you politely declined.

“I calculated for inflation,” you joked. Yelena chuckled before turning serious again.

“But seriously, why are you leaving?”

“It’s on the advice of Dr. Sofen. I understand, to some extent. He needs to learn to be able to be alone,” you shrugged, kicking your shoes against the matted gym floor.

“I’m not sure I’m a big fan of this,” Yelena shook her head.

“You and me, both. But she said to contact you if I had any concerns. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s been doing okay recently.” You tried to make yourself feel better about it, but it still felt off. Were you a Bob addict? Were these the first signs of withdrawals?

“I’ll talk to her,” Yelena got up off the bench and walked to the elevator. You joined her, only going up to say goodbye before intending to go back down to the lobby and go home.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Bob. You must’ve taken longer than you thought if he was already done with his session and back home.

“What are you still doing here?” He asked when he saw you. The question and his tone when asking it took you aback. It stung.

“Just grabbing some of my stuff to go back home. Everything go okay with Dr. Sofen?” Yelena and you joined him in the elevator. A short ride, as they only had to go up the one floor.

“Fine,” Bob dismissed. What had gotten into him?

“Okay…” You replied. The doors opened and Bob and Yelena got off, leaving you behind. “See you later, guys.”

“Later!” Yelena yelled as the doors closed. Bob didn’t respond. You grabbed your headphones and turned on some music on the ride down to the lobby, turning it up just a little louder than you usually would. You were feeling too conflicted about all of this and it was giving you a headache.

You arrived home by dinnertime and for the first time in what felt like weeks, you ate alone. You’d gotten used to always eating with at least some of the members of the team. Usually just Yelena and Alexei, but oftentimes it was more lively. It felt oddly quiet by yourself.

And not the kind of quiet you had when it was just you and Bob. That silence was comforting, homey. This silence was lonely and empty.

When even watching your favourite show couldn’t settle the feeling in your stomach, you gave up and allowed yourself to wallow in self pity. He was probably doing just fine without you. It was only for a couple of days. Nothing to worry about.

You mindlessly scrolled your phone with your show playing in the background when a text from Walker popped up.

Where are you?

You quickly typed a response.

Didn’t Yelena tell you?

Yeah she did, but it’s stupid. You don’t stop taking pain meds bc it’s working.

Are you saying I’m Bob’s pain meds? lol

Not important. You don’t stop doing something the second it starts working. That’s dumb. Come back. I’m just following the Dr.’s advice, John. Well maybe we need to find a different doctor. He’s sulking. That’s not good. He’ll get over it. Besides, it’s just a few days. I think we’ll live. I’m calling a team meeting about this. Will keep you updated. Whatever, Walker. Goodnight. Goodnight.

While you disagreed with him and tried to do your best to stand behind your words, you couldn’t. Yelena said she’d talk to Dr. Sofen. Just call Yelena tomorrow and wait for whatever comes out of the team meeting and everything will be alright.

You got ready for bed and settled in under the blankets. You tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep but had to damn yourself after a while. You couldn’t sleep. You didn’t want to admit with your head what your heart already knew. You’d gotten used to sleeping with him in your bed. You couldn’t help but wonder whether back at the tower, a certain brown haired man was having the same problem.

You didn’t sleep a wink that night.

Neither did Bob.

The taglist is full, sorry!

TAGLIST: @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @hopes-peak-akademy @rattheraddestrat @i-shall-abide @puer-aurea @kennywantskfc69 @spectacled-studies @hiddlebatchedloki @chimchoom @spidermiraculous-blog @s00ty-feet @28cnn @tinythebunni @softpia @roeroeroeyourboet @secretkittydreamland @cultish-corner @greenbean-4ever @t-rexs-world @thebitchiestnerdtowalktheearth @ifilwtmfc @renren-006 @10ava01 @kawaii1369 @hawkinsavclub1983 @paleepeaches @lnmp89 @frozenhuntress67 @my-name-is-baby @a-moranguei @daisyyy47 @petersluvbug @articel1967 @purplefluffycows @midnightecko @lizzylynch1 @keira-kaz2y5 @lightinbug @thefriendlyferretwriter @xblueriddlex @funkyfable @papapappapapapa @darling-eos @neenieweenie @poppingaround @ren-ni @badbishsblog @makepastanotwar13 @spongelll @qardasngan

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killerplink · 2 days ago

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TROUBLE

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: You'd been a brat all evening because of course you had. That always happens when you have one too many drinks, and tonight? Tonight the wine was really fucking good.

A/N: okay first of all... I KNOW. I KNOW THIS TOOK FOREVER 😭 I'm sorry besties, work went from "yay I love my job" to "oh" real fucking fast and I've been coming home with just enough energy to doomscroll TikTok and blink at the wall until bedtime 😭 this is the first out of three I'm planning on writing (with the guys calling reader a slut for the first time) BUT Roy was up first bc I don't have enough fics with him and I love him so much it's disgusting. Dick's next (bc hello?? neglected pretty boy hours) and then our fave menace Jason 🙂‍↕️ also yes... it's long. I know it. I felt it. I lived it. but I needed the ending like I needed air after this week so I stretched

👉🏻👈🏻 thank you for your patience and for still being here ily 😭🫶🏻

Roy had promised you a date night. No distractions, no missions, no one needing saving, just the two of you, dressed to the nines and making the most of a rare night off. And oh, he delivered.

You're in this little dress that makes you feel like a walking sin—short, silky, low cut, the kind that makes heads turn the second you walk in. One wrong move and it might ride all the way up your thighs, but Roy hadn't been able to stop staring since you stepped out of the bedroom, lips parted like he was already halfway to losing his mind.

You'd been on your best behavior at first, giggling through appetizers, holding hands across the table, sneaking kisses between glasses of wine. But somewhere around glass number... three? Four? Things started to shift.

The man's got his hair slicked back tonight, wearing that deep green button down you love—tight at his arms, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up just enough to flash the curve of his forearms and the edge of his watch. And those black slacks? Fitted to hell, of course, because he knows exactly what he's doing.

Your foot found his under the table. Your fingers started trailing up his thigh. You pressed your chest a little closer when you leaned in to whisper something stupid in his ear. And then you got bold.

Now, sitting pretty with your legs crossed and your face flushed from the wine, your hand is tucked between the crisp white tablecloth and Roy's lap. Your fingertips drag slow, deliberate strokes over the bulge growing behind his zipper, and his thigh tenses beneath your palm.

He's been grabbing your wrist all night, whispering sharp little warnings through clenched teeth like, "Cut it out, baby" or "You tryna get us kicked out?"

But it's never lasted. You keep going, poking the bear, giggling like you don't know any better. This time, when you rub your palm in a teasing little circle right over the tip of his cock, you feel his whole body shift. His jaw clenches, the vein in his neck jumps, his fingers wrap tight around your wrist—not rough, but firm enough to make you still.

He leans in, voice low and warm and dangerous in your ear. "You'd better behave, pretty thing."

You grin, drunk and delighted, and turn your head just enough that your lips brush his cheek. Your voice is syrupy sweet, full of mischief, "Or what, baby?"

You hear the sharp breath he pulls through his nose, feel the twitch of his cock under your palm. His grip tightens, just slightly.

"You're—fuckin' shit. I'll show you what, trouble. Just wait until we get home."

And fuck, the way he says it? That low growl threading through his words, like he's barely holding himself together? It fucking thrills you.

You flash him a grin. A little smug. A little drunk. A little too confident for someone who's about to get their back blown out for being a menace. He doesn't smile back, just watches you like he's already picturing exactly how he's going to make you pay for it, and you know that look. But God, you're in for it.

Roy lets go of your wrist with a sharp sigh and leans back just slightly, like he needs to create some space between you and his rapidly dwindling self control. You flash him an exaggeratedly sweet smile, batting your lashes as you reach for your wine glass again because you are not done being a problem.

He watches you the whole time. Narrowed eyes, that tense set to his jaw. You drain what's left of your glass, clearly way too pleased with yourself, and then you spill, just a little. A drip of deep red wine slips from the corner of your mouth and rolls down your chin, slow and glossy, heading straight for the neckline of your already too revealing dress.

"Oh shit," you giggle, swiping at your chin with your knuckles, but you're a little too slow, a little too clumsy.

Roy's already there. He doesn't say anything, just lifts his hand and brushes his thumb over your skin, right below your lip. Gentle, controlled. It's nothing, really, just a wipe. A quick, efficient swipe to keep the wine from staining the expensive dress he definitely plans to peel off of you later.

But then? Oh, then you lean in and wrap your lips around his thumb. Just like that. Soft and sweet, like you're trying to make a fucking point. Your eyes locked on his, all glassy and innocent like you have no idea what you're doing, like you're just being polite. Except you're definitely not being polite.

Roy freezes. His whole body goes still. His eyes flick down to your mouth and he just stares for a second, like he can't quite believe you're doing this here. In public. After all his warnings, after all his threats.

You swirl your tongue a little, just to twist the knife, then you let his thumb go with a soft little pop and smile again, drunk, smug, and glowing with mischief.

He groans, quiet and low, like it's been ripped out of him, finishes his water and sits back so fast his chair creaks. One hand drags down his face, the other gestures sharply for the waiter.

"Check, please."

You let out a tiny hiccup of laughter, tipsy and proud of yourself as you press into his side, clinging to his arm like you haven't just been acting like a walking, purring little sex fantasy in the middle of this overpriced restaurant. He's solid under your hands—warm, tense, and radiating the kind of heat that promises hell once you're alone.

He's trying to pay the bill like a normal person, flipping his card out and adding the tip with the kind of tight, rushed motions that make it painfully obvious he's holding back from grabbing you and bending you over the damn table.

Meanwhile, you're a mess. A happy, drunk, soaked little mess. Your panties? Fucking ruined. You're so wet it's embarrassing, heat pulsing between your thighs with every little glance he throws your way, every clench of his jaw, every muttered curse under his breath as he signs the bill.

Truth be told, you've been like this since glass number two. He looked too good, smelled too good, kept putting his hand on your thigh, and your mind has been in the gutter ever since. You've been picturing everything: him tugging you into his lap, bending you over the hood of the car, manhandling you against the bedroom door with your dress shoved up around your waist. It's all just filth. Filth and more filth, and you haven't even touched him properly yet.

The second the waiter walks away, Roy turns to you, jaw clenched tight. "Car. Now."

Not a question. Not a request. You trip. Twice. Once on the sidewalk and again on the edge of the curb, but Roy's right there both times, steady hands catching your waist with practiced ease.

"Careful, pretty thing," he murmurs, voice still edged with heat but softened by the way you cling to him like your bones don't work anymore.

You giggle and melt into his side, nuzzling your cheek against his arm like some drunk, needy little cat. Your arms wrap around his bicep, your heels clacking as you lean all your weight into him, humming contentedly like you haven't just spent the last hour groping him under a white linen tablecloth.

And for a second, just one second, he forgets why he was annoyed with you. You're warm, tipsy, glowing from the wine and affection, and he's always had a soft spot for the way you get like this. Clingy. Cute. All curled into him like you belong there. Which you do.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he reaches for the car keys, fumbling slightly while you rock on your heels behind him. But the second he unlocks the car door, you make your next move. One arm snakes around his waist from behind. The other? Right back on his dick.

Your hand cups him through his slacks like you own him, like it's your damn toy to play with, rubbing slow little circles right over the tip until you feel him twitch, straining against the fabric all over again. And the worst part? You're still doing it with that innocent little hum in your throat like this is just your natural resting position.

He sighs. Half frustrated, half turned the fuck on, eyes closing for a second as his head drops forward.

"You're so lucky you're cute, trouble."

Then he turns and kisses your forehead—soft, gentle, the kind of kiss that makes you feel sweet and adored even as you make his life hell—before turning you around to the passenger side.

He helps you into the car with a guiding hand, like you're a drunk doll he has to babysit, and leans over to fasten your seatbelt for you. Except you don't make it easy.

Your arms wrap around his neck before he can pull away. Your lips are on his skin—soft, wet kisses along his jaw, your tongue teasing the shell of his ear as you squirm in your seat like you're possessed.

"Baaaby," you whine, licking at his throat, "want you."

He groans under his breath, the belt clicking into place with a snap just as his hand comes up to cup your cheek. He tilts your face up and kisses you, just once, hot and impatient.

"Just a bit more," he mutters against your lips. "We're almost home, yeah?"

You pout. Full, glossy lips pulling into the kind of expression that should be illegal with how wrecked you already look. Your cheeks are flushed, your thighs spread slightly, and when you grab his hand and guide it between your legs, he doesn't resist. Your panties are soaked.

He groans, this time louder, because fuck, he knew you were worked up. He could smell it on you the second you climbed into the car. But this? This is insane. You're soaked through the lace, sticky and hot and absolutely throbbing for him.

"But I want you now, baby," you murmur, hips grinding forward into his palm. "Look—feel how wet I am."

Yeah, he's feeling it, alright. His fingers press slow, lazy circles over the damp fabric like he wants to feel how far he can push you before you break. You gasp. Shudder. Your thighs twitch. But he just watches you with those smug green eyes like he's trying already a thousand miles ahead of you.

He pulls his hand away and smirks as your breath catches in protest, then he shuts the door without another word, rounding the car like nothing just happened.

You cling to his arm the second he slides into the driver's seat, like some pathetic little koala who can't bear to be more than two inches from his body. Your cheek rests against his bicep, lips pushed out in a ridiculous pout, and Roy just exhales slowly, one hand gripping the wheel as he starts the car.

If he's being honest, you'd be adorable if you weren't such a needy mess right now. Your hair is all mussed from leaning on him, your lipstick is half gone, smudged from kissing his jaw, and your pupils are blown wide, drunk on red wine and dirty thoughts. He can practically feel the heat rolling off you, warm and needy, like your whole body is just buzzing for him.

He doesn't say anything, just pulls out of the parking lot and heads for the familiar way home, trying to ignore the huff you let out when he doesn't immediately pull over and fuck you in the backseat like some goddamn animal.

He nearly laughs. Nearly. But he doesn't. Because he has no fucking idea what you'll try next if he pushes you even one inch further.

You're already bratting harder than he's ever seen, and the moment he lets his guard down, he knows you'll be leaning over the console with your dress hiked up to your hips and that sweet, filthy mouth wrapped around his dick like it's your goddamn job.

Five minutes into the drive, the rain starts, light at first. Just a soft drizzle against the windshield, but then it thickens, heavy drops splattering the glass in a steady rhythm.

He clicks the wipers on and groans under his breath. "Great. Half hour drive just turned into an hour."

You whine. Whine. Soft and pathetic like you're physically in pain over it. He doesn't even have to look at you to feel it—the pout, the crossed arms, the little dramatic wiggle of your thighs like you're trying to grind down on nothing.

"I can't wait that long, Roy," you moan. "I want you now."

He presses his lips together and stares at the road like it personally offended him.

"Jesus Christ, trouble," he mutters. "I'll fuck you once we're home. Just behave."

You huff. Loudly. Arms crossing over your chest like a brat with a wet pussy, and he knows you're doing that on purpose. Pressing your tits together, letting that little lace bra strain against your dress so he can see the outline through the fabric. Being a menace just to watch him suffer. And he is suffering.

Because truthfully? He hates saying no to you. From the very beginning, he's been a yes man when it comes to you. Yes to late night pancakes. Yes to you dragging him shopping. Yes to your sleepy kisses and your insatiable need for attention, even when he's halfway through a mission report and you're climbing into his lap in nothing but one of his shirts.

And yeah, maybe you're a little spoiled now. Maybe that's his fault, but he's never minded. Not really. Because you're his, and he loves giving you what you want.

But there are lines he won't cross. Not because he's some prude, but because fucking you means something. When he's got you under him, he wants to take his time. Wants to make you feel it, make you remember it.

He wants to fuck you dumb and then hold you after, letting you snuggle into his chest, all soft and fucked out and glowing. He wants to worship you. And he can't do that on a rainy stretch of road with your panties shoved to the side and the gearshift in the way. So yeah, no, he's not gonna fuck you on the drive home.

Or at least, that's what he thinks. Because you? Oh, you're not done. And this poor man's resolve? It's hanging by a fucking thread. He pulls up to a red light with a quiet sigh, his hand flexing around the wheel, and that's your cue, like fucking clockwork. You lean over the console again, all warm and shameless, cheek pressed to his arm, those wide, glossy eyes peeking up at him with the fakest innocence he's ever fucking seen. You blink at him real slow, lashes fluttering like you're sweet, like you're just cuddling him for warmth.

But your hand? Yeah, it's on his dick again. Of course it is.

You squeeze him gently through his slacks, fingers pressing into the thick, twitching length you've been teasing for the past two hours, and Roy hisses between his teeth. His hand drops to your thigh, gripping you hard enough to make you squirm, his fingers digging in just enough to sting.

"Baby. Stop that," he says, voice rough, but he doesn't push your hand away.

And you? You know exactly what that means. That quiet, desperate little hitch in his breath when you stroke him again? Yeah, you've got him. You've been dancing on the edge all night and now you've got one foot planted on the gas. So you lick your lips, just to be a menace, just to see that muscle tick in his jaw.

"C'mon, Roy," you murmur, lips brushing against his ear. "I'm so fucking wet. I need your dick, please."

He closes his eyes like he's trying to find inner peace while your hand is wrapped around his cock in public. He even pinches the bridge of his nose.

"We can't fuck here," he grits out. "We're in the middle of a red light."

"No," you say sweetly, stroking him again, "but we can fuck there."

You point. Supermarket parking lot. Mostly empty. A few empty vans scattered here and there, the kind of place no one's paying attention to anyone else. Discreet. Quiet. Perfect.

You see the flicker of temptation in his eyes, the way his fingers tense, the way he thinks about it, but then he shakes his head.

"I don't wanna fuck you in the car, pretty thing," he says softly, fingers rubbing small circles into your thigh like he's trying to soothe himself more than you.

And you scoff. "Why not? I literally want you to."

He opens his mouth, maybe to say it's about respect, or that he doesn't do this kind of thing, or that it's not romantic enough, but then you stroke his cock again, slow and steady, right over the hard line in his pants.

And just like that, he's fucking silent.

So you lean in closer, breath hot against his neck, and whisper, "I know you love fucking me at home. I get it. I love it too. But I can't wait that long, baby. My pussy is dripping all over your goddamn seat."

That's it. That's the final fucking straw. He doesn't say a word, just flicks the turn signal on and heads toward the parking lot.

You squeal, practically bouncing in your seat like a bratty little gremlin who just got her way, but if you knew what was coming? You wouldn't be smiling. Not like that. Because Roy Harper? He's done playing nice. You wanted this? You're gonna get it.

He pulls into the lot without a word, eyes dark, jaw tight, and swings the car right into the far corner, wedging it neatly between two parked vans. Out of sight, out of mind. The second he shifts into park, you can feel the shift in him. He unclicks his seatbelt with one hand, and the other?

Right under your chin, tilting your face to him—not aggressively, but just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough that you feel the dominance radiating off him now that he's fully done pretending to be calm.

"You wanna be a little slut in my car?" he asks, voice low, rasped, like the words burn on his tongue.

And it stuns you because Roy has never talked to you like that. He teases, sure—calls you trouble, baby, pretty thing—but this? This is different.

Your eyes go wide, lips part, breath catches.

And your pussy? Oh, your pussy fucking pounds. Throbbing behind sticky lace, so wet it's a miracle he doesn't hear it when you shift in your seat.

Your mind is racing—did he really just say that?—but your body is already on board, already aching.

You gasp, soft and breathy, not in shock but in... something else. Something dark and hot and deep in your belly. And Roy—poor, sweet Roy—thinks for half a second that he's gone too far, that he fucked it up.

His brows twitch together, his mouth opens, and he stammers, "I—Shit, baby. I didn't mean—"

But you cut him off with a shaky murmur, soft and needy. "Y-yeah."

And he fucking freezes. Eyes searching your face like he didn't just hear that right, like maybe the rain is playing tricks on him.

"Yeah?" he echoes. Rougher, like gravel dragged across velvet.

His thumb brushes your lower lip. Just a gentle sweep, slow, like he's trying to test how far he can push. And you nod. A little too fast. A little too eager.

"Yeah," you breathe, slower this time, like your whole body is melting for him.

"Fine," he growls. "Then you're gonna take it like one, huh?"

You nod again, whimpering under your breath as heat floods your skin, and then he pounces. His lips crash against yours, greedy and hot and hungry, all teeth and tongue and desperation, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl in your heels.

And his other hand? Oh, his other hand slides between your legs, pushing that little dress up with no patience whatsoever until his fingers find your panties, lace clinging to your folds like a second skin.

He groans into your mouth the moment he feels it. "Fuck... you meant it, didn't you?” he rasps, lips brushing yours as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the sticky fabric. "This soaked for me? That wine didn't do shit. You've been a mess all night."

You moan—loud, shameless—grinding into his palm as your fingers clutch at his jacket, needy and twitching.

"Y-yeah, Roy... fuck—please, I need it..."

"Yeah," he growls, dragging the lace to the side just enough to feel the slick mess between your thighs. "You're gonna get it, trouble. Gonna fuck you just like the little slut you wanna be."

And he means it. Because you wanted the mouth, you asked for the edge, and Roy's about to make sure you feel it. You don't even get the chance to brace yourself,

because the moment your panties are tugged aside and he feels your pussy—hot, wet, dripping all over his fingers—Roy groans into your mouth like he's been holding it in for hours.

"God, baby... this pussy," he mutters against your lips, thumb sweeping over your clit again. "So fuckin' wet for me."

Your head falls forward against his shoulder as his thumb circles your clit, lazy but firm, and the heat builds fast. You clutch at his arm, nails digging in through his jacket, and he just chuckles under his breath because you're already starting to tremble and he hasn't even slipped a finger inside yet. Then his lips find yours again.

It's hot and messy, his tongue pushing past your lips with a moan that rumbles deep in his chest, one hand cradling your jaw while the other works between your thighs just like he's done this a thousand times. The kiss is desperate—teeth clashing, lips slick, gasps shared between hungry mouths—and your hips roll without permission, grinding against his hand like you need it to breathe.

Then he breaks the kiss, panting, eyes locked on your face as he finally pushes two fingers inside your needy cunt, and you shudder. You're whimpering, tight walls clenching around him as he groans again, dragging his fingers out slow before sliding back in just as deep, curling them the way he knows makes your back arch every time.

"There she is," he says low, thumb pressing against your clit again, just right. "That's what you needed, huh? Had to act like a brat all night just to get my fingers in your pussy."

You nod, barely able to breathe, much less form a sentence. Every stroke of his fingers hits perfect, and his thumb is working that swollen clit like a damn menace, tight circles that make your thighs twitch and your cunt clench.

"Gonna cum all over my fuckin' hand, aren't you? Make a mess all over the damn seat—shit, baby—listen to you."

And you do listen. You hear it, every slick drag of his fingers, every breathy whine tumbling from your mouth, every low groan he lets out when your pussy clenches tight.

"Tight little pussy's fuckin' chokin' my fingers," he groans. "You needed this bad, huh? Needed to be full. Needed to be used."

You're gasping, hands fisted in his jacket, thighs shaking, and he knows. He feels it. Your pussy is fluttering around his fingers, your clit pulsing under his thumb, and you're right on the edge, desperate and dripping and needing to fall.

"Go on, baby," he whispers, voice dark and sweet and so mean. "Be a good little slut and cum for me."

The rain is a steady drumbeat against the windshield, but all Roy can hear is you. Your gasps, your whines, the wet, obscene sounds of your greedy cunt sucking on his fingers like it's starving for more.

You're a mess in the passenger seat, hair falling in your face, dress bunched up at your waist, panties shoved to the side, legs spread and trembling as you fuck yourself on his fingers. And Roy? He can't stop staring. He's got two thick fingers buried inside you, knuckles deep and soaked to the damn wrist, and your pussy is clenching around them so tight he's half convinced it's trying to milk him dry.

"Fuckin' hell, baby," he mutters, brows furrowed as he curls his fingers and watches your hips twitch. "You're losing your damn mind, huh?"

And you are. Rocking into his hand like a bitch in heat, practically fucking yourself on his fingers with this broken, whiny rhythm that's got your thighs shaking and your voice high and needy. You're soaked, so wet he can hear every messy drag of his fingers inside you, and fuck if the slick heat around them doesn't make his cock throb painfully hard.

He hadn't expected you to love the filth, hadn't expected to see you like this. Hair wild, chest heaving, lips parted, drunk off his voice and his touch and the way he's talking to you like you're just some cockdrunk little toy in his car. But you are, and you're loving it.

"Look at you," he grits out, thumb circling your clit faster. "Fuckin' your needy little pussy on my fingers. Didn't think I'd ever call you a slut, but shit, baby."

And you do, you feel it. The way you're riding his hand, soaking his palm, whimpering every time he crooks his fingers just right and sends sparks up your spine. You're gasping, bucking, completely out of control, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

Roy's watching it all with wide eyes, heart pounding, like he's seeing a whole new side of you unfold right in front of him and fuck if it's not the hottest thing he's ever seen.

You're so close. Clit throbbing under his thumb, walls fluttering around his fingers, hips stuttering against his palm as the pressure builds fast, hot and tight and relentless. Your hands scramble over his jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, and he knows.

"You gonna cum for me, pretty thing?" he says, voice low and dark and way too soft for how mean he's being. "Go on. Fuckin' cum, baby. I wanna feel it."

And just like that, you snap. You cry out, thighs clamping around his wrist as you cum hard, cunt pulsing around his fingers with wet, messy spasms that make you tremble from head to toe. Your voice breaks, breath hitching in your throat, and you shake through it, hips rocking helplessly as the orgasm crashes through you like a wave.

Roy doesn't stop, not for a second. His fingers fuck you through every aftershock, curling deep while his thumb teases your throbbing clit until you're gasping, twitching, nearly sobbing from how intense it is. And when your arms give out and you slump against him, you drag shaky fingers into his hair, tugging him down into another kiss.

It's desperate, sloppy. Your lips on his, open and hungry, your tongue pushing past his lips with this filthy little moan as you suck on it, wet and messy and perfect. He groans and you just melt into him, grinding against his hand even though you're still pulsing, still riding the high.

Your body is still twitching, still shaking from the orgasm he just pulled out of you, but his fingers are still inside you, slick and slow, curling deep as his thumb comes right back to your swollen, throbbing clit, barely giving you a second to breathe before he starts rubbing you again.

"R-Roy—baby, no..." you gasp, your voice all broken and whiny, fingers gripping at his jacket like you don't know whether to push him away or drag him closer.

But your hips? Still rolling into his hand. Still grinding that desperate little cunt against his palm like your body doesn't give a shit what your mouth is saying. And Roy fucking notices, of course.

"No?" he echoes, voice low and hot against your lips as he kisses you again—messy, tongue and teeth and breathy little groans. "Thought you were gonna take it, brat."

Then he pinches your clit. Just a little. Just enough to make your thighs jump and your pussy clench tight around his fingers, your mouth falling open in a breathless gasp as you whimper right into the kiss.

"Oh fuck—Roy—"

"What was that?" he teases, pulling back just a little, eyes locked on your face. "You want somethin'?"

You nod quickly, still panting, still grinding on his soaked fingers like a goddamn animal.

"Want—need your dick," you murmur, eyes glassy and lips puffy as you look up at him all flushed and needy. "Please, baby."

And Roy? Smirks. Because fuck, you're so hot like this. A trembling little mess in his car, soaked, pussy still fluttering around his fingers from how hard you came, and begging for his dick.

"Yeah?" he mutters, finally easing off your clit, sliding his fingers from your cunt with this slick little pop. "Say please again, slut."

You whine, eyes fluttering, cheeks hot, and say it again. "Please..."

His cock jumps, and when he brings those wet, shiny fingers up to your mouth, you don't even hesitate. You open up instantly, tongue out, eyes locked on his like you're ready to worship every inch of him.

So he slides them in slow, two fingers pressing down on your tongue, smearing your own slick all over it and you moan as you close your lips around them and suck like he's feeding you the last drop of water on earth.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes, watching you work. "You're really my little slut, huh? Lickin' your own pussy off my fingers like you need it."

And you do. You're messy about it too, sucking hard, tongue swirling, eyes fluttering half closed as you moan around his fingers like it's his dick in your mouth, and Roy's watching the whole thing like he's about to lose his mind.

His cock? So fucking hard. Throbbing. His slacks are soaked through with precum at this point, leaking so much it's uncomfortable, and all he can think about now is shoving his dick into that hot, dripping pussy and fucking you until you cry.

"You keep suckin' like that," he mutters, voice rough as his eyes drop to your mouth, "I'm gonna cum before I even get inside you."

But you're not stopping. You're moaning around his fingers, eyes begging for more, pussy still fluttering between your legs like it knows what's coming next.

You let his fingers slip from your mouth with a slick, obscene little pop, your lips shiny with spit and your eyes all hazy as you blink up at him, dazed but so fucking hungry for more. And then you're kissing him again.

Fast, needy, nothing soft or slow about it. Just tongue and teeth and the sweetest, filthiest little moans pouring out of your mouth every time he presses deeper, every time his lips bruise yours with how badly he wants you.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging him closer like you're trying to climb into his lap without even moving. His hands? Everywhere. One sliding over your waist, the other tugging at the neckline of your dress—ruthless, honestly. He doesn't even try to be subtle about it, just yanks the straps of your dress and bra down with one rough pull until your tits bounce free into his palms.

"Fuck—look at you," he groans against your mouth, pulling back just enough to glance down at the way your chest rises and falls, nipples tight from the cold and the heat of his stare. "You know how crazy you make me?"

You just whimper, nodding as his thumbs brush over your nipples, slow circles at first, barely enough to relieve the ache, just enough to tease. He pinches them, rolls them between his fingers, making you squirm in your seat, moaning softly against his lips when he leans in and kisses you again, slower, more deliberate. Deep and messy, the kind of kiss that makes your thighs rub together.

But he's not the only one who can tease.

One of your hands slides down between you, right over the firm line of his abs, and you palm his cock through his pants, gently at first. But when he moans into your mouth, you moan right back, rolling your palm against the swollen head where it's leaking like crazy, your fingers dragging along the wet patch at the front of his slacks.

"Shit—" Roy hisses, breaking the kiss as he bites down a groan, his hands tightening on your waist. "You're still playin' with fire, baby."

And maybe you are, but you love the way he sounds when you touch him like this. The way his hips twitch under your hand, the way his jaw clenches as he fights the urge to just unzip and pull his dick out right now. You rub him slow, squeezing a little tighter this time, teasing your fingertips along his shaft until his breath gets heavy again.

He lets you fumble with his zipper, lets you pop that button open with your teeth grazing his throat like a goddamn tease—because you are one. A bratty little minx with your tits out and your hand already sliding inside his slacks, greedy and trembling like you've waited all night for this. And okay, maybe you have.

You kiss down the side of his neck, open mouthed and wet, your tongue trailing along the sharp line of his jaw as you suck little bruises into his skin. Messy, possessive, your lipstick long gone, smeared half across his throat, but he doesn't care. You've got your hand wrapped around his cock, so yeah, he definitely doesn't care.

"Shit," he groans when you finally free him, his dick slapping against his stomach, already flushed and dripping with precum. "You're really doin' this, huh?"

You hum into his neck, lips curled into a smirk as your thumb swirls around the head of his cock. Slick and warm, your strokes slow and teasing as you drag your palm down the shaft, coating it in precum. It's so wet already, obscene little squelches filling the space between you every time you pump him, and you can feel him twitch in your hand.

So you lean in and whisper, "Mhmm... been hard all night, haven't you, baby?"

Your voice is soft, breathless, teasing. And that smug little giggle you let out when his hips buck? Yeah, that's what breaks him.

In one fluid, impatient as fuck motion, he grunts and shoves his chair all the way back with a loud thunk, unbuckles your seatbelt with one hand, and then grabs you.

"Alright, that's enough," he mutters, voice thick with heat, his hands gripping your waist like you weigh nothing.

You barely even squeal, too giddy and gone to process it, because he's already lifting you, strong arms hauling you right over the center console, and then you're in his lap, straddling him. Tits out, dress bunched up around your hips, Roy's dick hot and leaking between your bodies and he's looking at you like he's about to ruin you. Because he is.

You're flushed, wide eyed and breathless, your soaked panties barely clinging to you, and he mutters, "Wanna act like a slut?"

His hands are on your ass, pulling you down so his cock sits hot and heavy against your dripping pussy. "Then ride me like one."

He doesn't push in yet. Instead, he grabs a handful of your ass and grinds up against you, the thick head of his cock dragging through your soaked folds like he's just rubbing it in how wet you are for him. And God, are you wet. You're soaked, slick dripping down onto him in sticky little strings that smear across his length with every slow roll of his hips.

"Fuck," he groans, head tilted back, jaw tight. Then, with a cocky little smirk, "What's the matter, baby? Gettin' shy on me now?"

Your breath stutters, your lashes flutter, and you shake your head quickly, cheeks warm and thighs trembling, but still full of it, still gasping when he ruts up again, cock sliding right along your swollen clit and leaving both of you groaning at the contact.

"No?" he huffs, one eyebrow raised as he slaps your ass, not too hard, just enough to make it jiggle, to make you gasp and clench around nothing. "Then ride me. Thought you wanted my dick, pretty thing."

"I— I do," you whimper, voice breathy, needy, and your shaky hand reaches between your bodies, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock as you lift your hips a little.

You guide him to your entrance, your slick making everything glide just a little too easily, and then you sink down on him.

Slowly. God, so fucking slowly because he's thick and you're tight and everything inside you is stretching to make room. And it burns a little, just the way you like. That sweet, full pressure as he splits you open inch by inch, your head tipping back and mouth dropping open as your pussy swallows him.

"F-fuck, Roy..." you gasp, walls fluttering around him as your knees wobble, thighs spread wide over his lap.

And Roy? He groans like he's about to die.

His head drops back against the headrest with a dull thunk, eyes fluttering shut, fists clenching on your hips as he feels you slide all the way down, your slick walls squeezing around him like velvet.

It never gets old. No matter how many times he's fucked you, no matter how many positions, how many rooms, how many nights you've begged him to fill you up—this feeling, that first stretch, that slow, tight slide into your perfect little pussy, it always makes his head spin.

And you? You're trembling, gasping, bottomed out and still clinging to his shoulders like you might float away without him. Your walls are fluttering around him, greedy and wet and so fucking hot, and you blink at him like you're already cock drunk.

"Thaaat's it," he groans, hands gripping your ass again, "Take it all, baby. Just like that."

You start slow. Just a little grind of your hips, testing the stretch, the depth, just how far down his cock is nestled inside your soaked pussy. And he moans, this deep, wrecked sound that vibrates straight through your chest, hands gripping your hips like he's trying not to lose it already.

"Yeah, baby," he huffs, voice tight. "Just like that. Fuckin' ride me."

And you do. God, you do. Because that grind? It turns into a bounce real quick—the first one slow, controlled, but the moment you drop back down and feel him hit that spot, the one that makes your toes curl and your breath catch?

You moan. No, it's not even a moan, you actually make this broken sound you didn't even know you could make, and your nails dig into his shoulders as you fuck yourself on his dick like a goddamn woman possessed. Fast. Hard. Deep.

Your thighs are already trembling but you don't stop, your pussy squelching as you take him over and over, his dick punching into you with a rhythm that sends shockwaves up your spine. You're whining, gasping, clenching around him, absolutely gone already.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmurs, one hand shooting up to tangle in your hair and yank you down into a kiss that's not really a kiss—more tongues, more teeth, more desperation than anything else. "So fuckin' dick drunk you can't even kiss me right."

And well... he's not wrong. You're whimpering against his lips, licking into his mouth, moaning every time his cock drives up into you like he's trying to knock the thoughts out of your head. And his other hand? Oh, it doesn't rest. He's spanking you, sharp little slaps to your ass that make you squeal and squeeze down on his dick.

"Such a filthy little thing," he mutters, lips against your jaw, breath hot. "All that fuckin' attitude earlier, just to end up in my lap like this. Humpin' my dick like a needy slut."

You moan louder, and he laughs, half out of breath, because you squeeze him again like your pussy loves being talked to like that.

Outside, the rain hasn't stopped. It pounds the windshield, mixes with the sound of your dripping pussy bouncing on his cock, the smack of skin on skin, the windows completely fogged up. A little bubble of heat and filth, the car rocking ever so slightly with each thrust of your hips.

"Gonna make a mess all over my fuckin' seat," he groans, gripping your ass again as he thrusts up into you, making you cry out. "That what you wanted, baby? Wanted me to fuck you stupid right here?"

You nod frantically, too far gone for words, your hips snapping down over and over because your orgasm is already building again, and you're shaking with it, full of it, needing it.

"F-fuck," you whimper, pussy working over his cock like you need him in every inch of you. "B-baby..."

And Roy? He's losing it. Because you take him again—all of him—pretty little cunt swallowing him whole with this hot, messy squelch, and your tits are bouncing right in his face. You're a fucking vision. Eyes glazed, lips parted, sweet little gasps spilling out of your mouth like your brain is not even connected to it anymore.

"Fuckin' hell," he groans, hands sliding up your ribs to cup your tits. "Look at you, baby. You're fuckin' unreal."

He leans forward and licks a slow stripe across one of your nipples, just the tip of his tongue at first, teasing, flicking, watching it pebble up from the chill in the air and the heat of his mouth. You moan, loud and breathy, and he fucking smirks against your skin.

"These pretty tits," he mutters, licking again, circling your nipple until you squirm. "Drive me fuckin' crazy."

And then he's sucking it into his mouth. Lips sealing around your nipple as his tongue swirls, then sucks harder, then bites, just a little, just enough to make your pussy clench around his cock and your nails drag down his chest.

"R-Roy—" you choke out, hips still working, still grinding, still fucking soaked on his dick. He can feel the slick dripping down, can feel your mess soaking his slacks, coating his lap like you've got no shame. Truth be told, right now, you don't.

He switches to the other nipple, wet mouth kissing down the curve of your breast, sucking the soft flesh before he takes the other into his mouth, greedy. Licking, sucking, groaning against you while you ride him faster, chasing your high like your life depends on it.

"You fuckin' love it, huh?" he pants against your skin, flicking your nipple with his tongue before sucking it back into his mouth. "So dick drunk you don't even care how messy you are. Just wanna use me, huh?"

You moan, loud and helpless because he's right, and he knows it. Your hips start to stutter, legs trembling again, your pussy tightening, fluttering around his cock as the mess gets wetter, thicker, louder.

"Shit, baby," he groans, pulling off your breast with a pop, mouth shiny, chin wet. "You gonna cum again for me?"

Every bounce, every needy grind, your clit drags across his skin—bare, swollen, soaked and throbbing with every push down. Roy's dick hits deep, stretching you so good it punches these desperate little sounds right out of you, gaspy and high pitched like you can't even help it anymore.

"Jesus," he pants, watching the way you lose yourself on top of him. "Look at that sweet pussy takin' me. You're fuckin' soaked."

And he's not lying. Slick's everywhere—on his cock, his thighs, his lap. Every bounce makes a sound, obscene and hot, like you're making a mess on purpose.

You ride him harder, sloppier, wetter, grinding your clit down with every drop of your hips until your whole body starts trembling.

"Oh f-fuck," you whimper, thighs twitching, pace stuttering. "I'm— Roy—I'm gonna—"

You freeze when it hits. Body going taut, legs shaking, arms wrapped around his shoulders as your pussy squeezes his cock so tight it's fucking criminal. You're buried on him to the hilt, not moving, just trembling and whining against his mouth like you can't even breathe through it.

"Shit," Roy hisses, barely keeping it together as he feels you pulse and flutter around him. "Jesus, baby—fuck—"

And then you crash into him, mouth hot and messy on his, moaning as your orgasm wrings you out. Your hips twitch helplessly in his lap, clit rubbing against his skin, and your mouth? Sloppy. Tongue in his mouth, licking over his, gasping for air through the kiss like you can't bear to be even a breath away from him. He groans into your mouth, hands on your hips as you twitch and pulse and soak him all over again.

You keep kissing, hungry and breathless and messy, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, your lips slick with spit and moans. He pants against your mouth, and you breathe into his, like the two of you forgot how to survive without the other's air.

Your chest brushes his with every pant, sweat blooming between your skin and his shirt, and you don't even notice the way your hips move, grinding just a little, clit dragging against his skin again like you can't stop even if you tried. Sensitive? Sure. But greedy? Oh, that's the problem.

Roy feels it. That soft, subtle grind, that soaked little pussy rubbing all over him again. And something in him just snaps.

"Can't get enough, huh?" he mutters against your mouth, hands sliding down to grab your ass, rough and greedy. "You just got off and you're still grindin' on my dick like a little slut."

You gasp, cunt clenching on him so tight his eyes nearly roll back.

"That what you are, pretty thing?" he murmurs, voice low as he squeezes your ass. "Just my dick starved little thing?"

And then he starts to fuck you. Not slow. Not soft. Just hips slamming up into yours, rocking the damn car, his thick cock sliding deep—every inch—and pulling back soaked with your cum. You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, your whole body jolting with every sharp thrust as he fills you over and over.

"That's it," he groans, hips slapping up into your soaked cunt, watching your tits bounce and your mouth hang open. "Take it. You wanted it, fuckin' take it."

And you do. Your pussy is so messy, all slick and stretched around him, every thrust pushing slick out around the base of his cock. God, the stretch, the thickness, the drag of every vein as he sinks back in, bottoming out with this deep, filthy slap that knocks another sound out of you.

The car rocks, the windows fog, and the rain is just background noise because the only thing that matters is his dick, splitting you open over and over while you moan for more.

His hips drive up hard, sharp, and mean, each thrust punching his cock right into that sweet, aching spot inside you. That thick stretch knocks your breath loose every single time, and the way he's fucking into you? It's filthy. Slick sounds fill the car, obscene and constant, every deep stroke bullying your poor pussy until you're just a mess of gasps and whining.

Your thighs tremble around his hips, your pussy swallowing his dick like it's starving, and he watches the way you start to fall apart—body rocking, tits bouncing, mouth hanging open as you pant and stutter like you can't form full words anymore.

“Fuckin' look at you,” he groans, one hand gripping your ass before slapping it again, sharp enough to make your pussy clench tight. "Riding me like my little slut. That it, baby? That what you are now?"

And you whimper, full body shudder as you nod, moaning yesyesyes, voice barely holding together.

"Y-Yeah, baby, yes, more—more, please—fuck, don't stop—"

He nearly loses it right there. Because never in his wildest dreams did he think this would be you, so needy and soaked and wild on his cock, moaning as he called you a slut in his car while the rain pounded against the windows. That sweet girl who's smiling at him in the mornings and kiss the bridge of his nose before pulling on lip gloss?

Now she's writhing in his lap, fucked dumb and gasping for more, bouncing on his cock in a supermarket parking lot while the car rocks like a damn metronome to the rhythm of his thrusts.

It's fucked. He knows it. It's insane and filthy and wrong in all the right ways, but God, you're clenching so tight around him, so warm and wet and messy, and you keep moaning like you're addicted to it, like you need it deeper, harder, more.

Your pussy is dripping—hot, tight, squeezing him like it's the only thing you were made to do. Every stroke drags against your swollen walls just right, all thick and slick and deep, and you can't even think anymore. Your brain is fucking gone, wiped clean by the way his dick hits all those spots that make your knees weak and your spine curl.

You're not riding sweet Roy right now. You're taking dick from feral Roy—sweaty, possessive, handsy, swearing under his breath as he slaps your ass again and watches you bounce on his cock like you're in heat.

And the worst part? You love this man so fucking much it hurts. Your thoughts are a blur, just God he's so deep, fuck I love him, his dick is so fucking good I'm gonna cry, and then nothing. Just heat and slick and the way his cock stretches your pussy like it always does, makes you feel full and owned and completely wrecked.

"Gonna fuckin'—fuck, baby, shit—"

Roy's hips stutter, driving up into you with all the control of a man hanging by a thread. His hands squeeze your ass tight, keeping you still as he thrusts, messy and erratic, deep enough that your pussy flutters from the inside out, that squelching noise rising as your slick runs down his cock and drips onto his pants.

His moans are rough and loud, desperate little groans right in your ear as his cock twitches inside you, and then he cums.

Hot and thick and so much, flooding your pussy like his body couldn't hold it back another second. You feel every pulse of it coat your insides, feel how his dick throbs deep inside you—tight, twitchy little spasms that spill another rope, then another. It's fucking endless.

He groans, hips pressing deeper like he's trying to keep every drop in you, like he needs to. You swear you can feel it drip around his cock, warm and slick, pushed out by the sheer amount he's giving you, and that's it, that's fucking it. You cum the second his load hits your walls.

Your body arches, tight and trembling, nails dragging down his shoulders as you gasp out his name, again and again, a broken little chant. Every pulse of your cunt feels like it's gripping him tighter, like your body is desperate to wring out every last drop of his cum.

You're shaking, legs trembling uncontrollably, heat blooming low in your belly and spreading until you feel flushed all over. It doesn't stop, not right away. Pleasure keeps rolling through you in waves, drawn out and overwhelming, like your body is trying to keep up with how deep he is, how full he's made you.

You're both a mess. Panting, gasping, sweating through your clothes. The car is fogged up like a freaking sauna, windows hazy, rain still falling in sheets around you, but neither of you care. The air is hot and sticky, your skin damp, your dress wrinkled and tits still out, and Roy's got his forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed while he's catching his breath.

His cock is still twitching, still leaking cum, still hard. You bounce on his dick lazily, little rolls of your hips, grinding more than riding, just letting him stay buried inside while you chase every last twitch of pleasure. Your cunt flutters around him with every slow grind, and Roy groans, voice wrecked and full of praise.

"That's it, baby," he pants, his hands gripping your hips. "Look at you... fuckin' takin' me like that. You're perfect, you know that?"

You moan softly, so wrung out, your skin flushed and sticky with sweat. And when the last few waves pass, when your pussy stops fluttering and you can breathe again, you lean in and kiss him. Messy. Desperate. Sweet.

It's all tongues and gasps, moaning into each other's mouth as you lick into him with the last bit of energy you have. His lips are wet and swollen, his tongue lazy against yours, but he kisses you back like he means it, like he wants to crawl inside your skin and stay there. The kiss slows down into something soft, your moans turning into little whimpers between parted lips, your fingers sliding into his hair just to hold him close.

And when you finally pull back, you're both breathing hard, your forehead pressed against his, dizzy and soaked and completely fucked out.

Roy brushes his nose against yours, thumb rubbing circles into your thigh as he murmurs, "You good, pretty thing?"

You nod, lips still parted, your whole body limp and heavy as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, making a little noise that's halfway between a hum and a whimper. He wraps his arms around you without thinking, protective and soft. He kisses the top of your damp head, your sweaty temple, the curve of your neck, slow and adoring, voice low.

"My sweet girl... you wore yourself out, huh?"

You melt against him, letting your eyes flutter shut as he rubs your sore ass in slow, soothing circles, then traces lazy shapes up your spine. Another kiss lands on your shoulder, then your jaw, and you shiver even though the car is hot, fogged up windows and all.

"Still with me?" he whispers, lips brushing your ear.

You nod again—barely—and he smiles against your skin. You stay just like that for a while, the mess between your thighs sticky and warm, but you don't care. You never do. Not when it's him. Not when it's Roy.

Because he holds you so gently even after fucking your brains out like you're fragile, precious, something to be protected. His hands stroke your back in slow, easy passes. His mouth presses kisses wherever he can reach—your shoulder, your jaw, the top of your head. And he lets you melt into him, all boneless and spent, because the weight of you in his arms is one of his favorite things in the world.

It takes a few minutes before you stir, lifting your head with that familiar sleepy pout on your face, lashes clumped with mascara, lipstick long gone. Your makeup is a mess, your hair is worse, but your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt while your lower lip juts out just enough to make him chuckle.

He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone before kissing your forehead with a little grin.

"Ready to go home, trouble?"

You whine like the spoiled little thing you are, nose scrunching as you murmur, "M'tired... and I want waffles."

That makes him laugh. A soft, low sound that rumbles against your chest. "Do you now?" he teases, brushing some damp strands of hair away from your face.

You nod again, eyes big and heavy lidded, your pout not going anywhere.

"Alright," he says, so soft it nearly breaks your heart, "I'll make you some, yeah?"

Your face lights up, even though your body is still limp with exhaustion, and you reach up to cup his face with both hands. You're smiling, giddy and still a little drunk, and you brush your nose against his before whispering, "I love you."

Then it's kisskisskiss—sweet little pecks on his lips, one after the other, until he's laughing again, all breathless and warm and completely in love with you.

You both chuckle, noses bumping, breath mingling, arms still wrapped around each other in a fogged up car in the middle of a random ass parking lot. Two idiots. Hopeless. Ridiculous. A mess. But two idiots in love.

And yeah, he's just as whipped, because his hand cradles the back of your head and he leans in again, brushing his lips over yours with one more whisper, low and amused, "I love you too, you needy ass gremlin."

You sigh happily, like he just read you a bedtime story and he laughs under his breath, kissing your nose before you finally shift on his lap.

And that's when he slides his hands down to help you up, slow and careful, both of you hissing a little when his cock slips out of your pussy. His cum follows in a slow, sticky drip down your thighs, still so warm it makes you shiver.

"Jesus," Roy mutters, half under his breath, watching it leak out of you like he didn't just put it there. "Fucked you full, huh."

You're too dazed to answer, whimpering just a little when he reaches across to pop the glovebox open, fishing out the pack of wipes he keeps for very specific reasons.

He's gentle with you. Always is. Even when he's smirking. Even when he's cocky. He cleans between your legs first, his fingers brushing against your clit on purpose—the bastard—and you twitch, letting out the softest whimper as your hips buck away from the touch.

"Still sensitive, huh?" he teases, not even trying to hide his grin as he slips your panties back up, making sure they sit snug over your still aching pussy. "Told you not to be a greedy little slut."

You don't even have the strength to sass him back, you just make a tired little noise, halfway between a moan and a sigh, as he helps tug your dress back into place.

But of course he doesn't just leave it at that. No, he's got your dress halfway up again in two seconds flat, thumbing at your nipples and watching you squirm.

"Just checkin' they're still cute," he says, voice all low and smug.

You glare at him. Weakly. When he's finally satisfied with his torment, he kisses your forehead and lifts you with ease, setting you back in the passenger seat. One hand cups the back of your neck, the other pulls your seatbelt across your chest and clicks it in, all gentle and careful and warm, and the domesticity of it nearly makes you fucking melt.

You blink sleepily at him, lips parted, and mumble something that sounds like thank you, but it's mostly just a soft little noise.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs, kissing your temple as he goes back to cleaning himself up. "Try not to pass out before I drive."

He wipes himself down with another swipe from the glovebox stash, tucks himself back in, adjusts his slacks, and sighs like he just climbed a damn mountain. Then he reclines the seat back to normal and starts the car, glancing over just in time to see you let out a massive yawn and snuggle your cheek right into his bicep.

You're out cold five minutes into the drive.

Not that he minds. You drool a little on his sleeve—nothing new—but he doesn't say a word. He just glances at you every now and then with that stupid little smirk, his heart full and his shirt soaked. You grunt a few times in your sleep, twitching every time the car bumps over a pothole, but still, he doesn't wake you until the car pulls into the driveway. You blink awake all confused and pouty, trying to figure out where the hell you are.

"C'mon, baby," he says softly, reaching over to brush your cheek, "we're home."

You grunt like a cave gremlin. He grins like an idiot. It's still raining—hard—and Roy frowns at the windshield for a beat before reaching for his coat and stretching it over to you. Not to hand it over. No, he wraps it over your head and shoulders himself like you're some delicate little loaf that needs to be kept warm.

"There," he says, adjusting the collar so it sits around your face like a hood. "Perfect. You look like a pissed off burrito."

You give him the most unimpressed look you can muster under about twenty pounds of coat, lips pursed and cheeks flushed pink, one side all wrinkled from how you passed out on his arm. Your hair is flattened and your face is sleep mussed and pouty, and you're still so warm and dazed from earlier you can't even bite back a tiny whimper when he opens the door.

"Don't start," he warns, snorting. "I haven't even picked you up yet."

He darts out first into the downpour, and by the time he opens your door, you're already groaning dramatically. But he grins, fully entertained by your little complaints and leans in to scoop you up in one fluid motion.

"You're so dramatic," he mutters, tucking you tighter under the coat as he kicks the door shut and locks it one handed.

"Don't be mean, 'm cold," you mumble into his neck.

"No shit, it's raining," he says, jogging up the porch steps with you in his arms. "Who told you to go full noodle mode?"

The coat flaps around you like a makeshift tent as he crosses the porch and finally gets you under the cover of the awning, rain dripping off the edges. You nuzzle closer, whining into his shoulder while he unlocks the front door, one arm still solid around you.

Once you're inside, you shiver, clinging to him as he shuts the door behind you and shakes his hair out like a damn dog.

"Okay, down you go," he murmurs, easing you back onto your feet.

You sway a little, legs wobbly, feet unsteady, and he steadies you with both hands, watching you blink like a sleepy, pouty baby deer.

"Tired little thing," he says, already pulling his coat off your shoulders.

He lets it drop somewhere near the door and crouches in front of you, his hands already reaching for the straps of your heels. He slips one off carefully, then the other, thumbs pressing into your arches in soft, lazy circles. You hum, low and happy in your throat, leaning against the wall like you might melt into it.

"Good?" he asks, glancing up, thumbs still rubbing.

"Mhmm."

That's all he gets, just a noise. But your eyes flutter like you might pass out standing up, and that's enough for him to finish what he's doing, kick his own shoes off, and hook his arms under your thighs and back to lift you up again.

"Alright," he says, kissing your damp hair, "time to rinse off the car sex."

He carries you into the bathroom like you weigh nothing, strong arms holding you close while your cheek stays squished against his chest. The second the light flicks on, your face scrunches, a sleepy little glare aimed toward the overhead bulb.

"Yeah, yeah," Roy murmurs, already grinning, "I know. Too bright for your sleepy eyes."

He sets you down on the counter gently, his big hands guiding your ass to the cool marble as you pout. But you don't complain, just sit there all soft and quiet, blinking slow like you might actually doze off upright. Your thighs part a little, enough to keep him standing between them while he leans over to twist the shower knobs.

Steam starts to rise almost immediately, warmth curling in the air while the sound of the water fills the room.

He turns back around to find you half slumped against the mirror, your eyes glassy, makeup smudged in the corners. You look so sleepy and thoroughly used, hair all messy, your mouth parted in a tiny, exhausted sigh and he still thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever fucking seen.

"C'mon," he murmurs, fingers slipping under your straps, "let's get this off, yeah?"

You hum. Barely. He tugs your dress down gently, letting it fall in soft fabric puddles around your waist before sliding it off you completely. Then your bra, your panties, and he doesn't even sneak a grope in, just kisses the top of your knee as he tugs the last bit of lace away.

You're quiet as he undresses, only swaying a little as he guides you off the counter and into the hot spray. The second it hits you, you shiver a little, but Roy's there, stepping in behind you, arms already coming around your waist.

"That's it, baby," he whispers, swaying you both gently under the stream, "good girl."

He washes you slow, reverent. No teasing, just warm, soapy hands smoothing over your hips, your belly, your back. You let him move you like a doll, grumbling sleepy nonsense every now and then, but melting into his touch all the same.

He whispers soft praise against your temple the whole time—"so fuckin' sweet" and "love you like this, all calm" and "my good girl"—and every time, your sleepy face scrunches like you're trying not to smile.

The water is hot and soothing, and you melt into his chest, letting him do everything. He washes your hair so gently, fingers threading through wet strands, whispering more little praises into your scalp while you hum, barely clinging to consciousness.

When he finally gets you out, he wraps you up like a little burrito again—clean and warm this time—and guides you back onto the counter. You're blinking up at him, cheeks puffed out, mouth slightly open like you might whine. But instead, you just tip your face up when he reaches for the makeup remover.

"There she is," he whispers, so gently it nearly undoes you. "Let's get that raccoon shit off, yeah?"

He takes his time, thorough but soft, wiping the mess of mascara, lipstick, and smudges from your cheeks, your nose, under your eyes. Every few seconds, he pauses to press a kiss to some part of your face: your temple, the corner of your mouth, the space between your brows. You don't even have the energy to joke about it. You just let him. So much of you always lets him.

And you sigh. Happy. Soft. After he helps you into fresh panties, fuzzy socks and one of his softest shirts, he tugs his boxers on, runs a towel through his damp hair, and bends to kiss your freshly cleaned cheek.

"Still up for waffles, baby?"

You nod, already wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face to his chest.

"Alright," he chuckles, "let's go."

He laces your fingers with his and leads you downstairs, your socked feet silent on the hardwood as he guides you into the kitchen. He lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, the cold surface making you squeak a little and squirm before settling, legs swaying softly, eyes brighter.

Roy starts moving around like he's done this a thousand times—and he has. Grabbing the mix, flicking the stove on, pulling out the chocolate chips without asking because of course he remembers. Your chin rests in your palm as you watch him, something warm and fuzzy swelling in your chest.

There he is. Your man. Tattoos shifting with every movement of his arms, back muscles flexing under the shirt he tugged on last minute, that red hair still a little damp and messy from the shower. And he's humming lazily while he stirs the batter, acting like this is just another Saturday night instead of the aftermath of fucking you breathless in the car.

And every time he passes you, he presses a kiss somewhere on you. Your forehead. Your nose. The apple of your cheek. One after the other, like he has to, like he can't not. And each one makes you smile a little harder, shoulders looser, like your whole body is humming with the quiet joy of being known. Of being loved like this—completely, instinctively, without needing to ask for any of it.

The waffles come out golden and warm, all soft in the middle and crispy on the edges, with the chocolate chips just starting to melt and go gooey. Roy plates them like he always does, on your favorite stupid little pink plate with the chipped corner and the faded pattern because he knows that's the one you want, even if you'd never say it out loud.

He grabs two iced teas from the fridge, the good kind, the kind you hoard when he gets them on sale. No asking. No checking. Just knows. He pops the caps, places them gently next to the plate like he's building a shrine to your late night post sex hunger, then turns back to you with a little smile.

Still perched on the counter like the spoiled gremlin you are, you blink up at him when he steps close again, settling between your legs. One hand rests on your thigh, the other cradles your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek, and then he leans in and kisses you.

Soft and lazy, the kind of kiss that doesn't rush. Tongues licking slow into each other's mouth, lips parting wider, deeper. His nose brushes yours, his palm spreads over your cheek, your hand slips up into his hair, and neither of you moves for minutes. Just lips against lips, tongues sliding, shared breaths and soft sounds of contentment. The kind of kiss that feels like a love letter written with mouths instead of ink.

But then, your stomach rips through the moment like a fucking chainsaw in a chapel. The noise echoes around the kitchen like it's got surround sound.

Roy pulls back, blinking, and then he laughs. Soft and warm and stupidly fond as he rests his forehead against yours.

"C'mon, let's feed you before you turn into a little monster," he murmurs, kissing the tip of your nose, smiling against it when you scrunch it at him.

Before you can say anything, he's already lifting you up again, strong arms under your thighs and back, carrying you like he always does when you're too sleepy or too bratty or too full of love to walk. You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling into the crook of it, inhaling the clean, still warm scent of him from the shower.

He carries you to the couch, lowers you gently and grabs that stupid, soft ass blanket you love—the fuzzy one that smells like home and clings to you like Velcro—and wraps it around your shoulders like a cape.

"Be right back, trouble," he says with a wink, brushing his hand over your cheek before heading back into the kitchen.

And you stay there, wrapped in your favorite blanket, sunk into the couch, blinking sleepily after the man who just kissed you like he's never gonna stop loving you. Who's making you waffles like it's a Tuesday night chore. Who laughs when you're hungry and looks at you like you're magic.

He comes back with your plate in one hand, the two iced teas in the other, and somehow manages not to spill or drop anything as he sets them down on the coffee table like the multitasking king he is. Then he plops down next to you with a little grunt—legs wide, arm slung over the back of the couch, and that tired but content little sigh he always lets out after sex. Without a word, he grabs the remote, turns to you with a smirk, and holds it out.

You glare dramatically, snatch it from his hand like the petty gremlin you are, and stick your tongue out at him as you immediately start scrolling. You don't even realize you're doing it, how your tongue pokes out, just a little, totally unconsciously while your tired eyes flick from one show to the next. But Roy notices. Oh, he notices. And he has to physically stop himself from losing it laughing right then and there.

Instead, he just watches you with that stupid soft smile on his face, the kind that makes his chest ache because God, he loves you. Loves every messy, sleepy, grumpy, ridiculous inch of you.

He picks up the fork, slices a perfect bite of waffle—chocolate chips gooey and warm, a little drizzle of syrup pooled at the bottom of the plate—and holds it up to your mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world.

And without even glancing away from the TV, you open your mouth automatically like a sleepy little bird.

"Jesus," he mumbles under his breath, smiling so wide it hurts, "you're gonna kill me one day."

You hum around the bite, clearly pleased, finally landing on some absolute garbage show neither of you will admit you've seen three times already, and settle deeper into the couch with a sleepy little sigh.

He feeds you slow—one bite for you, then one for him—back and forth like that until the plate is wiped clean and both iced teas are half empty on the table. You almost doze off between bites a couple times, chewing with your eyes closed, tongue poking out when you concentrate on chewing like you're solving a math problem instead of just eating a waffle. And Roy? Roy is fucking gone.

Three hours later, you're half sprawled across him, heavy limbed and warm. The blanket you love is tangled around your legs, your cheek is pressed against his chest, one arm tucked under your chin like a pillow, the other resting limp across his waist. You're watching a movie you've seen at least twenty times, mumbling the lines like you're trying to mouth along but you're too sleepy to even finish a sentence.

Roy's got one hand rubbing slow circles up and down your back. The other is loosely curled around your thigh, his thumb dragging little patterns on your bare skin.

But he's not watching the movie. Not really.

He keeps thinking about earlier. The car. The rain. The mess you made of each other. The way you came all over him, how he couldn't get enough of you, how you looked riding his dick—drunk off it, needy, desperate, beautiful. And the shit he said.

Slut.

It slipped out in the heat of it, rough and raw, and you didn't flinch, didn't even blink, just moaned like it lit a fuse inside you. But still, Roy's never been big on that word, not with you. He's always leaned more toward pretty thing, baby, sweet girl, even when he's balls deep and wrecking you, it's usually good girl, that's it, take it.

But that? That was something else. Something filthier. And he can't help but replay it in his head, brow furrowed slightly as he stares at the TV, not really seeing it. He shifts a little under you, brushing his fingers through your hair gently.

"Trouble?"

No response. For a second, he figures you're out cold, knocked out by food, orgasms, and the warm house. He's about to let it go until you hum sleepily, barely lifting your head, chin propped on his chest, eyes squinty and confused like you weren't totally sure you heard him.

"Hmmm?"

He exhales softly, tangling his hand in your hair like it grounds him. "You sure you're okay?" he asks, voice lower than usual. "After... y'know, the car and—"

You giggle. Like a soft, syrupy little giggle as you nuzzle into his jaw and kiss him there, warm lips brushing against stubble.

"Okay? That was so fucking hot, baby."

Roy chokes on his own breath. "Jesus Christ."

You grin at him, teeth and all, and purr, "We have to do that again."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, half groan, half laugh, and looks at you like you've lost your mind.

"I hope you're not talkin' about the car sex."

You widen your eyes like of course you are not talking about the car sex.

"I'm talking about all of it," you say, cocky as hell, like you weren't just bouncing in his lap a few hours ago.

He blinks at you for a second, still rubbing your back, still unsure how you manage to short circuit him like this, and then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"So... you're not upset I called you a slut?"

Your eyes flutter closed, your lips curve, and you shake your head slow. "Upset?" you mumble, already halfway back to sleepytown. "I loved it."

You don't last much longer after that. A few more minutes of pretending to follow the movie, a few little content hums, the occasional sleepy blink that lasts way too long and then your body just gives. All soft limbs and boneless weight, melting fully against him like you belong there—because you do. Your head tucks into the curve of his neck, cheek smooshed against his collarbone, one arm looped around his middle.

You're out cold within seconds. When Roy glances down, you're already breathing deep, little puffs of air against his skin. Your mouth is parted just slightly, a smidge of drool threatening to spill from the corner, and your hand twitches once on his shirt before going still.

Then you snore, just loud enough to make him snort. He shakes his head, but his smile is fucking huge, soft and crooked as he brushes a few strands of hair from your damp forehead. You cling to him tighter in your sleep, snuggling impossibly closer, leg thrown over his thigh like you're trying to fuse into him, like your body has got a homing signal for his.

He exhales slowly through his nose, kisses your temple, and lets his head rest back on the couch.

"Jesus," he mutters under his breath. "I called you a slut and you fuckin' loved it."

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head again like he still can't believe it, still trying to wrap his brain around the whole night but yeah, that definitely happened.

And yeah, it's definitely happening again.

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