#but he barely knows the touch of your hand

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x shy!fem!reader

Summary: While previously being close friends, after your fourth year you distance yourself from James and he doesn't understand why.

Genre: Fluff with hurt and comfort <3

Warnings: slut shaming, reader has a sexual rumor spread about her, protective!James, gross teenage boys, attempted sexual harassment (non-consentual touching), reader is justifyingly emotional

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

James likes you. He's always liked you. You are kind, albeit a bit shy, but James doesn't mind. He'd spent all of first year simply watching you. He didn't mean for it to be creepy and he did his best to go unnoticed as he watched you feed the animals near the Forbidden Forest. Or when he paid attention to where you liked to sit in the library and what books you read. 

When second year came around, he joined Quidditch half in hopes to see you in the stand. You never came. 

In third year, his confidence grew and he started actually talking to you. You were quiet but you didn't seem to mind whenever he'd walk you back to the dorms, or when he helped you study for your Potions exams. You'd smile at him so pretty James was positive he left every conversation with the deepest blush.

By fourth year, you changed and you didn't seem to like the compliments he'd give you anymore and James couldn't understand why. "If you think a girl is pretty, you should tell her, Jamsie." James took his mother's words very seriously, but the more he complimented you—the more distant you became. 

By the end of fourth year, Sirius and Remus warned him he should just leave you alone, but James was stubborn. and hecouldn't understand why you didn't like the compliments. 

He really meant them after all.

"I don't understand," he groans one evening, laying on his bed, his legs thrown against the wall, his hair falling over the edge of the bed, as he plays with the maroon curtains of his dorm room canopy bed. Sirius and Remus are standing over him, looking unamused. 

"Just leave the poor girl alone," Remus says.

"It's been almost three years now, Prongs," Sirius leans down, his black hair falling over his cheeks as he looks into James's pitiful eyes. "You should just move on. I heard from Alice that Lily Evans has her eye on you now."

"Who?" James mutters, barely listening. 

"Y'know, the pretty red-head from our year?"

James shakes his head and sits up, flopping onto his back as he presses his palms into his eyes. "I don't care about anyone but her," he says, "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong."

"Overwhelming her?" Remus deadpans. 

"Being a stalker?" Sirius adds, resting a hand on his hip as he sends Remus a knowing look and the latter sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

James groans and sits up, his eyes lighting up. "There is the Quidditch finals today, do you think she'll come?" He asks, sounding hopeful. You've never once come to any games. Sirius and Remus shake their heads, knowing the answer is most likely a no and James's expression falls.

* * *

"She came," Peter points to the crowd. He's sitting next to Sirius and Remus as they watch you navigate the stands. Sirius, who had previously been sulking because he couldn't play because of his injury, grins and nods, looking out at the pitch to see if James has noticed you.  

"James is gonna freak," Sirius laughs. 

"She isn't here for him, Pads," Remus nudges Sirius's shoulder and Peter's expression sours. 

"She's with Raven Griffins," the boy says, a disgusted look crossing over his features. "What is she doing with that arsehole?"

Sitting a few students away, you're very uncomfortable. You keep nervously fiddling with the hem of your skirt. You suddenly wish you hadn't come. The only reason you'd said yes to this date was because Griffins was one of the only boys who'd seemed genuinely interested in you. He spoke to you normally, with no ulterior motives and no mocking tone. He was smart and handsome and he seemed genuinely interested. Still, you want to disappear. The game hadn't even started and it was already much too loud. Plus, Griffins had seen some of his friends and now this date didn't feel like a date anymore anyways.

Once the game begins, students stand and cheer and you're jostled to your feet with everyone else. You bite your lip, holding your breath as you focus on the way your nails dig into your palm to ground yourself. You've never liked crowds. 

"Raven?" you whisper, turning to the boy. He shifts his gaze towards you, only grinning as he wraps his arm around you and squeezes your hips. You frown, a shiver running up your spine as his touch feels wrong. 

You shimmy from his grasp and Raven frowns. You can barely hear him over the cheering but as he grabs your arm, fingers digging into your flesh. It seems like he laughs, eyes gleaming with malice as he turns to his friend and says: "Bloody hell, I knew she was easy, but I didn't think she would be this easy. Clearly wants me bad, mate," he laughs. It feels like a bucket of cold water has just been splashed all over you and you tear your arm from him.

You spin around, pushing students to find the quickest exit. Your eyes burn. 

How could you have been so foolish to think this would have gone any differently? 

Tears blur your vision and you run down the stairs to the path around the school. The gravel crackles under your shiny leather shoes. You can't be here anymore. You should have never come. You're in such a rush you don't hear someone call your name until a strong hand grips your wrist and you spin around, almost crashing into the person's chest. You're standing just outside the Quidditch pitch now, the cheers less violent as you focus on the person in front of you.

"James?" 

James is holding his broom in one hand and the other falls from your wrist. He's panting, sweat gathering at his hairline and making his already curly hair even curlier. You can see dirt staining his cheek from what you assume was a harsh landing from his brook and behind the nasty bruise on his cheekbone, his cheeks are tinted crimson and he coughs, leaning forward. 

Did he run here? 

"What happened?" James mutters, clearing his throat as he looks up at you again. "I saw you and Griffins in the crowd and it seemed like he upset you. What did he do?" James spits Griffins name with venom and his usually kind eyes turn dark.

You're shocked, your breaths coming out raspy. Did he follow you here? You back away from him, catching your breath along with him.

"You're missing your game," you whisper. If there is anything you remember from your friendship with James Potter, it's his love of Quidditch. You look at him, realizing it's been almost three years since you'd spoken to him properly.

After what happened, you'd distanced yourself from him. He was just too much at the time—his kind words only made the situation worse. Your heart clenches and you lower your gaze. "Don't miss Quidditch because of me," you add, tears forming on your eyelashes. 

James sees them and he panics. "Did Griffins make you cry?!" He's angry and he drops his broom and rushes up to you. 

You flinch when he cups your cheeks in his hands and you push him away. 

"I'm sorry," James says. His eyes look sad and it breaks you. You cover your mouth, realizing you can't stop the tears anymore. You can't even speak. All you can do is cry into your hand, muffling the sobs as Griffins words repeat in your head;

I knew she was easy, but I didn't think she was this easy.

You choke on a sob and tense when you feel someone's arms hesitantly wrap around you. James hugs you, his chin resting on your head and you break some more. You don't pull away and instead, you wrap your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform. His hand smoothes over your hair and he feels like crying as well. You're hurt. You're hurt so badly you've broken down in front of him and he doesn't understand why. 

"I'm sorry I disappeared," you mutter, all your emotions crashing over you. "You were my f-friend and I- I ignored you."

James frowns, holding you tighter. "Is that what this is about?" he asks softly. "I'm not upset with you. I missed you, yeah. But I'm definitely not mad," he pauses and lifts his head, stroking strands of hair from your face. He looks serious. "Can you tell me what happened? Why are you so sad?"

You look confused and you tilt your head in question. "You don't know?"

James frowns. "Am I supposed to?" 

You don't believe him. James and his friends are some of the most popular boys in your year. In the school even. There is absolutely no way they didn't hear the rumor. Everyone had. That's why you'd avoided James until now. You couldn't face him after what everyone was saying. It was too cruel.

You let out a weary breath. "The rumor—about me? H-how I lost my virginity in fourth year, with some boys from sixth year–? You– you haven't heard it?"

James's blood runs cold. That was you? Of course, he'd heard the rumor but he wasn't one for that type of gossip. He didn't care who the girl was because honestly? He didn't believe the rumor. He didn't even entertain the thought—it had seemed so ludicrous to him. His heart breaks now that he knows it had been you that the rumor surrounded. 

"You stopped being my friend because of a rumor?"

"You don't believe it?"

James laughs. "Believe it? I never did, and now I believe it even less because it's you." James holds your chin, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "Why didn't you come to me? I could have helped you. You didn't have to go through this all alone," he whispers sadly. 

You look at him, feeling overwhelmed all over again. "I- I thought you knew—"

He shakes his head, his expression stern. "Why would you think that?"

You chew on your lower lip, avoiding his gaze now. The words suddenly feel too embarrassing for you to admit out loud. But you can't avoid them now. You're stuck. "Well, you started to compliment me more. You would call me pretty and all that and I- with the rumor going around I assumed y-you just wanted me to sleep with you. It feels so stupid to say now, but you weren't the first boy to see me like that and I didn't know what to think. I just had to distance myself from you and all your sweet words. I'm sorry."

James's heart sinks and he feels sick. "You assumed I was being ingenuine?" He sees the panic behind your eyes and he feels bad. He doesn't mean to interrogate you. He isn't upset that you assumed he was just like all the others, he's more upset that you'd kept this feeling for three years. 

He holds you closer, still stroking your cheek as he keeps his breathing steady. You're so beautiful and he wants nothing more than to tell you. But he knows it isn't the time. "I'm sorry you've had shitty experiences with arseholes in the past, and judging by how upset you seemed, Griffins seems to have been one of them," he says, any angry look passing across his features again.

He lets out a breath and continues, "I promise you, I didn't know and I didn't compliment you with any ulterior motives. I just, well, I thought you looked pretty and you deserved to know it."

Your heart melts as you look at him and the walls you'd built start to crumble. You look at James and he looks like the same boy you knew three years ago. 

He looks at you the same way as if nothing had changed and you hadn't abandoned him over something so stupid. You strain a small smile, looking a little bashful. "You've always been too kind, James Potter." 

James shakes his head. "You deserve it and more," he whispers. He sounds sincere and still shame bubbles in your stomach. 

"Your game—"

"Can wait," James walks closer, his hand inching towards you as he delicately brushes his pinky with yours. "You're more important."

You feel like you're floating. 

"There's no need to feel alone anymore," he adds, smiling. "I'm here with you."

You could faint. 

"Now, what suitable punishment do you think Griffins deserves?" A familiar smirk graces James's features and he pauses for a moment before he muses darkly, "I know a potion that can cause hair loss—permanently. Or blistering acne?" he sends you a wink. 

You laugh, tracing his palm with your finger. You don't say a word and instead, you walk into his arm and hug him again. James is surprised for a moment until he relaxes into your touch. He inhales, smelling your shampoo and he smiles. He's really missed this. 

For the first time, James doesn't care that he's missing the most important of the season. He doesn't care how angry his teammates will be or how disappointed McGonagall will be with him. He'll deal with the consequences later. All that matters now is you in his arms. 

He's determined not to let you slip from his grasp again.  

[0bticeo]

mark grayson | takeout misshap

summary: mark stumbles in, looking wrecked—bruised, bloody, barely holding himself up—but guess what? he still has a takeout bag. the paper’s stained red, but he just grins like an idiot and goes: "still hot." priorities.

(requested by one lovely anon <3)

tw: none! diabetes inducing amounts of fluff, mark gets all the hugs and kisses he needs for the traumatic shit he's been through, blood and bruises, mention of invincible events but no spoilers (also ik there's only two variants in the wasteland dimension but. but viltrumite mark survived bc he's my bby)

you love mark grayson. from the bottom of your heart, to the moon and back, through hell and back. you love watching him geek out about the new seance dog episode, because you don’t understand , they perfectly adapted this one bit from the comics, and the VA’s performance made it sooo much better. you love watching the small crease of his brows when he focuses on his algebra homework. for all his complaining, he’s a good student. 

you love invincible. you love watching mark suit up, coming up to him and adjusting his mask for him as his hands rest on your waist. you love watching him take off, flying away like it’s the most natural thing. and it is. he’s told you, fingers stroking your hair, that to viltrumites, it was like breathing. 

“i wish i could fly sometimes,” you had whispered, craning your head to look up at him. 

a soft peck on your forehead, on your eyelids - left, right. on your nose.

“i can take you flying, if you want.”

you had smiled.

“yeah. i’d like that.”

it was easier, back then. when all you had to worry about was making it into college. three years later and you’re both twenty-one, with the weight of the world on mark’s shoulders. viltrumites are wolves. no sheep’s clothing needed to hide themselves - nolan grayson had been a predator through and through, his glacier blue eyes cold enough to cut you down to your marrow. 

you’re lucky you’re still alive and breathing. you’re lucky you get to see mark come home to you, bloodied, broken, bruised, but alive . it’s messy, sometimes. there’s blood on the carpet, stains ingrained in the fabric, unwilling to leave. there’s exhaustion. frustration on both your parts - you want. you want to enjoy a lazy morning in your boyfriend’s arms without that bastard cecil stedman’s call ripping him away from you. he wants to be there for you. that’s why you both rent a small little flat - hero work had him dropping out of college, and he couldn’t bear to watch you deal with it alone.

so you make it work. it’s not perfect, it’s messy - mark’s eyes are growing sadder and sadder, bags deepening under his eyes until he breaks down under the weight of it all. 

(he came to you. after thraxa. after levy. after his variants. after conquest. he came to you, bloodied, half-mad with grief, a feral dog seeking its master’s tender touch. you’re no master of his, but your hands are the gentlest things he knows, so he buried himself in your arms and let himself break , knowing you’d pull him back together.)

you make it work. 

doesn’t mean you’re still not eyeing the clock, frowning a little. you’ve rummaged around in your closet until you found the outfit, changed said outfit because it was too much for a date at that small, homey italian restaurant that mark organised, then changed it back because it was too casual. you are not spending your three year anniversary in your hoodie. well, mark’s hoodie. finders keepers.

so here you are, pacing back and forth in your living room under the watchful, curious gaze of nero, one feline eye half-opened on the couch. an hour passes. two. you settle on the couch and run your fingers through nero’s fur, the cat purring as he settles on your lap. three hours and all restaurants are closed. three am stares you straight in the eyes, the clock on the wall ticking away minute after unforgiving minute.

mark is late. 

you’re not mad at him - dammit, he’s a superhero. that’s his job, and you’re proud of him for it. you are mad at cecil for not allowing him to rest after sending him on four back to back missions in a week right after he almost got stranded in a sordid wasteland dimension with three of his other variants.

a rasp at the window. 

you jump on your feet, immediately dashing to the window to open it. in stumbles mark. blue and yellow suit in shreds, bloodied, bruised, one broken arm hanging limply at his side, two teeth missing, the plexiglas of his broken goggles having dug in his skin, a small shard embedded under his eyelid. 

in his free arm, takeout. 

the bag’s stained red from the blood coating his hand, slowly seeping into the brown paper.

he looks at you with a little smile - a little hiss escaping him when his split, swollen lips stretch painfully.

“hey,” he croaks, floating towards you, feet brushing the ground. “happy three years to us.”

then, after looking at the bag:

“still hot.”

you sigh fondly, cupping his face, watching as he melts into you, nose brushing yours. priorities. gently, you manage to dig out the small plexiglas fragment, earning a mournful sigh from him.

“m’sorry, m’staining the carpet again.”

“fuck the carpet.” you gently peck the spot under his ear, the only patch of skin left unbruised. “i’m just glad you’re alive.”

“mm. managed to snatch take-out at the italian before it closed. ordered your favourite.”

“aw, baby… you’re an angel.” 

you peck his nose, lips a soft breeze over the crooked slope of it, taking the bag from him and setting it on the coffee table. nero purrs, tail rubbing over mark’s calf. mark is watching you, mask in hand, gaze soft. he makes a move to drape himself over you and stop, wordlessly looking at you, big brown eyes imploring.

“don’t wanna mess up your outfit.”

your heart melts .

“fuck my shirt. c'mere.”

your fingers close on his valid arm and you pull him towards you, giggling as he effortlessly slides in the air. mark thinks he’s never seen you look this beautiful, eyes sleep-soft, love pouring out of your heart straight to his. you’re happy, he realises. happy that he gets to come home to you. to come home at all. 

he drapes himself over you, chest to your back, still careful not to put blood on your shirt- oh , you’re pulling him closer, craning up your neck so your cheek brushes against his. his hand rests on your waist, fingers hesitantly laying on the silk of your shirt until you press your hand against his, until he feels the warmth of you blooming under his palm like his blood on your shirt.

“love you,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

“love you too, baby.”

you feel him against you, body relaxing, melting into you as you pull out the clothes he’s laid out for himself before heading out, six hours ago - black slacks, black shirt. he eyes his limp arm, his shattered knee, and bite back a groan, forehead pressed to your nape, sweat-slick hair brushing the sensitive skin. not having both hands for that will suck. unless-

“look inside the pocket,” he mumbles.

you hum, intrigued, and comply, reaching for his pocket - you freeze when your fingertips brush the corner of something small. 

you pull out a small velvet box, eyes wide. 

“mark?”

he smiles, reaching out from behind you to open it, taking advantage of you holding it. 

“yeah.”

gently, he takes the box from you and floats in front of you, half-kneeling, smile bloodied and unbearably soft.

“marry me?”

you think you’re crying. you might have tackled mark into a hug, then profusely apologized as you effectively crushed his bruised ribs. nero meows, confused.

“yeah. yeah, mark.” you kiss him. "i wanna marry you."

tagging: @tokoyamisstuff @gaiasmight

[little-jana]

"Pillow Talk"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: post-smut, domestic intimacy, kissing, pillow talk, mentions of being naked, no smut

Words: 1k

Summary: After a passionate night together, you wake up wrapped in Spencer’s warmth.

The first thing you noticed was warmth.

Spencer’s warmth.

It surrounded you, wrapped around you like a cocoon, his body flush against yours beneath the tangle of sheets. His arm was slung low around your waist, fingers resting lazily against the dip of your stomach, his bare chest pressed to your back, his breath fanning softly against your neck.

It was a kind of warmth you could sink into.

A warmth that, if you let it, could make you never want to leave this bed again.

Last night.

The memory flickered through your mind, heat blooming in your chest.

It had been slow. Unrushed. Like time had stopped just for the two of you. Spencer had touched you like he was memorizing every inch of your skin, had kissed you like he was tracing poetry with his lips.

And now, in the early light of morning, that same warmth still lingered between you.

You exhaled softly, shifting slightly against him. The movement made Spencer stir, his grip tightening, pulling you just a little closer.

A low hum rumbled in his chest, sleep still thick in his voice. “You’re awake?”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look at him. His hair was a mess, curls wild and untamed from sleep, his face softer than usual, a sleepy haze still clinging to his eyes.

You resisted the urge to run your fingers through his curls. Barely.

“Mm,” you hummed. “I am now.”

Spencer let out a slow breath, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder, pressing a lazy, half-conscious kiss to your skin. “You should go back to sleep,” he murmured. “It’s early.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t even know what time it is.”

Spencer sighed, barely opening his eyes. “Based on the angle of the light, I’d say somewhere around 7:00 AM.”

You snorted. “Nerd.”

His lips quirked against your skin. “You like that I’m a nerd.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, his hand splaying lazily across your stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin.

Then—

“Last night was…” Spencer’s voice trailed off slightly, searching for the right words.

You turned in his arms to face him, raising an eyebrow. “What? You gonna say it was ‘statistically significant’?”

Spencer huffed out a sleepy laugh, shaking his head. “No.” His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. “It was perfect.”

Your heart fluttered.

The sincerity in his voice made something warm settle in your chest, a quiet kind of happiness filling every inch of you.

You smiled, reaching up to trace your fingers along his jaw. “Yeah,” you murmured. “It was.”

Spencer’s gaze softened, his eyes flickering between yours before trailing lower, down to your lips.

You knew that look.

Your stomach flipped.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was different from last night—not filled with urgency or need, but something sweeter. Something deeper.

Like he was savoring the moment.

When he pulled back, he was smiling.

“You’re soft in the mornings,” you teased, tracing a finger across his collarbone.

Spencer smirked. “You weren’t saying that last night.”

Your face burned.

You let out a scandalized gasp, swatting at his chest. “Spencer!”

He just laughed, catching your wrist with ease and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, his lips lingering against your pulse.

The intimacy of it made your breath hitch.

Spencer’s gaze flickered up to meet yours, something unreadable in his expression.

“I like this,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Like what?”

He shifted, pulling you closer so you were completely wrapped in him, tangled in warmth, in him. “Waking up with you,” he admitted. “Having you in my arms.”

You felt your heart skip a beat.

“Spence…” you whispered, your fingers curling around the fabric of the sheets.

Spencer sighed, his voice soft. “I mean it.”

You tucked your head against his chest, your cheeks burning, overwhelmed by how much you felt.

“I like it too,” you admitted. “More than I should.”

Spencer smiled against your hair.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just lying there, wrapped in each other, letting the morning stretch out between you.

Eventually, Spencer sighed dramatically.

“Unfortunately, the laws of time and societal obligations make staying in bed forever impossible.”

You groaned. “I hate the laws of time and societal obligations.”

Spencer grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead. “Me too.”

And for a little while longer, neither of you moved.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

☆ cw. nsfw hcs, fem!reader, rough s*x, oral s*x, fingering, public sexual acts, praise kink, pet names, power play & creampie. mdni.

ROCKSTAR!MYDEI WHO… Plays his guitar like he fucks—rough, fast, and full of showmanship. Fingers flying over the strings, teasing out the filthiest riffs, the same way he drags them over your tits, your clit, your dripping pussy when he finally gets you alone after a show. Every performance is like a promise, a warning—he’s gonna ruin you.

ROCKSTAR!MYDEI WHO… Knows exactly what he’s doing when he winks at you from the stage. He sees the way your thighs press together, how your fingers curl around the VIP pass like it’s holy. When he pulls the mic close, voice all low and teasing, “You wanna scream my name, sweetheart? Go on, don’t be shy,” he swears he sees your breath hitch.

ROCKSTAR!MYDEI WHO…Gets off on knowing you’re a desperate little fan girl. You’re in his merch, tits barely covered by his oversized band tee, lip gloss smeared from sucking on your fingers like you’re imagining it’s his cock. You’re already so dumb for him, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

ROCKSTAR!MYDEI WHO…Pulls you backstage and makes you ride him still sweaty from the show. You barely get a breath before he’s got you in his lap, panties shoved to the side, your pussy stretching around his cock as he groans into your neck. “This what you wanted, pretty? My biggest fan, finally getting her reward?”

ROCKSTAR!MYDEI WHO… Loves when you beg for an encore. “Too dumb to tap out, huh? Just wanna be my pretty girl?” He pins you to the couch, wrists caught in one hand, and fucks you slow, deep, making you whimper like one of his ballads. You’re so cock-drunk, barely able to do more than moan, nod, let him use you.

ROCKSTAR!MYDEI WHO…Has you sit between his legs while he practices, playing with your tits absentmindedly. His guitar hums against your body while his fingers pluck at your nipples, twisting them until you’re whimpering, legs kicking. “Shh, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me finish my set.” But you’re soaking through your panties, and he’s grinning, because he loves making you squirm.

ROCKSTAR!MYDEI WHO…Writes filthy love songs that are just for you. You hear them first, late at night, when he’s got you under him, thighs shaking, his cock filling you up so good. “This one’s about my girl,” he murmurs, fingers pressing against your clit, strumming you like his favorite riff. And then he’s making you sing it, gasping his name like it’s the only lyric you know.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[unintentionalseductress]

Spring Break

“Stop squirming I know you missed me.” 

Caleb’s low purr resounds in your ear and you whimper as you struggle to keep quiet, his fingers stroking soft circles on your puffy clit. 

“Should’ve known this is the real reason you’re always asking me to come home. Do you not touch yourself when we’re apart?” You’re trapped under Caleb’s weight, his body pinning you firmly, one hand sinking into the plush fat of your thigh as he holds you open. 

You hide your face into the pillow as a moan escapes you and Caleb chuckles. He sinks a finger into your fluttering hole and you gasp, your desperate little cry noisily filling the room.

“Ssh. Do you want Gran to hear you?” His voice is so wickedly taunting as he continues the gentle assault on your clit. You whimper, trying so hard to stay in control but it was difficult with him touching you so perfectly. 

“Ah, look at how you’re squeezing me. So wet.” Caleb withdraws his finger and a trail of sticky slick comes with his finger, connecting to your cunt. He coats your clit with it and gives the nub a pinch which has you bucking, your round ass pressing into his cock.

“Good. Looks like I haven’t forgotten how you like it. Admit it pipsqueak, you prefer it when I touch you, don’t you?” 

Your poor brain, heavy with need and sexual fog, can barely understand his words anymore. Every inch of you tingled and all you wanted was to be impaled on his cock. You nod breathlessly then let out another moan. Caleb shifts his arm so it partially goes between your parted lips. You bite down and he growls in satisfaction.

“That’s it. Bite me. Mark me as your own.” His flesh now muffles your voice, and you focus on the rising pleasure in your clit, Caleb’s stimulating words only turning you on even more.

“So wet even before I took your panties off. Are you my good little slut?” You groan as he smoothly sinks two fingers back into your cunt with a moist squelch. “Oh, not just good. Perfect little slut.” He nips your ear as his fingers start to curl up into that patch of nerves deep inside you and you swear you can feel yourself going cross-eyed at the sensation. 

“My good little mouse. Cum for me please?” The sweet way Caleb asks you nearly shuts down the rest of your senses. The urgency built deep within your quivering core and indeed, your brain was close to shutting down, following his words to the edge. Your teeth sink into the sinew of his forearm as his fingers finally give you the release you’d been waiting for and it stifles your moans of ecstasy as the continuous ripples of delight wrack your system. Your pussy clenches around his thick fingers as more of your arousal spills onto them. 

“Amazing.” He pats your clit before pulling out his fingers, sucking them clean of your slick. “Cumming on command…proving you really are mine.” You sigh, feeling your head come back down from the dizzy spiral it had been on before Caleb spoons you, and slips into your wet cunt slowly. 

The push of his thick mushroom head entering into you has you squeezing your eyes closed from the pleasure, the way he filled your channel with his velvety heat causing your voice to quaver. His arms lock around you as he starts to thrust, his hips smacking into your ass with each stroke. 

“Did you miss me? No one around to make this pussy feel good at college?” He asks into your ear as he moves. You let out a little noise before responding. 

“No.”

Caleb chuckles, the noise of your wet reunion squelching lewdly into the room. “No one can make you feel as good as me huh?” He palms your breasts as he huffs into the back of your neck. Your eyes flutter closed as he continues to piston in and out of you. “My sweet little slut. Keeping this pussy nice and wet just for me. You’re such a good girl you know?”

You manage to sigh out a “uh huh” of agreement, his words of praise gently tickling your senses. A laugh escapes him. 

“Oh you’re so fucked out little mouse. Cock feel good?” He gives a series of deep thrusts that have him bottoming out each time and you mewl from the feeling of being stretched to your limit. 

“Fuck…that’s it…keep clenching me like that.” Caleb growls as he feels his balls tightening up, his fingers leaving indents in your skin as he finally orgasms, thick jets of cum painting your womb as he empties himself into you. 

“Filled you up to last a few days. Don’t waste it. Gotta make it last till our next visit.” 

[elysianightsss]

Something something becoming an accidental prostitute for Simon lol.

Hear me out though, you’re at a bar. You’re making out, you’ve had a little too much to drink. Not enough to be completely gone like you’re sure Simon is but enough to be making out with a stranger.

Then you’re back in his truck, he’s practically begging for you to let him fuck you and you say no. You ‘don’t do that type of shit, one night stands and all that’ you say. Simon’s next thing is to beg for a blowjob, you again say no. ‘Part of the boyfriend package’ blah blah blah.

Then Simon delivers his final offer. He is so desperate he offers to pay for a handjob, he cringes after the words come out of his mouth thinking you’d be offended. But to his surprise you say yes. You need the money, and want him to feel good so why the heck not.

And it’s the best damn handjob he’s had in his life.

He drives you home and soon enough after a few days he’s at your door offering more money for another handjob. You feel a little dirty but when his calloused hand slides up your thigh and his hot breath is fluttering on your neck, the feeling fizzles away into something else.

Seeing him come undone with just your touch drives you wild, it becomes increasingly difficult not to do more for him. So when Simon comes over again, this time you kneel in front of him watching as his dark eyes widen when your knees hit the ground.

And just like your handjobs, it’s the best damn blowjob he’s ever had in his life. All sloppy and filthy, not like he imagined but so much better.

You don’t ask for anything but after Simon has kissed you goodbye -(after he’s done begging to let him make you cum)- you turn to find a stack of cash on the coffee table, almost double the amount he’d given for the handjob.

It’s not long after that, that you give in and let him spend hours between your thighs. He even pays you for that, mumbles into your cunt that it’s just as good as your lips around his cock as he ruts his hips into the mattress. You don’t see it until later, long after he’s left, but there is a triple stack of cash on your nightstand.

A day later you receive a text from him saying he’ll be gone for a couple of weeks on work but he can’t wait to see you when he’s back. You feel a strange fluttering sensation in your tummy that makes you feel sick. You thought Simon was the type to hide his feelings and be more stoic and blunt so seeing that message from the hulking giant has your stomach in knots.

It stays that way, you can’t rid the feeling so much so that when he finally shows up at your door you tell him whatever it is between you had to end. It was certainly not the welcome Simon was expecting after dealing with a gruelling mission with nothing but men for weeks on end. He feels something snap in his mind and suddenly he’s throwing you on the bed, gripping your jaw, brown eyes glaring into yours as he speaks, “I’m not goin nowhere sweet’art.”

You ‘fight’ with him blah blah blah but let’s get real you let him finger fuck your pussy until you go cross eyed. You let him fuck you into the mattress until you can barely remember your own name. You let him kiss your neck until the sun starts to rise. And you let him pull your body into his as you both drift off to sleep together.

In the morning you hear the envelope, heavy with weight to it, placed down on your nightstand. Then Simon kisses your forehead and whispers he’ll be back later to take care of you.

Then, the money stops appearing but he’s still fucking you. Soon the rent is paid in cash by an anonymous ‘good samaritan’. And before you know it, you’re waking up with a glittering diamond on your wedding finger and a swollen belly that moves when Simon says I love you.

[moonstruckme]

Mae I have a lil request idea! Can I please get any of the boys with a gf whose inexperienced and she's super stressed about having sex (I just started being open to the idea of dating but I haven't been with anyone in 3+ years and I'm scared/nervous about sex now like what if they hate my body?? Or I suck??)

Thank you for requesting angel <3

cw: smut mdni, body insecurities, reader isn’t a virgin necessarily but is inexperienced

James Potter x afab!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re trying very hard not to think. To get swept up like you’ve heard you’re supposed to, and in fairness James is doing a very fine job of sweeping you. He’s all strong hands and wet mouth moving over the slopes of your face, your neck, your sides. He’s got your shirt off on one side to expose your shoulder, and you think it’s only a matter of time before the rest follows.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles. It’s believable when he sounds like this, almost drunk, like he can’t lift his lips from you for one second to get it out right.

You burrow your fingers in the curls at the back of his head and try to let yourself be swept. Your body reacts in all the right ways. You gasp, you arch, you throb. You feel the muscles of James’ back, let the friction of his knee between your thighs send electric frissions coursing through you. You relish the warmth of every point of contact and tell yourself that all is going perfectly.

It’s not enough. When James undoes your trousers and his fingers brush the fabric of your underwear, your head is all alarm bells.

You try to enjoy yourself through their wailing. It feels nice, the way he’s touching you. But oh god, what if he cares that you didn’t shave? Do adult men want a bare vagina? Or what if James wouldn’t like it bare, but what you have is too much for him? Is there a universally agreed upon pubic hair length you don’t know about?

The rest of your body is a whole other thing. James calls you beautiful, but he hasn’t seen all of you. What if he takes your clothes off and he doesn’t think so anymore? You know he’d never say anything cruel, but he’s still human, he can think it.

You don’t know what you’re doing. There are so many ways this could go wrong. Even if he’s fine with your body, you could still be too boring or try too hard or be too loud or too quiet or not move right. You could break his dick. There’s no way he’ll want to see you again after that. Not even James could be that forgiving. What if you mess all this up because of one stupid night?

Your heart pounds to the beat of what-if, louder and more insistent until you can’t take it.

“James.” You set a hand on his chest.

He makes a low sound, misinterpreting your hesitance as encouragement. His lips part over your shoulder, fingers teasing the elastic of your underwear. Your breath seizes.

“James.” You push a little this time. James takes the hint immediately, pulling back to look at you.

“Hm?” He blinks. You know his vision must be fuzzy, his glasses on the nightstand, but whatever he can see of your face makes his brows pull in and up in the middle of his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t shave,” you say.

James’ expression relaxes. For a second he looks like he might laugh at you, but presumably your obvious distress keeps him from it. “Okay,” he says, moving his hand a couple inches up from your underwear to run it over your stomach soothingly. “That’s fine, love, I don’t care. I’m a grown-up, I don’t need you to pretend you don’t grow hair.”

This comforts you, but only some.

“I just feel like I need to give you some disclaimers.”

Now James does laugh. It’s just a little one, soft, the way sunlight dapples through the shade of a tree canopy. “You don’t need to disclaim anything.” He kisses you, curved lips against your frowny ones. “But lay it on me, if you want to.”

“I just…” He keeps kissing you, and you speak in between. “Your pasta was really good, but I’m sort of bloated now.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I also don’t have any, like, moves.”

It’s almost a giggle, the thing that vibrates against your lips. “Moves?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly well versed in all this. I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Sweetheart.” James says it all warm and heavy, the sort of tone that usually portends him squishing your face in his hands. This time, he only kisses the tip of your nose with sticky fondness. “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to keep going, but none of these are things you need to worry about.”

You touch his wrist, stopping his hand rubbing your stomach. It sits patiently just below your navel.

“I don’t know what to do,” you say, earnest in the way James always manages to draw out of you. “I need a manual. What’s my job?”

“I promise you won’t need a manual,” he says, kissing you again. “Lovely, your only job is to feel good.”

You frown. “That seems sexist.”

“What?” He laughs. “It’s not sexist.”

“It’s not? You have a job and I don’t. Feels sexist to me.”

“I just told you, your job is to feel good. And it’s not sexist.” James’ mouth moves down to your neck. “It’s a beginner’s pass.”

You swallow as he finds a favored spot below your ear. “I just get that this once, then?”

James pauses for a moment. “Well, there’s also the I’m-in-love-with-you pass.”

“Oh?” Your voice is turning breathy. “What’s that one mean?”

“It means you get to do whatever you want, sweetheart.” He kisses that same spot over and over until you think you’ll go mad. “I’ll love it no matter what, because I love you.”

You give in with a soft whimpering sound. James hugs you close like he means to comfort you, and you take your trousers the rest of the way off yourself.

There are no holds barred after that. You let James put his hands or his mouth wherever he likes, and each time he checks in that something is okay you barely have the air to tell him yes. It feels different than you were expecting, different than anyone else in your history or imaginings, hot but gentle and good in a way that transcends what you thought the word to mean before.

James does get your clothes off, eventually, but you’re not alone in that regard. Being vulnerable with him feels more privileged than frightening then. You can’t believe you ever worried that these hands would find fault in you. You’ve never wanted anyone to touch you so badly as you want James to.

“I love you,” you murmur, against his chest, his cheek, into the hollow of his throat.

James says it back a dozen times. When he calls you beautiful, you know he means it.

[landoughnut]

Green Light, Red Flag

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - max verstappen x fem!reader

♡ summary - max likes you, but it takes the strong feeling of jealousy to admit it

♡ warnings - jealous max, angry-ish love confession, fluff

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.1k | du du du du

"To Super Max!"

The cheer echoes through the private room of the Monaco nightclub as champagne flows freely. Another win, another celebration, and you can't help but smile as you watch Max try (and fail) to dodge the shower of bubbles from his teammates.

"Honestly, you'd think they'd be tired of spraying champagne after the podium," you mutter to your friend, Hannah, who's watching the chaos with amusement.

"Bold of you to assume they ever get tired of it," she laughs.

You've been part of the Red Bull team's PR department long enough to know she's right. Your eyes drift back to Max, who's now arguing with Checo about something, gesturing wildly with his hands the way he does when he's excited. His face is flushed from the champagne and victory, hair still messed up from his helmet, and you ignore the familiar flutter in your stomach when he catches your eye across the room.

"Oi!" He calls out, making his way over. "Why aren't you celebrating properly?"

You raise your barely-touched glass. "Some of us have to work tomorrow, Verstappen."

"Tomorrow's problem," he says, dropping into the seat next to you. His shoulder brushes yours, and you pretend not to notice. "Today we celebrate."

"You mean you celebrate. I just watch you lot make fools of yourselves."

He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm wounded. Here I am, trying to include you in my moment of glory—"

"Your fifteenth moment of glory this season," you correct.

"—and you're just standing here judging me." But he's grinning, that competitive spark in his eyes that you've come to know so well.

"Someone has to keep your ego in check."

"That's what I keep you around for," he says, and something in his tone makes you look at him sharply, but he's already being called away by Christian for photos.

You watch him go, trying to ignore Hannah's knowing look. "Don't start," you warn her.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it very loudly."

The night progresses in a blur of music and laughter. You're in the middle of a conversation with GP when you feel someone tap your shoulder.

"Excuse me," says a voice you don't recognize. You turn to find a rather handsome man in an expensive suit. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. I'm James."

"Oh, um, hi," you manage, caught off guard by his forward approach.

"I'm with the Mercedes hospitality team," he continues smoothly. "Would you like to dance?"

Before you can respond, you feel a presence behind you – familiar, solid, radiating tension.

"She's busy," Max says flatly.

James raises an eyebrow. "I believe the lady can speak for herself?"

You turn to give Max an exasperated look, but the words die in your throat. You've seen every version of his competitive face – the focused pre-race stare, the triumphant victory grin, the frustrated post-DNF scowl. But this? This is new. His jaw is set, eyes dark with something that looks suspiciously like jealousy.

"Max," you say carefully, "I can handle this."

"Can you?" he snaps, then immediately looks like he regrets it.

James glances between you two, understanding dawning on his face. "Ah, I see. My apologies, I didn't realize—"

"There's nothing to realize," you say quickly, at the same time Max growls, "Yeah, you should apologize."

"I'm just going to..." James gestures vaguely and makes a tactical retreat that would make Toto proud.

You round on Max. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?" He's doing that thing where he pretends to be completely oblivious, which might work on journalists but has never worked on you.

"That whole caveman routine! Since when do you care who I dance with?"

"I don't," he says, but he won't meet your eyes. "I just... don't trust that guy."

"Right, because clearly I can't make that judgment for myself?"

"That's not what I—" He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Can we not do this here?"

You glance around, suddenly aware that several people are trying very hard to pretend they're not watching this exchange. "Fine. Outside. Now."

The Monaco night air is cool against your skin as you step onto the club's terrace. The city glitters below, the same streets Max was racing through just hours ago. He's standing at the railing, knuckles white where he grips it.

"Max," you say softly, "what's really going on?"

He's quiet for so long you think he might not answer. Then: "I don't like seeing you with other guys."

Your heart stutters. "Why?"

"Because!" He turns to face you, and there's that intensity again, the one that makes him such a force on track. "Because every time some guy looks at you like that, I want to... I don't know. Put up a safety car or something."

A laugh bubbles up despite yourself. "Did you just make a racing analogy about your feelings?"

"Shut up," but there's a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Sorry, sorry." You step closer. "Please, continue with your vehicular emotions."

He groans. "This is why I never said anything. You make everything into a joke."

"Says the king of deflection." You're close enough now to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "But if you're being serious... I don't like seeing you with other people either."

His breath catches. "No?"

"No." You reach up to straighten his collar, letting your hand linger. "Kind of ruins my plans to eventually marry you and steal all your trophies."

The tension breaks as he laughs, real and warm, his hands finding your waist. "That's your master plan? Bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Well, I was going to be subtle about it, but then you had to go and get all jealous and dramatic—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, and oh – this is nothing like the Max the world sees. This is soft and sweet and just a little desperate, like he's been holding back for as long as you have. You melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt.

When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "Just so we're clear," he murmurs, "this means you're not dancing with anyone else tonight."

"Possessive much?"

"You like it."

"Maybe." You steal another quick kiss. "But only because you're cute when you're jealous."

"I wasn't jealous," he protests automatically.

"Sure, and you also 'don't care' about breaking Seb's record."

He pinches your side playfully. "You're impossible."

"Yeah," you agree, sliding your arms around his neck. "But I'm your impossible."

His smile – soft and real and just for you – is better than any podium celebration. "Deal."

When you eventually return to the party, hand in hand, no one looks surprised. Checo hands Hannah what looks suspiciously like betting money, GP just rolls his eyes fondly, and Christian mutters something that sounds like "finally" into his drink.

Max doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night, and if he holds you a little closer when James walks past, well – you're not complaining. After all, some victories are worth celebrating more than others.

[neeeooon]

Hello!! May I request, where the reader traces the bllk chars' (Sae, Kaiser, Nagi, Reo, Rin) veiny hands without even noticing it, and they will have this reaction, either curious, shocked, or something? They either be in a relationship or just friends.

Thank you!! I hope you understand my grammar, English is not my first language. This is my first request, I really love your stories!!

thank you for the request!! and your grammar is great! 🩵

when you trace their hand veins

new relationship/friend bllk x clueless!reader. slightly suggestive in sae’s, reo’s, rin’s

itoshi sae

-> your relationship with sae was strictly platonic. yet you despised the thought of going on a date or spending time with someone who wasn’t him, and you had an inkling that he felt the same way about you

-> you’re cooking dinner together and chatting about your days. per routine, you’re in your normal spots: you at the stove, sae leaning against the counters to your left as he preps the food

-> he finished earlier than you, hands resting on the edge of the countertop. while waiting for the water to finish boiling, your hand mindlessly drifts over his arm, tracing the bulging veins from the way he’s leaning

-> your best friend is anything but subtle. “keep touching me like that, i’ll think you wanna be more than just my friend, y/n.” his words startle you at first, but when you look up and catch the way his eyes are deeply trained on you, you can’t help but step closer. “and be what instead, hm?”

michael kaiser

-> kaiser is always telling you how he hates the feel of hands on his skin, and you’ve seen how he flinches away from touch. however, he never complains or moves away when you curl into his side during movie nights

-> you only just started going out, so you’re surprised that he has so much patience and seems so comfortable with you. he told you in the past that you have a calm and inviting energy about you, but you don’t really know why

-> you’re watching an indie film, cuddled into his side without touching his skin too much, when your fingertips graze against his forearm. you don’t think anything of it, too immersed in the film, but kaiser feels your touch everywhere. and he doesn’t pull away

-> when kaiser flips your hand to clasp it and tightly intertwine your fingers, you finally realize what you were doing. “i’m sorry! i didn’t—“ “keep holding my hand..?” at the softness in his ask, they’d have to pry your dead body away to separate you from him

nagi seishiro

-> you and nagi were barely friends, but besides reo, you’re the only person who ever makes an effort to talk to him. his responses are usually short, but he always looks at you as you ramble about your day or a book you’re reading or what you ate for lunch

-> your class is traveling together for a field trip, and you decide to sit next to nagi on the bus. anxious about the trip, you find yourself subconsciously tracing the veins on nagi’s hand, which is pressed on the seat beside your thigh

-> he never says anything, so it takes a while for you to realize what you’re doing. once you do, you panic. “oh gosh, i’m sorry, nagi! that was super creepy of me, i swear i wasn’t doing that on purpose!” “‘s’okay. i don’t mind.”

mikage reo

-> you were waiting at his desk with your textbooks to study when reo returned from the gym. “oh, hey y/n! i forgot we were studying today.” “uh, yeah..!” you couldn’t pull your eyes from his arms if you wanted to. “gimme a sec to shower, and i’ll be right back!”

-> reo’s arms are still angry when he returns, making you feel all sorts of ways for your friend. sure, you’d been “talking” for a little while, but he was still only a friend

-> you’re seated close, forearms practically touching, as reo teaches you about business statistics. you’d never been as focused on market equations as you were with purple hair tickling your shoulder and cheek

-> “um, y/n?” “hm?” you pull your thoughts from how pretty reo is to follow his gaze, which is set on his arm. your fingers on his arm. tracing his veins. you nearly fall out of your chair with how fast you yank your hand away. “i’m sorry! how long was i doing that?!” “maybe fifteen min—“ “sorry, got to go! good night, reo!”

itoshi rin

-> you were curled up on the couch beside your childhood and longest best friend rin, dozing off while watching cartoons with him

-> trying to stay awake, you decided to fidget with your hands, which turned into fidgeting with his hand

-> you’re half asleep and unsure what’s happening. rin can’t turn his head in your direction because he’s afraid you’ll see how warm his face is

-> “pretty arms,” you mumble sleepily when you realize what you’re doing. rin only nods in response, praying you fall asleep before you realize the effect your touch has on your friend

[semiloml]

cw: dry humping, grinding, cumming in pants, messy and whiny kuroo :p reblogs, comments and likes are really appreciated<33

It starts with a kiss.

Deep, slow, teasing.

Kuroo’s lips move against yours like he’s got all the time in the world, like he’s savoring every second of it—until you grind down against him.

And suddenly, he’s got no patience left.

“Fuck—baby,” he groans, hands gripping your waist like he’s trying not to lose control, fingers digging into your hips as you roll against him again. “What the hell are you doin’ to me?”

His voice is thick, breathy, already wrecked. It’s hot.

But it’s even hotter knowing that you’ve barely even touched him yet.

“Tetsu,” you murmur, feigning innocence as you grind down against him, feeling the hard press of his cock straining against his sweats. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

And he is. His breath shudders, his fingers tightening on your hips as his head falls back against the pillows.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “You know exactly what you’re doin’.”

Of course, you do.

Because Kuroo might talk a big game—cocky smirks, lazy teasing, acting like he’s always got the upper hand. But right now?

Right now, he’s a fucking mess.

“Look at you,” you hum, rolling your hips again, making sure to drag yourself slowly along the length of him. “All needy and desperate just from this?”

“Shut up—” His words cut off in a whine when you grind down harder, pressing your full weight against his cock.

Oh. Ohhh

That noise? That little, desperate sound?

You need to hear that again.

“Knew you’d be like this,” you purr, leaning down to nip at his jaw, then his ear. “All talk, but the second I get on top of you, you turn into a pathetic little mess.”

“Baby,” he groans, his hips jerking up against yours, chasing the friction like he can’t help himself. “Holy shit, don’t—don’t say stuff like that—”

But he loves it.

His cock twitches beneath you, and you can feel how badly he needs it, how close he is—his breath hitching, his hands trembling as they grip your hips, his thighs tensing beneath you.

“Gonna cum like this?” you tease, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Without me even touching you?”

“Shit—shit, I—fuck—”

Kuroo’s body tenses beneath you, and then—ohhh, fuck.

You feel it. The way his cock throbs against you, the hot, sticky mess he makes inside his sweats as he gasps through it, his head thrown back, his fingers tightening so hard on your hips you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow.

For a second, the only thing you can hear is his ragged breathing.

Then, finally, he opens his eyes, still hazy, still catching his breath.

And you grin.

“Now, do you think you can handle the real thing?” you hum, rocking your hips just a little, making him whimper at the oversensitivity.

His breath stutters, and you can see the way his body twitches with overstimulation—yet his cock still twitches beneath you, hard again already.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he exhales, voice wrecked.

AUTHORS NOTE: sorry for the short break!! I will work on all my requests now!! thank you all for your great support 🙂‍↕️💞

[mattsstarlet]

a/n: if ur ovulating, this is for u. it’s kinda shitty sorry.

pornstar!matt catches camgirl!reader getting herself off in his bed.

small gasps and puffs of air left your glossy lips as your hips bucked into your hand. your period was coming soon, you knew that by the hormonal changes in your body, always feeling hot and bothered, more so when you were around matt and his spicy wooden cologne.

you couldn’t help yourself from feeling a dull ache between your legs each time his hand grazed your bare thigh as he talked to his friends. hours after hours, you felt your panties drench by the second with your arousal. quietly excusing yourself, you entered matt’s bedroom, immediately flopping onto his bed and pulling your underwear down, shivering at the feeling of your drooling hole.

you plunged your middle finger inside, using the palm of your hand to rub against your clit, your free hand groping your tits through your thin top.

you didn’t know how long you’d been fucking yourself, but it must had been a while for someone to notice your empty presence. matt quietly opened the door to his room, his jaw clenching at the sight of you desperately humping your hand.

“you couldn’t have waited ‘til everyone was gone?” matt broke the silence, forcing you out of your hazy mind and immediately reacting by pulling your hand out, shutting your sticky thighs together.

“i— sorry i just— i couldn’t—“

“couldn’t what?” he interrupted, his shoes thudding on the hardwood floor as he strides over you, a wave of embarrassment crashing over your entire body.

his hand darted out for your chin, lifting it up to catch your gaze. “can’t help you if you won’t tell me, sweetie.” he rasped, leaning down to catch your lips with his in a passionate yet rough kiss.

matt swallowed your whines, his hand leaving your chin and running down your fueling hot body, touching every crook and cranny but the place you needed him the most.

you squirmed, moving and lifting your hips, getting a soft hum from him in return. “what’s gotten into you lately, hm?” he whispered, the bed dipping besides you as he sat down on it, his lips kissing up to your jawline.

“you’ve been so eager, sweetheart.” he forced your thighs open, one of his digits slowly running down your slit, groaning at the feeling of your sticky, wet folds. “shit, baby. you’re drippin’”

“i need it.” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand, rolling your eyes back as his palm came in contact with your sensitive bud. “fuck, just like that.”

“god, candy. y’look so pretty fucking yourself with my hand.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

[killerplink]

SOAKED

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 12,4k

Plot: Jason comes home bruised and sore, and you do what you do best: take care of him. But one thing leads to another, and soon, you're on your knees, making him fall apart, only to have him return the favor tenfold.

CW: established relationship, 18+, mention of blood, oral sex (m + f receiving), deep throating, cum swallowing, rough sex, overstimulation, praise, creampie, aftercare, fluff and a bit of angst

You don't even remember falling asleep. One minute you were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, Jason's hoodie swallowing you whole, and the next, your eyes snap open at the sound of keys jingling just outside the door.

Your heart stumbles over itself as you push up on your elbows, eyes darting to the clock glowing dimly from the wall. 3:26 am.

Not bad. Not great either, but you've seen worse. You rub your face, still heavy with sleep, and the fabric of Jason's hoodie pools around your wrists as you move. It smells like him, sharp leather and gunpowder, something faintly metallic that always clings to his clothes, and underneath all that, the warmth of his skin, like sunshine baked into cotton. You wear it every time he's out late. Sleeping in your bed without him feels wrong—too cold, too empty—so you do this instead, drowning in the closest thing you have to his arms.

Another jingle, then the unmistakable scrape of the deadbolt turning. Your heart gives another sharp little kick, but this time, it's relief flooding in. He's home.

The door swings open, and Jason steps inside. Bloody.

"Fuck."

You're off the couch before you even realize you've moved, bare feet slapping against the floor as you rush to him, wide awake now and already scanning for where he's hurt.

"Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Baby—"

He shushes you softly, reaching up to pull off his Red Hood mask. The metal clatters onto the table beside the door, leaving his hair a mess, damp at the edges with sweat.

"Shhh. It's okay, doll. Not my blood."

Your breath catches, but he says it like it's supposed to make you feel better. It doesn't. If anything, it makes your pulse race harder because something happened, something bad enough to coat his chest in sticky red streaks and leave his shoulders locked up so tight you can see it through his jacket.

His jaw ticks, tension riding every inch of his frame, and you know him well enough to know that he's not gonna talk about it yet. Not until you've pried it out of him or worn him down enough to let him breathe again.

So you step closer, hands skimming over his sides, feeling for injuries anyway. He's solid under your touch, all heat and muscle, even through the armor and blood.

"Let's get you cleaned up," you whisper, voice softer.

You don't push for answers, not yet. First, you get him warm. Get his hands on you. Let him remember he's home. Jason exhales like he's been holding his breath since he walked through the door.

"Yeah," he says, voice lower, rougher, already starting to crack at the edges. "Yeah, okay, baby."

He kicks the door shut behind him with a solid thunk, his boots following right after—one, then the other, dropped lazily beside the mat. His jacket hits the table next, heavy with blood and dirt, and before he does anything else, his hand darts out to flip the lock. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he checks it twice, then once more, a habit he's never broken no matter how safe this place is.

Then his attention swings back to you, and his expression softens, just barely, at the sight of you standing there all sleepy and worried in his hoodie, the hem brushing your bare thighs. His lips twitch like he's fighting a grin, but he doesn't say a word about it—doesn't have to.

Instead, he steps in close, warm hands catching your waist, tugging you toward him just enough to kiss your forehead. His breath is warm, lips softer than they should be after a night like this, and you feel some of that coiled-up tension drain from his body as he stands there holding you, grounded for the first time in hours.

He doesn't pull away until you take his hand, fingers lacing through his like it's second nature, and guide him toward the bathroom. His steps are heavy, the kind of weight that comes from hours of running and fighting, but he follows without a word.

He's too tired to tease, but not too tired to sneak one last glance at your legs, bare and soft beneath his hoodie, and there's that twitch at the corner of his mouth again. The kind that says Fuck, I love seein' my girl in my clothes, even if he's never gonna say it out loud.

In the bathroom, you flick on the light and step past him to turn on the shower, hand testing the temperature until it's hot enough to chase the chill out of his bones. Jason, meanwhile, starts to work the buckles on his gear, fingers moving automatically. One shoulder piece drops to the floor with a clatter, and you whirl around so fast he freezes, brow lifting.

"Jason Peter Todd."

Your voice lands somewhere between a scold and a soft plea, and his head tips to the side, confused. You step right into his space, small hands nudging his out of the way as you reach for his shirt yourself.

"I've got you. You don't have to—just—let me help, okay? You're all stiff, baby, and you're probably bruised to hell, and you're not supposed to—"

His hands settle on your wrists, and for a second you think he's gonna argue, but all he does is huff—this half-laugh, half-sigh like there she goes again, and fuck if it doesn't make his heart swell. "Ain't no winnin' with you, huh, pretty girl?"

"Not a chance," you smile up at him, sweet and stubborn all at once. "So stand still and let me."

Jason's bigger than you by a mile, but he knows better than to fight you when you've got that look in your eye. So he does what you say, letting his arms hang loose at his sides while you take off the other shoulder piece, fingers careful around the edges of bruises and scrapes. His skin's warm beneath the shirt, all solid muscle and scars you know by heart, and for a minute, all you can think about is how strong he is, and how soft he lets himself be with you.

You work him out of his shirt, fingers gentle but determined, peeling it off like you're unwrapping something precious even though the fabric's half-ruined with grime and blood. It lands in the washing machine with a wet plop, and you barely glance at it before you're on to his belt, tugging at the buckle with a frown so serious, Jason can't help himself.

"Y'know," he drawls, voice low and teasing, "never seen someone so goddamn focused on takin' my clothes off and not tryin' to jump me."

"Shut up." Your nose scrunches, mouth set in that determined little pout that drives him crazy. "If you're gonna come home looking like a crime scene, the least you can do is let me clean you up without the peanut gallery commentary."

Jason snorts, arms loose at his sides, just letting you work. "Ain't my fault you're cute when you're bossy. That little face—shit, baby, you could probably scare Bruce if you tried hard enough."

Your glare could cut glass, but your hands stay gentle, popping the button on his pants before sliding them down his legs. "Get in the shower, smartass."

"Yes, ma'am."

He even throws in a sloppy salute, which earns him a playful slap right on his ass. He turns just enough to look over his shoulder, all smirk and dark eyes, like Careful, baby, do that again and I might forget how tired I am.

You flip him off for good measure, which only makes him laugh harder as he steps into the warm spray. For a second, the air fogs up, steam curling around his skin, and he tips his head back, letting the water rinse away the first layer of the night's grime.

The tension in his shoulders melts just a fraction, but only a fraction, because the second he turns back around, you're climbing in after him, hoodie already on the floor, and thank fuck for whoever designed this shower because the cabin's massive and you both fit in it with no problem.

Jason's brows lift, appreciation written all over his face. "Well, shit. Ain't I the lucky one."

The water's hot, steam curling between you, misting the glass walls of the shower. You step closer, bare feet against the slick tile, and when he turns to face you fully, your heart sinks just a little.

Because there they are. The bruises.

Deep, ugly smudges already blooming across his ribs, darker ones wrapping around his bicep like fingerprints, and a nasty scrape high on his shoulder where something must've caught him just right. You sigh softly, fingertips tracing over the damage, careful not to press too hard, and when you lift your eyes to his, they're already waiting for you.

"What happened, Jay?"

Your voice is gentle, but there's an edge underneath, sharpened by hours of waiting and worrying. Jason closes his eyes for a beat, head tipping back under the spray, water trailing down his neck and over the hard lines of his chest.

"Wrong place, wrong fuckin' time," he mutters, voice low and a little rough. "Some poor bastard got jumped by a bunch of goons in the Narrows. Tried to step in, but it was too late."

His mouth twists like he's already thinking about what you're gonna say to that.

"Then what's with the bruises?"

You cross your arms over your chest, trying for stern, but you just look small, standing there naked and wet, water gliding down your skin while your brows knit together in frustration.

Jason rubs the back of his neck, sheepish in a way only you get to see. "Well, I was on patrol, so..."

You scoff, shaking your head as you pinch the bridge of your nose. The steam makes your fingers damp, but it doesn't hide the way your shoulders curl inward, tension wracking your small frame.

You exhale, voice soft, a little wobbly at the edges. "You promised you'd be more careful."

You can't look at him when you say it, so you reach for the body wash instead, hands shaking just enough to make the bottle slip in your grip. Jason's hand is faster, catching your wrist gently before you can turn away completely.

"Hey, it's okay."

His fingers tilt your chin up, guiding you to meet his eyes, and you're not sure if it's the heat from the water or the look on his face that makes you dizzy. He leans down, lips brushing yours, soft at first, a grounding kiss meant to anchor you both. But the second his mouth presses to yours, something inside you buckles.

Your free hand fists in the wet hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss with a soft, desperate sound. Jason groans low in his throat, like you just knocked the air out of his chest, and his other hand slips around your waist, dragging you flush against him. Your bare skin slides against his, slick with water, and the kiss turns messy, hungry, all teeth and tongue and the kind of heat that leaves you lightheaded.

His tongue parts your lips, slow and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's got all the time in the world. He tastes like mint and something darker underneath—copper and smoke—and you take it all, kissing him like you need to memorize the shape of him. Your bodies press so close you can feel the thud of his heart against your ribs, and his fingers tighten at your waist, like he can't quite let you go yet.

When you finally pull back, breathless and flushed, Jason rests his forehead against yours, water running down the bridge of his nose. "I promised I'll always come back to you," he says softly. "And I meant it. I'm still here, doll. Shit like this? It's inevitable. But it's just a few bruises."

Your throat works around a hard swallow, eyes flicking over the marks on his skin. "Yeah," you whisper. "Just bruises."

Your voice cracks a little, but you cover it by squeezing a generous dollop of body wash into your palm, focusing on the feel of the slippery soap instead of the ache in your chest.

You start at his shoulders, fingers gliding over skin and muscle, slow and deliberate, cleaning him up like it's your own body you're tending to. His eyes never leave your face, watching the way your brow furrows in concentration, how your lower lip gets caught between your teeth every time you find another bruise.

You finish washing him with slow, careful hands, fingers mapping over familiar muscle and scar, every touch a quiet promise—you're home, you're safe, you're mine. Jason's eyes stay on you the whole time, half-lidded and heavy with exhaustion, but there's something else simmering underneath, something darker.

When you go to grab the soap again, reaching for your own skin, his hands catch your wrists, his grip gentle but firm. "Nuh-uh, sweet girl. My turn."

"Jay, I'm fine and—"

"Don't care," he cuts you off, voice low and rough around the edges. "Lemme take care of my girl."

And really, what are you gonna do? Fight a man built like him, standing naked and wet in a shower that's already fogged up enough to feel like a sauna? You let him, because even though you fuss, you love this part. The way his hands move with purpose, how he touches you like you're the only thing worth slowing down for.

His fingers are slick with soap when they slide up your arms, over your shoulders, down your sides. The water makes everything slippery, his palms gliding over every inch of skin like he's memorizing you all over again.

But it's when he reaches your chest that you feel the shift, the way his breath catches, how his thumb drags deliberately over your nipple, slicking it up with soap and hot water, until the soft bud pebbles under his touch.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, more to himself than you. "Look at you."

You glance down, following his gaze, and yeah, no wonder he's obsessed. The soap drips down the curve of your tits, slow and thick, catching on your nipples and running in slick little trails down your stomach. Jason's hands follow the path, palms curving to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing at the soapy peaks until you gasp, back arching into his touch.

"Jay..."

It's half a scold, half a moan, and all it does is make his grip tighten, fingers kneading like he needs to feel every inch of you. He groans, low and wrecked, watching the way your tits bounce in his hands, slippery and perfect.

"Can't fuckin' help it," he says, voice rough and low, like gravel dragged over silk. "You got these perfect tits, all wet 'n slippery... How the fuck am I not supposed to play with 'em?"

His thumbs roll your nipples again, slow and deliberate, and the heat between your legs flares so fast it's embarrassing. He laughs, low and filthy, dipping his head down to mouth at your throat.

"Bet I could get you off just like this," he murmurs, squeezing just a little firmer. "Just my hands on your pretty tits, workin' you up 'til you're beggin' me to fuck you."

His teeth graze your skin, just enough to make you shiver. "Should I test it, baby?"

You kiss him to shut him up, or at least, that's the excuse you give yourself. But the second your mouth finds his, it turns filthy fast. His tongue slides against yours, tasting like water and heat and something purely Jason, and your hand drops between you without thinking, wrapping around his hard cock in one slick stroke.

He groans, deep and rumbling, but it's when you twist your wrist just right that it happens—that soft, needy moan that punches out of his chest, so unexpected you feel it in your cunt. You swallow it greedily, sucking on his tongue while your hand strokes him slow and firm, the soap making everything glide like silk.

"Jesus—fuck, baby," he mutters, forehead dropping against yours as his hips jerk into your fist. "You know what that shit does to me."

"Mhmm." You pump him again, savoring the way his cock twitches in your grip, thick and hot and already leaking at the tip. "Love your moans, Jay."

Your voice is pure sin, all low and sweet, with that dangerous edge that only comes out when you've got him like this. Raw and open, all that Red Hood bravado stripped away until it's just your man, desperate and wrecked in your hands.

Jason growls, hands sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you hard against him so you can feel exactly what you're doing to him.

"Keep talkin' like that," he warns, voice tight, "and I'm gonna bend you over right fuckin' here."

And God, you're already so wet, you could probably take him just like this, no prep, no nothing, but you're not done teasing him yet.

Your hand works his cock slow and deliberate, fingers snug around the thick shaft, every stroke slick with water and his own leaking precum. He's so fucking hard, heavy in your grip, veins standing out along the length, the head flushed and swollen as it slides against your palm. You twist your wrist at the top, fingers teasing over that sensitive ridge just under the head, and Jason's hips twitch, like he can't help himself.

"Goddamn," he mutters, voice low and frayed at the edges. "Always so fuckin' good to me."

The praise makes you shiver, thighs pressing together for a second, and that's all the invitation Jason needs. His hand slides down, fingers tracing your ass, his palm big enough to spread you open like nothing. You barely have time to gasp before two of his fingers slip between your thighs from behind, sliding through your slick folds like he's been waiting all night to get his hands on you.

"Jesus, baby." he groans. "You're so fuckin' wet already."

His fingers slide lower, not rushing, just exploring, tracing over your clit before dipping back to your entrance, dragging your slickness back up with every stroke. It's teasing, maddening, like he wants to see how worked up he can get you before you snap. And it's working, because you're already trembling, thighs spreading wider, giving him all the access he wants.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," he mutters, fingers finally pressing inside you, two at once, slow and steady. "Takin' me so sweet. Always so fuckin' tight for me."

You moan into his mouth, the sound soft and helpless, and your grip on his cock tightens just a little, enough to make him hiss between his teeth, his fingers curling inside you like a reflex. He's filling you so good, even with just his fingers, and the angle from behind only makes it dirtier, your ass pushed back into his hand while your chest stays flush to his skin, tits pressed against warm, wet muscle.

"Greedy little thing," Jason teases, voice warm and dark. "Jerkin' me off while you fuck yourself on my fingers. You missed me that much, huh?"

You don't even try to deny it, you just kiss him again, harder this time, all tongue and heat, your hand stroking him faster. Water runs down both your bodies, dripping between you, and every movement feels slick and desperate, like you're both already too far gone to slow down. Your palm twists over the head of his cock, smearing precum down the length, and Jason groans into your mouth, fingers fucking into you deeper until you can't help but moan right back.

"Fuckin' love those sounds," he mutters, lips dragging down your jaw. "My girl sounds so fuckin' sweet when she's needy."

His lips find yours again, slower this time, tongue licking into your mouth in lazy, filthy strokes, and you know—you just know—this is only the beginning.

The thought hits you so suddenly it's almost embarrassing. How much you want to get your mouth on him, to taste every inch, to feel his dick sliding down your throat while water beats down your back. You want to swallow every groan, every curse, every helpless little noise that slips past his lips when you've got him too deep, choking on it.

You shift against him, one hand on his chest, the other still stroking his cock as you gently guide him back until his broad shoulders hit the shower wall. The tile is cool against his skin, but the way you look up at him—all wide, needy eyes, water dripping down your face, lips already parted—that's what sends a shiver down his spine.

"Baby—" he starts, but you're already moving, already tugging his hand from between your thighs, even though your pussy clenches around nothing in protest.

You need him in your mouth more than you need his fingers, and the second you sink to your knees, Jason's head tips back against the wall with a low, wrecked groan.

"Fuckin' hell, doll," he mutters, voice all gravel and heat. "Gonna kill me with those pretty fuckin' eyes."

You smile, sweet and filthy at once, licking up the underside of his cock, tongue tracing that thick vein from base to tip. He's so hot in your mouth, the taste of salt and skin mixed with the faint bitterness of his precum as you swirl your tongue over the head, lapping up every drop like you're starved for it.

"Goddamn," Jason hisses, one hand finding your hair, fingers sliding in to grip the back of your head. "You're so fuckin' pretty down there. Look at you, baby—fuck, lookin' at me like you wanna swallow me whole."

You hum around him, keeping eye contact as you take him deeper, lips stretching around the thick head, your tongue flattening against the underside. He's big—too big, really—but you love the stretch, love the way your jaw aches already, love the way Jason's chest rises and falls faster the deeper you go.

"Such a good girl," he mutters, voice just shy of breaking. "My good girl. Look at you, takin' me so sweet, fuckin' droolin' for it."

You are, slick spit dripping down your chin already, mixing with the water, and you love it. Love how messy it is, how desperate you feel, how Jason's fingers tighten in your hair like he's holding himself back from just thrusting into your mouth.

"Goddamn mouth was made for me," Jason growls, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, gathering up the slick mess and smearing it across your cheek. "Prettiest fuckin' sight I've ever seen."

You take him deeper in response, throat fluttering around the tip, eyes watering as you try to swallow him down, and he groans, low and broken, the sound vibrating all the way down to your cunt.

"Shit, baby, you're gonna make me lose my fuckin' mind."

You pull off him with a wet pop, lips glossy with spit and precum, breathing hard like you just ran a mile. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, slick and shiny, and you look up at him through soaked lashes, eyes dark with need.

"Jay," you whisper, voice a little wrecked already, throat raw from just what you've taken so far. "Wanna feel you deeper." You swallow hard, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. "Wanna feel you fuck my throat."

Jason's whole body tenses, a shudder running through him so hard you feel it under your fingertips. His jaw tightens, water dripping down his face, and you swear you can see him debating it for a split second. Like maybe he's worried he'll get carried away, worried he'll ruin you if he really lets go.

"Baby—" his voice is hoarse, almost strained. "You sure? Don't wanna hurt you."

You fucking melt, because underneath all that roughness, all that unhinged hunger, there's him. Your Jason. Who always asks, always checks. Even when you're on your knees, begging for it.

You nod, so sweet, so sure, giving his cock a slow stroke just to make your point. "I want it, Jay."

"Fuckin' hell," he mutters, voice already breaking. "C'mere."

You grip his thighs, steadying yourself, fingers digging into thick muscle as you let him guide you—both hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, so gentle it makes you ache. But the second your lips part and he slides back in, the tenderness shifts, replaced by hunger so sharp it steals your breath.

"Open up, baby," Jason rasps, hips rolling forward slow and steady, letting you adjust around the stretch of him. "That's it, such a good girl, fuck."

His cock slides deeper, the head nudging the back of your throat, and you gag—a wet, helpless sound that makes his hips jerk. His fingers tighten in your hair, his own breath hitching in his chest, like the sound of you choking on him just flipped some feral switch in his brain.

"Shit," he groans, low and guttural. "Takin' me so deep—look at you, baby, fuckin' perfect."

Your nails dig into his thighs for balance, your knees slipping slightly against wet tile, but you don't stop. You want all of him, need to feel him hit the back of your throat again and again until your eyes stream and your pussy drips. Your moan vibrates around him, and Jason's head drops back against the wall with a sharp curse, fingers tightening until your scalp stings.

"Holy fuck, you love this, don't you?" he growls, looking down at you with wild eyes, water running down his chest. "Love gettin' all sloppy and fucked out for me."

You hum around him, too full to answer, tears burning at the corners of your eyes as his cock slides deeper. Your throat spasms around him, gagging again, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin to your tits, mixing with the water like you're just a mess made for him.

Jason moans, a real, broken sound you almost never hear—low and desperate, like the feel of your throat wrapped tight around him is enough to unravel every last shred of control. And fuck, that sound alone makes your pussy ache, slick dripping down your thighs in hot, needy trails.

"You're gonna make me fuckin' lose it," he grits out, voice rough and thin. "You feel that, baby? Feel how hard I am for you?"

You moan again, louder this time, hips shifting like you're searching for friction, desperate to grind against something. Jason's fingers stroke your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, gathering up the spit that's spilled there, and when you glance up at him—all wide, tear-bright eyes and swollen lips—his cock twitches hard.

"Fuck, you're so pretty like this," he mutters, voice all low heat and reverence. "My pretty girl... on her knees, lettin' me fuck her throat like the greedy little thing she is."

He thrusts a little deeper, slow but deliberate, and you choke again, body shuddering, tears finally spilling over. But you hold still, nails digging into his thighs, moaning around him like you love the struggle, like you love knowing you're the only one who can make him fall apart like this.

Jason swears under his breath, something low and filthy, and you swear his hips tremble like he's fighting not to lose it right there. He pulls back with a wet pop, his cock slipping from your throat, leaving you coughing softly, spit clinging to your lips and chin, drooling down your neck in glossy trails.

His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, gathering the mess you made, and the way he looks at you—like you're the filthiest, prettiest little thing he's ever seen—makes your thighs squeeze together, your pussy pulsing helplessly.

"Breathe, baby," he rasps, voice raw with need, like he's the one who just had his throat fucked, not you. "Did so good for me. Fuckin' perfect."

You take a shaky breath, chest rising and falling fast, before you flash him that wicked little smile, all spit-slick and swollen, and you tilt your head, tongue flicking out to lick the tip of his cock.

"Not done yet, Jay," you whisper, voice hoarse from all the choking.

Jason groans, head falling back against the tile as his fingers twitch in your hair, trying not to yank too hard because fuck, you're gonna ruin him. Your throat's already raw from how deep he's been, but that wicked little smile you give him says you don't care.

Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, slick with spit and precum, and you stroke him slow, dragging your thumb over the thick vein that runs along the underside. His hips twitch, a barely-there thrust that he immediately stops, like he's trying to be good, trying not to shove himself right back down your throat.

But then you press a kiss to his flushed tip, then another, before dragging your tongue over the slit, tasting him—salty and thick, all Jason—and you hum in approval, sending a shudder through his entire body.

"Shit," he hisses through clenched teeth, his grip in your hair tightening.

His thighs flex, like he wants to spread them wider, give you more room, but he's already backed against the shower wall, nowhere else to go but into your mouth.

And you want him there.

You tilt your head and take him in again, slow at first, sucking him down inch by inch until your lips stretch wide around the thickest part of his cock. Your free hand slides up, resting against his lower stomach for balance as you start to move, bobbing your head, tongue dragging along the underside, tracing every ridge and vein.

He groans low, almost desperate, his breathing ragged as he watches you. "Fuckin' hell, baby—"

And then you take him deeper.

You breathe through your nose and sink down, letting him slide past your tongue, into your throat, until your lips are pressed right against the base. His dick twitches inside your mouth, hot and pulsing, stretching you open in a way that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

Jason curses, head snapping forward to look down at you, his pupils blown wide. "Jesus—" His jaw goes slack as you swallow around him, muscles flexing around the thick length in your throat, and he groans deep, guttural, something torn straight from his chest. "Goddamn it, baby—"

You moan, the vibrations making him jerk, his fingers tangling in your hair as he fights the urge to fuck into your mouth. But you want him to. You need him to.

So you pull back just enough to breathe, spit slicking your lips, his cock shiny and wet from your mouth. You blink up at him, all pretty, wrecked eyes, and whisper, hoarse but teasing, "C'mon, Jay. Give it to me."

His restraint snaps. He cups the back of your head and pushes back in, slow at first, just to watch your lips stretch around him again, just to hear that sweet little gag when he hits the back of your throat. Then he does it again. And again.

Fucking your mouth with slow, deep thrusts, his dick hot and heavy on your tongue, your jaw aching, your throat stretched wide to take him. Spit drips down your chin, strings of it connecting your lips to his cock every time he pulls back, only to snap when he shoves in again.

"Fuck, baby—look at you." His voice is hoarse, full of raw need as he watches you swallow him down like you were made for it. "Takin' me so fuckin' good—my perfect girl, so fuckin' greedy—"

You moan in response, your fingers digging into his flexing thighs for balance, your eyes locked onto his as you let him use your mouth just the way he likes. It's filthy, messy, raw, the wet, slick sounds of your mouth working him filling the steamy bathroom, and when his abs tighten, his breathing turning ragged, you know he's close.

But not yet.

You pull off of him with a gasp, a string of spit still connecting your lips to his cock, and you tilt your head back, mouth open, tongue out, voice wrecked as you murmur, "Cum on my tongue, Jay."

His moan is broken as his cock jerks in your grip, his fingers twitching like he wants to grab your face and wreck you all over again. Instead, he lets you set the pace, his back pressing to the shower wall as you stroke him slow and deliberate, your slick hand working over his cock, all the way from the base to the leaking tip.

"Shit, baby, fuck," he mutters, head thunking back against the tile. "You're gonna—fuckin' hell—gonna make me blow just like that, lookin' at me with that dirty little smile."

You keep your eyes locked on his, wide and dark and utterly shameless, your tongue peeking out like an invitation. And when he curses again, hips bucking into your grip, you pull him right to the edge of your mouth—lips parted, tongue out, waiting, just like his fucking dream girl.

"Gonna cum for me, Jay?" you whisper, all soft and sweet, hand twisting at the head of his cock, smearing precum all over your tongue.

His whole body tenses, abs flexing hard, his dick jerking in your hand as his breath stutters out in a ragged groan. "Fuck, baby, fuck—gonna cum—shit—"

It hits fast and messy, the first thick spurt of cum painting your tongue, hot and salty and so much of it. His cock throbs in your grip, pulsing with every ragged heartbeat, more cum spilling over your tongue, dripping down your lip in messy streaks. Jason watches, jaw slack, eyes heavy-lidded with pure wrecked hunger, like the sight of his cum all over your tongue could send him spiraling right into a second orgasm.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he mutters, voice rough and almost reverent.

You tilt your head back, sticking your tongue out just enough to show him, his cum glistening on your tongue, a filthy little pool of him. His fingers cradle your jaw, thumb tugging at your bottom lip as he groans, low and guttural, like the sight alone is enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

"Swallow, baby," he whispers, dark and sweet all at once. "C'mon, swallow my cum like the perfect little thing you are."

You obey without hesitation, tongue curling back as you swallow every drop, throat working around it. Then you open your mouth again, all pretty and empty, just to show him you took it all, and he swears under his breath, dragging you up onto your feet so fast your head spins.

Jason pulls you up, kissing you hard and deep, not even caring that you still taste like him. His hand cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling into your wet hair as his tongue slides over yours, messy and hungry, all low moans and deep groans vibrating against your lips.

His other hand grips your hip, holding you flush to him, his cock still heavy and slick between you, smearing precum against your belly as the two of you kiss like neither of you is fully in control anymore.

"Fuck, baby," he mutters against your mouth, thumb tracing your jaw, "gonna taste you, wanna fuckin' drown in that sweet pussy."

Before you can respond, Jason sinks to his knees right there in the shower, water dripping off his hair, running in rivulets down his broad shoulders and sculpted chest. His hands grip the backs of your thighs, urging you to spread them just enough for him to fit between, and then he throws one of your legs over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, opening you up for his hungry mouth.

"Goddamn," he mutters, mouth so close to your slick cunt that you can feel his breath ghosting over your clit, "this fuckin' pussy, baby."

And then he's on you, tongue flat and wide, dragging up your slit, slow and filthy, groaning like the taste of you just knocked the air out of his chest. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue flicks lower, dipping right into your entrance, fucking you open with deep, sloppy strokes.

You cry out, hand flying to his hair, fingers fisting in the dark strands as you try to keep yourself steady, but it's useless. His tongue is relentless, devouring you like he's starving.

You try to close your thighs around his head, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his tongue dragging against your sensitive walls, but Jason's grip tightens, holding you open just for him.

"Uh-uh," he mutters, voice muffled against your cunt, "stay open for me, baby, let me see how fuckin' wet you are."

His tongue moves back up to your clit, circling it in slow, torturous patterns before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard, and you damn near scream, hips jerking into his face.

"Jason, fuck—oh my God—"

He hums against your clit, tongue flicking faster, and the vibration sends shivers all through you, your knees threatening to buckle. Then you feel his fingers—one thick finger sliding into your soaked pussy, sinking all the way down to the knuckle, curling just right, pressing against that spot that makes your vision go white.

"So fuckin' tight, baby," he mutters, adding a second finger without warning, your walls fluttering around him. "Gonna stretch you open nice and good for me."

He fucks you with his fingers, slow at first, dragging them out until you're whining, desperate, then slamming them back in, curling every time, fucking you open while his tongue stays glued to your clit. The combination is too much, the perfect rhythm, his fingers filling you just right while his tongue flicks and circles and sucks, and you can feel your orgasm building too fast, that sweet heat curling in your belly like a molten knot about to snap.

"Jason—gonna—fuck, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, baby, cum for me," he groans, fingers speeding up, tongue licking harder.

And you do—you cum hard, soaking his fingers, your cunt fluttering around them as your clit throbs under his tongue. Your whole body shudders, thighs shaking so hard Jason has to hold you up, his free hand gripping your ass, keeping you steady while he licks you through it, sucking every last drop of your wetness onto his tongue like he can't bear to waste a single drop.

"Fuckin' beautiful," he mutters, lips shiny with you, kissing your trembling inner thigh, fingers still buried deep inside your pulsing cunt. "Always so fuckin' pretty when you cum for me."

You're still trembling when you tug at Jason's hair, urging him up from his knees, and he follows without hesitation, his broad frame rising above you, all wet skin and slick muscles and that hungry look in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. You crash your mouth onto his the second he's close enough, kissing him messy and wet, tasting yourself on his tongue as he groans into you.

There's no finesse, just raw, desperate hunger, teeth knocking together, tongues tangling, water running between you while his hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you flush to his still achingly hard dick.

"Fuck me," you murmur against his mouth, breathless, lips swollen, and Jason gasps like the air got punched out of his lungs, eyes going dark with that primal heat you know so well.

"C'mere, pretty girl," he rasps, guiding you toward the built-in shower bench, and bless whoever designed this apartment.

Jason grabs a folded towel from the shelf, laying it over the bench to cushion your knees, always thinking of you even when his mind is spinning off its axis with lust.

"Bend over for me," he says, voice low and rough, and you don't need to be told twice.

You turn, hands bracing against the tiles as you arch your back, sticking your ass out for him, knowing damn well how much he loves the view.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans behind you, big hands grabbing your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "This fuckin' pussy, always so goddamn pretty."

He spreads you open with his thumbs, watching the way your slick glistens under the water, watching how your hole clenches, already desperate to be filled.

"You're gonna fuckin' ruin me, baby," he mutters, more to himself than to you, voice full of awe and heat and hunger.

And God, his thoughts are a fucking mess—his body aches, every muscle burning from tonight's patrol, but none of it matters. Not when you're like this, bent over and dripping for him, all soft skin and curves and that sweet little arch of your back, presenting yourself like the perfect gift.

He feels wrecked, destroyed by how much he wants you, like his skin might split open if he doesn't get inside you right now. You're his remedy, his fucking salvation, and the only way to ease the tension coiled inside him is to bury himself so deep in you that he forgets why his knuckles are bruised in the first place.

He fists his dick, pumping it slow, spreading the slick of his precum along his shaft, hissing between his teeth because he's so fucking sensitive already.

"Goddamn, baby," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your swollen clit just to make you whimper. "You're so fuckin' wet for me. This all for me, huh?"

"All for you," you breathe, pressing back into him, desperate for more, for all of him.

He slides the tip just barely inside, groaning at the way your tight heat immediately tries to suck him in, and fuck, you'll never get used to this—to the stretch, the way his cock splits you open every single time. He's so thick, so perfect, and it burns just a little, but it's the best fucking burn, the kind that leaves you dizzy and drooling, the kind that makes your toes curl because you know what's coming, you know how good it's gonna be.

No one's ever fucked you like Jason does, no one's ever filled you like this, made you ache and crave and beg, and you're already gone, already clenching around nothing, desperate to have him deeper.

"Jay, please," you whimper, and that's all it takes for him to sink in, slow but unrelenting, inch by thick inch until his hips are flush to your ass, until you're stuffed full, stretched wide, pussy fluttering around him.

"Fuckin' perfect," he groans, hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. "Always so fuckin' perfect for me, baby."

Jason stays still for a moment, letting you adjust, his big hands smoothing over your hips and up your spine, grounding you in his touch. You're stretched so wide around him it's almost too much—almost—but your pussy flutters around his dick like you're trying to pull him in even deeper. Your knees are already weak, breath hitching in your throat as the dull ache blooms into molten pleasure, and then, he moves.

A slow, careful pull back, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, so thick you can feel every ridge and vein, and then he sinks back in, deeper this time, hips meeting the curve of your ass with a soft, wet slap. It makes you whimper, the sound high and needy, and Jason's thumbs stroke soothing circles into your skin, his voice low and tender.

"Shhh, pretty girl," he murmurs, eyes fixed on where his cock disappears inside you, mesmerized. "You're takin' me so good, baby. Look at this perfect fuckin' pussy, stretchin' just for me."

His gaze is glued to the way your slick coats his cock, creamy arousal clinging to him every time he pulls back, webbing between your thighs. "Goddamn," he groans, almost to himself, dragging his fingers down to spread you open just a little more so he can see even better. "You're so fuckin' wet. You missed me this much, huh?"

"Yes," you breathe, voice soft and sweet, trembling around the edges as he sinks in again, slow and deep.

And Jason? Jason's brain is barely functional at this point. All he can think about is how warm and tight you are, how your walls squeeze him like a fucking vice every time he moves. He's aching all over, bruised knuckles and sore muscles, but none of that matters when he's buried inside you.

This is his peace, his salvation, and there's nothing in the whole goddamn world that feels better than this. Your soft little moans, the way you arch your back for him, the way you take him so fucking deep—it's enough to make him lose his goddamn mind.

He fucks you slow, deep, each thrust deliberate, giving you every inch, savoring the way your cunt stretches around him, how your walls welcome him like you were made just for him. The slick sounds of your soaked pussy echo through the shower, mixing with the gentle slap of his hips against your ass, obscene and filthy and so fucking good.

Your thoughts are a mess—all you can think about is him, how deep he is, how good he fills you. The stretch burns just a little, but it's the kind of burn you crave, the kind that leaves you shaking and desperate for more.

No one's ever fucked you like this, like they're worshiping you and ruining you at the same time. Jason's hands are so big on your skin, holding you steady like you're fragile and precious, even though he's splitting you open with every slow thrust.

"Jay," you whimper, head dropping between your arms, face hot, body trembling. "Feels so good—"

"I know, baby," he murmurs, leaning over you, his chest flush to your back, lips brushing your ear. "Love this pussy so much. My good girl. Always so fuckin' good for me."

He kisses the back of your neck, slow thrusts never faltering, and you shiver at the feel of his lips and the filthy praise dripping from his tongue. Your pussy clenches around him, pulling him deeper, and he groans, low and broken.

"Fuck," he mutters, barely holding on, "You're gonna kill me, baby."

Jason's grip tightens on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you feel it, to remind you he's there, holding you steady as he picks up the pace. His thrusts grow just a little faster, a little rougher, each stroke punching soft, breathy moans from your lips.

And fuck, it's everything. His dick feels so good inside you, stretching you just right, dragging against every sensitive spot with every deep roll of his hips. The veins, the ridges, you can feel them all, rubbing against your walls, splitting you open over and over again.

And Jason—Jason's brain is fried. Every squeeze of your pussy around his dick makes his stomach clench, his jaw tighten. You're so fucking tight, so warm, so wet, each stroke is like heaven and hell at the same time. The soft, filthy sounds of your pussy sucking him in are enough to make his abs tense, his muscles coil.

"Shit," he rasps, voice wrecked, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he fucks into you, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, enough to make you whimper. "You're fuckin' squeezin' me so goddamn good, baby. Feels so fuckin' good—"

And then—his hand. Big, warm, calloused fingers sliding down between your thighs, finding your swollen clit with ease. The moment he touches it, a sharp little gasp rips from your lips, your legs trembling, and Jason groans against your skin, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck.

"Yeah, you like that, huh?" His voice is pure sin, thick with lust, dripping with heat. "Like havin' me buried deep in this pretty little pussy while I play with your clit?"

His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing soft and steady, teasing you, making your cunt throb around his cock. The pressure is perfect, just enough to make your whole body tighten, your breath hitch.

"Jay—"

Your voice is high, needy, desperate, and Jason feels it, the way you're spiraling, the way your walls start fluttering around him.

"That's it, baby," he mutters, rolling your clit a little faster now, keeping the pressure steady, his thrusts still deep and strong. "C'mon, pretty girl, wanna feel this pussy fuckin' cum on my dick."

And fuck, you're so close. Your whole body tenses, your toes curling, your arms shaking as the pleasure builds, hot and fucking overwhelming. His cock fills you so good, the stretch, the drag, the way he works your clit—it's all too much, too good, and then, you shatter.

A high, broken moan leaves your lips as your orgasm hits, crashing over you in thick, pulsing waves. Your pussy clenches around his cock, gripping him tight, rippling around him, milking him as your whole body shakes. Your head drops forward, forehead pressed against the cool tile, breath stolen from your lungs.

Jason groans, deep and wrecked, feeling every flutter of your walls, every wet squeeze of your cunt around his cock. It's almost too much, the way you keep pulling him in, and he has to force himself not to cum right then and there, has to grip your hips tighter, anchoring himself.

"Fuck, baby," he growls, still rubbing your clit, helping you ride it out, dragging out every last pulse of pleasure. "That's my good girl—fuckin' squeezin' me so good, baby—"

Your legs nearly give out, and Jason feels it, catches you, wraps an arm around your waist and holds you up, still buried deep inside you, still pulsing, still aching.

Jason's still inside you, cock nestled deep in your soaked cunt, and you turn your head just enough, voice soft and hazy as you murmur, "Jay..."

His lips brush over your shoulder, warm and tender, a sweet contrast to the heavy stretch of his dick still buried in you.

"Yeah, baby?"

You hesitate for a second, just a little sheepish, then whisper, "I wanna sit on you."

Fuck. His dick twitches inside you, a sharp little pulse that makes your spent pussy clench in response, and Jason groans quietly, forehead pressing against your shoulder.

"Yeah? You wanna ride me, pretty girl?"

"Yeah..."

And who the fuck is he to say no to that?

He pulls out slow, both of you hissing softly at the wet, messy slide of his dick leaving your cunt. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the center of your back before helping you shift around, easing you off the bench.

But before either of you can move any further, you tug him down into a kiss, just because you need to.

It's slow and lazy, all warm tongues and soft lips, your mouth still tasting faintly like him, like salt and sweat and something purely Jason. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking gently, and you're already squirming closer, knees a little shaky as you lean into him, deepening the kiss.

When you finally pull back, you're both panting softly, and you flash him that sweet, cheeky little smile before you push at his chest and say, "Sit."

He arches a brow, but there's nothing but pure heat in his gaze when he murmurs, "Yes ma'am."

He sits back, water streaming down over his broad shoulders, and you climb into his lap, knees bracketing his thick thighs. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers sliding into the damp hair at the nape, and you roll your hips slowly, grinding your swollen, slick pussy against his hard, heavy cock.

Jason's hands grab your ass immediately, fingers digging in, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. "Fuck, baby... look at you," he mutters, watching the way your puffy folds spread over the length of his dick, your clit catching on the head with every slow drag. "So fuckin' wet, you're leakin' all over me."

You moan softly, hips stuttering when he thrusts up just a little, the fat head of his cock catching perfectly against your sensitive clit.

The jolt of pleasure makes you cling to him tighter, biting your lip as you whisper, "Need you."

"Yeah, baby?" His voice is low and rough, all fucked-out warmth. "Go on then. Take me."

And you do.

Your hand wraps around his dick, guiding him to your entrance, and you both groan when the fat tip pushes inside, the stretch still just as dizzying as the first time. You sink down slowly, inch by inch, your cunt spreading to fit him again, walls hugging him so tight he swears he could feel your pulse.

Jason leans back against the cool tile, the contrast of heat and cold making his skin prickle. His muscles are aching, body worn from patrol, but none of that matters when you're sitting on his cock, dripping wet, your face all soft and flushed as you look at him like you need him just to breathe.

"God, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips, helping you ease down until you're fully seated, your thighs trembling slightly against his. "Fuckin' love watchin' you take my dick. Look so goddamn pretty stuffed full like this."

You cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again, slow and deep, tongues sliding together, tasting each other, your soft moans caught between his lips. His hands never leave your ass, gripping, kneading, helping you rock against him, grinding down so your clit rubs against the skin at the base of his cock.

It's filthy, wet sounds filling the steamy air, your slick coating his thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, the messy press of your tongues as you lose yourself in the kiss. His cock pulses deep inside you, so thick, so fucking full, and you already know that you're not gonna last long. Neither is he.

But that's the best part.

Your hands brace against his broad shoulders, nails digging into the thick muscle as you start to move, lifting your hips just enough before sinking back down, grinding in his lap when he's buried all the way inside.

Jason groans, a deep, wrecked sound, and his fingers tighten on your ass, gripping hard, as if he can barely handle how fucking good you feel around him. Your tits press against his chest with every slow, wet slide down his cock, the slick heat of your cunt clenching around him, making his breath hitch.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, lips brushing over your jaw. "You're so goddamn tight—feel like you're tryna choke my dick."

You whimper at his words, the praise making you throb around him. Your pace quickens, thighs trembling as you bounce on his cock, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the steamy shower. Every time you take him to the hilt, you roll your hips, grinding down just right, making him groan beneath you.

Jason's teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging before he mutters, "Fuck, look at you—so needy for it, huh? Bouncin' on my dick like a desperate little thing."

You are desperate. Every slow, deep thrust of his cock makes you shiver, makes your pussy clench, makes heat coil tight in your belly. You can barely think, barely breathe—there's only Jason, his thick hands gripping your ass, his rough voice in your ear, his dick stretching you open over and over again.

Your moans turn breathy, high-pitched, every gasp punched from your throat as your thighs start to burn, but you don't stop. You can't. Not when Jason's looking at you like that, all hooded eyes and flushed cheeks, sweat beading along his temples despite the warm spray of the shower.

"Fuck, Jay," you moan, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, his throat. "Feels so good—I love your dick."

"Yeah?" His voice is a low growl, hands sliding up your back, holding you close as he thrusts up into you, meeting your movements. The new angle makes you cry out, burying your face against his neck as he fucks up into your dripping pussy, harder, deeper. "Love takin' my dick, huh, pretty girl? Love gettin' stretched open like this?"

You nod frantically, unable to do anything but whimper and take it, the slap of his thighs against your ass getting filthier, wetter, each bounce sending little shivers through your overstimulated body. Your clit drags against his lower abs, sparking white-hot pleasure every time you grind down, making your legs shake around him.

He growls against your ear, his breath hot, voice rough. "Shit, baby—you're fuckin' squeezin' me so tight—gonna make me lose my goddamn mind."

Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, tugging slightly as your lips brush against his, voice barely above a whisper. "Then lose it."

Jason groans into your mouth as you pick up the pace, fucking yourself down onto his cock harder, faster, each wet, messy bounce making his grip on your ass tighten. The steam in the shower is thick, curling around both of you, heat clinging to your skin as the slap of your bodies echoes in the tiled space.

You're whimpering, moaning, head tipping back as you ride him, thighs burning, overstimulated and aching but too fucking needy to stop. His cock feels too good—thick and deep, stretching you open, hitting that spot inside you that makes you whine every single time.

Jason's hands move, one gripping your hip, guiding your movements as the other slides up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, tugging you until your foreheads touch. His breath is hot, uneven, every exhale heavy as his mouth brushes yours, his words breaking apart with each thrust up into you.

"Fuck, baby—just like that—" His voice is a growl, all low and rough, shaking slightly as he fucks up into you. "God, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum—you feel so fuckin' good—"

Your pussy tightens at his words, a shuddering moan spilling from your lips as you brace your hands against his chest, moving even faster, grinding harder, the wet drag of his dick inside you making you dizzy.

"I'm close," you gasp, mouth brushing his, hands fisting in his damp hair as his own grip tightens on your hips. "Jason—fuck, I'm—"

"I know, baby," he rasps, and suddenly, he snaps his hips up into you, thrusting hard, dragging a gasping, wrecked sound from your throat. "C'mon, cum for me. Wanna feel you—"

And that's all it takes.

Pleasure slams into you, white-hot and overwhelming, your whole body shuddering as your pussy clenches tight around him. It's too much, too good, a sobbing cry ripping from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of raw, blinding pleasure.

Your walls flutter around his cock, squeezing him like you're trying to pull him deeper, and Jason feels it. He groans against your throat, voice wrecked and shaking, like you're undoing him right alongside yourself.

"Jesus fuck," he grits out, but he doesn't stop.

If anything, he fucks you harder.

His hips snap up in fast, brutal thrusts, thick cock driving into you again and again, forcing out these soft, desperate little whimpers as overstimulation starts to creep in. You twitch against him, body trembling, but he just grins, biting down on your neck like he likes how fucked-out you're getting.

"Sensitive, baby?" His voice is all teasing, but there's something dark underneath, something hungry.

His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you pinned, making sure you take it. His cock drags against your swollen, overstimulated walls, pushing you closer and closer to that sharp, unbearable edge again. He can feel it, the way your cunt flutters around him, the way you're already slipping into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

"Yeah," he groans, rough and deep, pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. "That's my girl."

Jason doesn't let up. Not even for a second. His hands grip your hips, holding you down as he fucks into you, hard and deep, each wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the shower.

You're still trembling from your last orgasm, body twitching with every thick drag of his cock, but he just grins. Watching you, watching the way your tits bounce, watching the way your pretty little cunt stretches around him, all wet and swollen and so fucking perfect.

"Gonna give me another one," he murmurs, rough and dark, like it's not even a question. Like it's just fact.

You try to say something—anything—but all that comes out is a breathless whimper, because fuck, every time he thrusts up, your clit drags against his skin, the friction hot and slick and just right. The pressure builds too fast, too intense, your body already wound up so tight you feel like you might snap.

Jason feels it, the way your walls squeeze around him, the way your thighs start to shake. He groans, dropping his head to your throat, teeth grazing over sensitive skin.

"Yeah, there it is," he rasps, voice thick with satisfaction. "Fuck, you get so tight when you're close. You gonna cum for me again, baby? Gonna let me feel you squeeze my dick all over again?"

And then he grinds up into you, slow and deep, making sure your clit drags right against him, making sure you feel every inch of him rubbing you just right. It's too much, sharp and unbearable, your pussy clenching around him as the orgasm slams into you, so hard and overwhelming you swear you stop breathing for a second.

Jason groans, almost pained, his grip on you tightening as he forces himself to keep fucking you through it, his cock dragging against your overstimulated walls with each deep, filthy thrust.

"There we go," he grits out, watching the way you shudder, the way your body reacts to him. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

He's so close it's unbearable. Every thrust has his cock throbbing, sensitive to the point of pain, but he can't stop. Can't stop chasing that high, can't stop fucking into you, hips snapping up in desperate, stuttering thrusts as he buries himself as deep as he can go.

And you? You meet him halfway, taking every inch, riding him through it, moaning as his cock grinds right against your swollen, overstimulated walls. You're just as desperate as he is, clenching down around him, pulling him deeper, body made for him, and fuck, Jason's brain short-circuits.

"Jesus fuck, baby," he groans, voice wrecked, forehead pressing against yours like he's struggling to hold himself together.

But he isn't. Not really. Not when your pretty little pussy is milking his cock, not when you're squeezing him so tight he can feel every flutter, every slick, wet drag of your walls around him.

He needs it. Needs to cum. Needs to fill you up. Needs to fucking ruin you.

Until he grits out your name through clenched teeth, his cock throbbing inside you as he cums, a choked, broken groan rumbling in his chest as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you up as his hips jerk up into yours. He's moaning into your mouth as he pulls you in for a kiss, soft and lazy, tongues sliding together as he pumps you full, hot ropes of cum flooding your tight, clenching pussy.

"Fuck, baby—" he mutters, hips stuttering, because your pussy is gripping him, sucking him in so tight, so fucking wet as you tremble in his lap.

Your lips brush against his, softer, lazy and slow, little whimpers still spilling from your throat as he keeps fucking into you, each thrust pushing his cum deeper, until his pace stutters and he finally still.

The bathroom is all foggy, warm steam wrapping around both of you as you come down slowly, still tangled together, his dick still buried inside your messy, puffy cunt. His hands slide up your back, holding you close as you press kisses to his jaw, his neck, still catching your breath, still feeling fucked-out and hazy and warm.

He exhales, tilting his head slightly as his lips brush the top of your head, his fingers splayed against your back, keeping you tucked close.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mmhmm," you hum softly, arms wrapping around him, hugging him tight, but not tight enough to hurt his bruises.

Jason sighs, low and warm, his hands smoothing up your back, keeping you close, his body still loose, relaxed from his orgasm. The heat of the shower clings to both of you, water still running, steam curling around you in thick ribbons, sealing you into this little moment—this quiet, safe moment.

But it doesn't last.

Because your throat feels tight, your chest aching, a little sniffle slipping out before you can stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut, fuck, you don't want to cry, not now, but—

You love him. You love him so much it hurts.

And you know, you know how important he is to Gotham. You know the good he does. But sometimes, when you see him like this, when you see the bruises blooming across his body, when you think about what could have happened, you wish he'd just stop.

The thought of losing him scares you. It grips your chest in a tight, suffocating hold, twists your stomach, makes your pulse jump into your throat. You need him. You can't imagine waking up without him. You can't imagine getting a call—

You can't.

Jason feels your shoulders tremble, hears the soft, shaky sniffle you try to smother against his neck. His stomach twists, his heart aches, and he holds you tighter, even as his own throat goes tight, even as something in his chest breaks.

He hates this. He hates making you feel like this.

And sometimes—when he sees the way you look at him, eyes big and wet and scared—he wonders if he should've never gotten into a relationship with you at all.

Not because he doesn't love you. God, no.

But because he knows how hard this is for you. He knows how much it hurts you. And tonight? Tonight isn't even bad.

But one day—one day it will be. One day, he won't just come home with bruises. One day, he might not come home at all.

And fuck, if that ever happened...

Jason presses his lips to the side of your head, closing his eyes. He doesn't know what the fuck he'd do.

"Hey, shhh, shhh," he soothes, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. It's not dismissive, not even close. He just wants to calm you down, to ease the weight pressing against your ribs. "C'mon, baby, don't cry. You're gonna make me look like a real asshole."

He tries to joke, his voice light, teasing, because sometimes that works. Sometimes, he can get you to roll your eyes, to huff a laugh, to shake your head and kiss him instead.

But when you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes red, your cheeks wet with tears that he put there, and his throat closes up, and the joke dies on his tongue.

Because Jason Todd might be a fucking idiot, but he's not that insensitive.

His chest aches as he cups your face, brushing his thumbs over your damp cheeks, his lips following the path of your tears, kissing them away one by one.

His nose brushes against yours, warm and soft, and your lashes flutter, another sniffle slipping from your lips as you murmur, "I'm sorry."

Jason shakes his head, his hands still cradling your face, his lips pressing to the corner of your mouth, lingering there for a beat.

"Nah, doll," he says softly, voice low and gentle. "It's okay. I know."

You nod, a little sheepish, because you know he doesn't like seeing you like this. And truth be told? You hate crying in front of him like this. You try not to. Because even if Jason never says it out loud, even if he'd rather die than admit it, you know it hurts him.

You see it in his eyes every single time. And if you can't handle seeing him like this, then you know he feels the same way about you.

Jason exhales softly, his forehead still pressed to yours, and his voice is softer when he murmurs, "I love you, pretty girl. I'll always come back, yeah?"

Your chest tightens, your lips parting, but you don't say anything, even though you want to, even though every part of you wants to argue, wants to tell him he doesn't know that. Because Gotham is cruel, because he's already died once, because one night, one mistake, one bad fucking second, and he might be gone.

But Jason? Jason is not a liar. Not with you. Never with you.

So you swallow back the lump in your throat, push those thoughts away, and nod again, voice barely above a whisper as you murmur, "I love you too, baby. So much."

And when Jason smiles, soft and tender, pressing another kiss to your lips before murmuring, "I know."

Your chest still aches, but you let yourself believe him. Jason exhales softly, pressing another kiss to your lips before murmuring, "C'mon, let's finish in here, yeah? Otherwise, your pretty little toes will get all wrinkled."

A laugh bursts from your lips, breaking the last of the tension in your chest, and you shake your head with a sniffly little giggle. "My toes?"

"Yes, yours," Jason says, grinning as he runs his hands down your back, easing you off his lap. "I don't make the rules, baby. I just enforce them."

You roll your eyes, but you let him help you, gasping softly as his dick slips free, thick and spent, his cum painting his own skin as it drips from your pussy, streaking down your thighs. And when he glances down, catching sight of it, then catches the way your cheeks turn bright pink, and he barks out a laugh.

"Still shy, huh?" His voice is teasing, but his eyes are soft, warm, adoring as he reaches up to cup your cheek. He grins as he rubs his thumb against the heat of your blush. "Almost two years, baby. And you still get all flustered."

You groan, slapping a hand over your face, and Jason laughs again, tucking you against his side as he reaches for the showerhead to rinse you both off. He washes away the remnants of slick and sweat and cum, running warm, soothing hands over your skin, making sure you're comfortable before finally shutting off the water.

He grabs a towel and wraps it around you, rubbing it over your damp skin before gently squeezing the excess water from your hair. You could dry it properly, but honestly? You're so blissed out, and your limbs feel heavy.

Jason dries himself off quickly before helping you into a pair of panties and one of his shirts, the fabric warm and soft against your skin.

Then he kneels, pulling fuzzy socks over your feet, shaking his head as he mutters, "Your feet are always cold."

You grin, nudging his chest lightly with your toes. "That's why you're here. To warm them up."

He huffs out a laugh, tugging on a pair of sweats before standing. "Oh, so I'm just a personal heater, huh?"

"Mhmm," you smile sweetly, looping your arms around his neck." That, and my personal bodyguard, my punching bag, my—"

Jason kisses you before you can keep going, swallowing the rest of your words with a slow, lingering brush of his lips. You hum into it, melting into him before he pulls away, squeezing your hip gently.

"Come on," you murmur, taking his hand, guiding him back toward the living room. "Sit with me."

Jason chuckles, but follows easily, letting you tug him along. "Aren't you tired, baby?"

You shake your head, and Jason sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright," he relents, squeezing your fingers. "I'll make some tea for your throat, okay?"

You nod, but when he tries to step away, you follow, staying close, pressing yourself against his side. Jason doesn't say anything, just kisses the top of your head, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek as he leads you into the kitchen. He pulls out a chair, urging you to sit before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Two seconds, baby."

He makes the tea quickly, moving through the familiar motions with ease, filling the quiet with soft clinks of mugs and teaspoons. When it's done, he sets it in front of you, crouching beside your chair as you take a careful sip.

"Good?" he murmurs.

You nod, your fingers curling in his hair as you take another sip, humming softly when his hand rubs up and down your thigh, warm and solid. Neither of you sleeps until the early hours of the morning.

You just exist in the quiet together, curled up on the couch, snuggled as close as possible, warm and drowsy and safe in the dim glow of the living room lamp.

He lets you cling to him, lets you need him, lets himself need you just as much.

You talk about nothing and everything—lazy conversations and soft laughter and sleepy, lingering kisses pressed to cheeks and lips and jaw between bites of snacks.

At some point, your words start to slur, your voice growing soft and drowsy, and Jason knows you're fighting it, but you don't stand a chance. Not when you're warm and full and safe, wrapped up in his arms like you belong there.

Jason shifts, scooping you up easily, carrying you toward the bedroom. "Sleep, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've got you."

And you do.

[rafes-slut]

rafe and squirting plsoksolsols

Squirting

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink, possessiveness, slight dominance, use of pet names (baby, pretty girl), Rafe being cocky/proud, language, reader is shy and inexperienced, Rafe loves that, slightly toxic undertones, safe word implied but not used.

You weren’t prepared for it.

You didn’t even think your body could do something like that—let alone because of him. And the way Rafe looked at you after it happened? Like he owned you. Like he was the only one who could ever make you fall apart like that.

Because truthfully. He was.

It started innocent enough—if being pinned underneath Rafe Cameron could ever be considered innocent.

You’d been teasing him earlier, curled up next to him in nothing but one of his shirts, legs bare, toes brushing against his calves as you claimed to be "too lazy" to do anything. He didn't believe that for a second—not with the way your thighs kept shifting, rubbing together, your lip caught between your teeth every time his hand landed on your thigh.

"You needy, pretty girl?" he murmured, voice low and rough, lips ghosting over your jaw as he leaned into you. His fingers pushed the hem of the shirt up slowly, grazing your hip like he had all the time in the world.

You swallowed hard, nodding, because lying was useless. Not with the way Rafe could read you like a book—especially when you were practically melting in his hands.

He didn’t waste time, guiding you onto your back, hovering over you with that smug little smirk like he already knew exactly what he was about to do to you. Like he’d already planned to wreck you.

You were already breathless by the time his mouth got on you—his tongue tracing slow, teasing circles that had your back arching off the bed. But it was his fingers that took it to another level.

Thick, long, and skilled as hell, they moved inside you in a rhythm that had your head spinning. He watched you the entire time—blue eyes dark, focused, full of this wild pride like he was watching a masterpiece fall apart right under him.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, thumb pressing into your clit in time with the thrusts of his fingers. “So fuckin’ good for me. You feel that? How tight you are around me?”

Your answer was a whimper, breath caught in your throat as your legs trembled, thighs twitching with every motion. You felt like you were right there, like the tension in your core was about to snap—but it didn’t feel like it normally did. It was… more. Intense. Overwhelming.

“Rafe,” you gasped, fingers digging into his forearm as your body jolted with each curl of his fingers. “I—something’s— I don’t—”

His grin turned devilish. “You don’t know, do you?”

You shook your head desperately, overwhelmed and chasing that high, even though it felt too much—like you could barely take it.

Rafe’s lips grazed your ear. “Let go, baby. Trust me.”

And you did. Because it was him. Because the way he touched you, praised you, worshipped every inch of you—it left no room for doubt. Only the fire building in your stomach and the way his voice made your whole body respond.

When it happened, you couldn’t believe it.

Your body snapped, every nerve on fire as the wave crashed through you. But instead of the release you were used to, it was something else—something that left your legs shaking uncontrollably, your mouth open in a silent scream, wetness flooding down your thighs.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, panting, looking down at the sheets now soaked beneath you.

Rafe froze for a second, staring at you like you’d just handed him the fucking world. Then the smirk tugged at his lips, cocky and so proud.

“You squirted, baby.”

Your eyes widened. “I—I didn’t know I could—”

“I did.” His voice was low, dripping with satisfaction as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, glistening and slick. “Knew I’d get it out of you one day. All me, huh?”

You flushed, chest heaving, still not fully recovered from the high.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple before letting his hand trail over your shaking thigh, smearing your release along your skin, watching it glisten in the low light. “Look what I did to you,” he murmured, almost to himself, like he couldn’t believe it either. “Fuck, baby, you don’t even know how hot you looked when you let go like that.”

You whimpered, still sensitive, legs trying to close—but Rafe slid between them, keeping you open, needy, even though you were spent.

His fingers ghosted your clit again, and you gasped.

“Rafe—too much, I—”

“You think I’m done?” His grin was pure sin. “Not even close. Now I know you can do that for me? I want it again.”

[hiscrimsonembrace]

cw: obsession, manipulation, toxic love, baby-trapping

Ghost, who thinks he's the one pulling the strings, ready to tie you to him for good. In his mind you're already his, the fact that you met months ago and only get together for carnal pleasure is irrelevant. There's no way out. Not when he's got a plan.

Ghost tracks your cycle without you knowing, slipping into your period app and memorizing your most fertile days. That week, you're all his. He won't let you do anything else while you're ovulating, making sure to fill you several times a day—won't let you get up after you're done either, not that you could anyway. He keeps you hydrated, feeds you a rich diet that includes lots of leafy greens, nuts and fish. He isn't certain if what he's read online is true, but won't take any chances, not even with himself. He stops smoking, just in case.

No matter the time and place, Ghost's rough hands find their way on the small of your back, bending you down with no effort, your body a malleable, soft clay beneath his touch. He puts you in positions that offer the deepest penetration, loving to keep your legs hooked over his shoulders while he relentlessly pounds into you like an animal in heat. You've got him in such a tight grip that when he finally spends himself inside your cunt, he can barely form coherent words—just grunts, ragged breaths and a mumbled string of swears. And when he recovers, he's so drunk on you that he reveals his plans by mistake, “Fuck, g-gonna keep you, luv. Make sure y'never leave.”

It's obsession, pure and tainted at the same time. But it's love too, in the way he sees it. Love that makes him go down on you for hours, his warm tongue swirling gentle circles around your clit, drawing so many orgasms out of you that you go limp and start seeing stars. Love that has his fingers digging into your hips, grasp strong enough to bruise as he holds you still—so paranoid about wasting a drop that he takes his time, scooping up your mixed juices that leak out of your wet heat and pushing them back in so that it takes. To him, love and obsession are indistinguishable. But here's the thing—you might be even worse.

Because you stopped taking your birth control weeks ago. Cheeky little thing, letting him think he's the one setting the trap, that it's his idea to keep you, when you made that decision long before he even thought of it.

Because Ghost's name is the only prayer you'll ever need, mewled between gasps and bitten into your lip, ingrained in your heart so deep only a blade could carve it out. And even then, you'd bleed him. His name is the only sin you'll never repent for—because you don't want forgiveness, don't want absolution. You just want him, over and over, until there's nothing left of him you haven't claimed.

[reiding-writing]

Can you write something for Spencer and cold reader where they’re on a case and a police officer has been flirting with Spencer heavily the whole time and he’s just been laughing it off and being his typical self but reader is jealous and finally realizes she wants to be more than friends who kiss. Ur cold reader fics r soooo good btw like u ate.

MAKE IT OFFICIAL. /spencer reid/

the limits of your patience are pushed further than usual seeing spencer’s oblivious kindness whilst being flirted with.

cold!reader 1.7k flangst series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | thank you girliepop 💅

You’re halfway through a sip of bitter coffee when she laughs again. It’s the same laugh she’s been using all morning—breathy, melodic, and entirely directed at Spencer.

It flutters too long in the small space of the precinct, stretching over the clatter of keyboards and the low murmur of detectives briefing each other. You tilt your head slightly, observing from your spot near the evidence board.

The officer—Mitchell, her name tag says—leans closer to Spencer than necessary. She rests her hand on his forearm, which should be a brief touch but somehow lingers long enough to make your fingers tighten around the paper cup in your hand. Spencer’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at whatever nonsense she’s just said.

You press your thumb against the edge of the cup, hard enough that the cardboard buckles slightly.

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” she purrs, too saccharine, too eager, watching him fill out some report. “All those big words,” She laughs again.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the sharpness of it cut into your skin. The burn is grounding.

Spencer just chuckles softly, light and disarming, probably completely unaware of how deliberately she’s touching him. He barely reacts when she pushes a strand of hair off his forehead, her fingers lingering too long for a casual gesture. His attention is on the paper, and he doesn’t pull away. Of course he doesn’t. He’s Spencer.

You glance at the clock. 3:37 PM. You have been here for hours. You’ve combed through reports, stared at maps, gone over timelines—and still, none of that has been as frustrating as standing here watching her flip her hair over her shoulder every time she speaks to him.

Spencer looks up and catches your eye. His smile brightens automatically, a familiar warmth in his eyes. But you turn away before it has a chance to land. You shove the rest of your coffee into the trash and stride toward the conference room without a word.

—

You hear Spencer before you see him. His voice carries softly into the conference room, spilling through the half-open door.

“Hey,”

You don’t turn. You’re shuffling papers across the table without focus, avoiding looking at him as he steps inside. You hear the faint click of the door closing behind him.

“You okay?” he asks lightly, but there’s that soft edge of concern under the surface.

You nod, once, briskly. “Fine.”

You’re not.

Spencer hesitates for a moment. You know he’s searching your face, trying to interpret the sharpness in your voice. He’s always been annoyingly good at reading you. It doesn’t stop you from keeping your eyes on the case files, scanning words you don’t actually see.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again. His tone is teasing. “You stormed out of the room so fast, I thought maybe you remembered you left the car on or something,”

You exhale sharply through your nose. He’s trying to lighten the mood. You know it’s meant to be endearing, but it irritates you instead. You stack the papers into a neat, rigid pile and stare at them.

“Why didn’t you just give her your number?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Spencer blinks. “What?”

You don’t look at him. “The officer. Mitchell. She was all over you. You could’ve saved her the effort.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

You finally glance at him, and his expression is one of genuine confusion. His lips are slightly parted, his brows furrowed just enough to create that little crease above his nose. The one you’re too familiar with.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Your voice is flat. Measured.

Spencer’s head tilts slightly, blinking at you in that slow, owlish way he does when he’s processing. “She was just being nice,”

You let out a short, humourless laugh, shaking your head once. You stare down at the case file again. You’re gripping the edge of it so tightly that the paper threatens to crumple.

“She touched you like four different times,” you say, tone clipped. “And you didn’t seem to mind.”

Spencer frowns. “I didn’t even notice,”

Of course he didn’t. Because he was too busy being Spencer—kind and soft-spoken and so oblivious that he doesn’t even register when someone’s blatantly flirting with him. The worst part is that he probably doesn’t even realise why you’re angry.

There’s a stretch of silence. His eyes are still on you, searching.

You finally look up at him and hold his gaze. Your voice is steady, cool, and unyielding.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

The words come out without any warning. Blunt and matter-of-fact, like you’re stating a weather report. There’s no emotion in your voice, no softness, no trace of vulnerability.

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. He blinks once. Then twice.

“What?” he says softly, and you can see the confusion flit across his face. Like he thinks he misheard you.

You exhale sharply, irritated by the way your chest tightens. You keep your eyes on him, refusing to look away, even when you feel the weight of your words hanging in the space between you.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.” you repeat evenly.

There’s no flourish to the statement. No tenderness. It’s clinical and cold, like you’re stating a simple fact. Like you’re asking him to pass the salt.

Spencer blinks again. You watch his throat bob slightly as he swallows. His voice is careful when he speaks, slow and measured.

“Why… are you saying it like that?”

You cross your arms loosely, feeling exposed despite your detached tone. “Does it matter how I’m saying it?”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, it kind of does,”

You clench your jaw. You’re suddenly aware of how loud the blood is in your ears.

“It doesn’t have to be a big thing, Spencer,” you say plainly. “I’m just… telling you what I want.”

His eyes are soft, searching. His brow furrows slightly, and you can tell he’s trying to read between the lines. You hate how easily he can see through you.

“Do you—” He stops himself and exhales slowly. He tries again, quieter this time. “Do you mean that?”

You scoff softly, feigning exasperation, even though your hands have curled into fists at your sides. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

He takes a half step closer. The warmth in his eyes softens into something gentler, something achingly familiar.

“Hey,” he says quietly. His voice is so soft it almost makes your throat tighten. “Your tone isn’t really… reassuring,”

You roll your eyes slightly, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected. “I didn’t realise there was a proper tone for this sort of thing.”

But Spencer’s still watching you, gaze steady, almost too steady. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “You sound like you’re scared of it,”

Your stomach tightens sharply, and you hate how exposed you feel. You glance away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“I’m not scared,” you say quietly. It’s almost convincing.

Spencer steps closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s right in front of you. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, close enough that his scent—faintly woodsy, familiar—pulls at you.

“Then say it again,” he murmurs softly. “But… more— genuinely? Vulnerably?”

You let out a sharp breath, heart tightening. You stare at the floor, feeling your pulse in your throat. Your hands are cold and damp, and you want to shove them into your pockets, but you don’t.

You force yourself to look at him, and the moment you meet his eyes, your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper.

“I,” You breathe. “would like you to be my boyfriend,”

It’s softer this time, but the edges of it are still stiff and unfamiliar. You sound uncertain, and you hate it.

Spencer’s lips part slightly, and he exhales slowly, eyes impossibly gentle. He reaches out, carefully, deliberately, as if giving you time to pull away. But you don’t. His hand skims over yours, fingers brushing lightly against your knuckles, and his touch is steady, grounding.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “Okay?”

His mouth curves into the faintest smile, and his voice is barely above a murmur.

“Yeah,” He nods. “Okay,”

For a moment, you just stare at him, unsure if you’ve even heard him right. But then he’s leaning down, slow and deliberate, and your breath catches when his lips brush softly against yours.

His hands frame your face, tentative at first, as though afraid you might bolt. But when you don’t, his fingers settle more firmly along your jaw, thumbs brushing lightly over your skin.

And when you pull back slightly, breath unsteady, his eyes search yours with a quiet intensity.

“No one’s going to see,” he murmurs softly against your lips. “It’s alright,”

Your chest tightens sharply, and you hate how warm his words make you feel. You pull him down again, into a kiss that makes the papers on the table blur into nothingness.

And this time, you let yourself want it.

[russo-woso]

A long time || Leah Williamson x reader

Summary You’ve missed Leah and when you see her again, it doesn’t end how you thought it would.

Warning smut 18+, fingering, cunnilingus

You never thought you’d see her again.

But here she was standing in front of you.

It had been five years yet it was like time hadn’t aged her.

Her eyes identical to how you remembered them, her lips just as kissable, everything about her just as perfect as it used to be.

The last time you saw her, she was standing outside the terminal of Heathrow, waving with tears in her eyes.

Her eyes were filled with tears, her girlfriend - you - going to America for god knows how long.

As you waved goodbye to her, you felt it.

An underlying promise to always love each other, no matter the distance between you both - mentally and physically.

She’d understood why you were going.

Your grandma was sick and as the only family member available to care for her, you had to go back to your home country.

You’d tried, both of you, to make it work.

But with the time difference, busy schedules and a growing distance between the two of you, there was no choice but to let one another go.

It was hard at first, but as time went on, you slowly got through it.

You still loved her though, you knew that, most people around you daily knew that.

But you never thought you’d come face to face with her again.

You’d never see her again.

But as soon as you saw the blonde hair, the impeccable outfit and then her face, you knew it was her.

Leah was standing in front of you.

“Leah…” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leah’s hand instinctively went to the back of her neck, rubbing it awkwardly as she looked you.

“Hiya, Y/N.”

“Hi.” You said, attempting to smile but your face remained frozen. “You look well.”

“You do too.”

A silence grew became the two of you as you both stood, not knowing what to do.

“What makes you come to America?” You questioned, breaking the silence.

“Preseason friendly against Washington spirit. We won so we came to celebrate here - it was the closest club to the hotel.” Leah explained. “What are you doing in America?”

“I live here?” You said, a smile appearing on your face as Leah’s face reddened in embarrassment.

“I don’t know why I asked that. I knew you did.”

“I live just round the corner. This is my local club.” You said, Leah humming as she listened to you.

“So, how’s everything going?”

“Umm… everything’s okay. Im a teacher in an elementary school. I have a daughter now - she’s two.” You told Leah, her expression shocked as you mentioned your daughter.

“A daughter? Wow. Congratulations, you and your partner must—” Leah began but you quickly cut her off

“—no partner. She was the result of a one night stand. He didn’t pull out in time and well, Emilia was born nine months later.”

Leah’s heart raced at the thought of you being single.

“How about you? Any partner on the scene?”

“Nope. Unless football counts?” Leah joked, a small smile on her face. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“You’re celebrating with your team. I don’t want to keep you from them.”

“Can I please buy you a drink?” Leah repeated, a desperate look in her eyes.

“How can I say no when you used such good manners?” You teased

“Good.”

You don’t know how it happened.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was how hot Leah looked, but as soon as her lips touched yours, you knew she was gonna end up in your bed.

The two of you were hidden round a corner, away from the hustle of the club.

You were pushed up against a wall, Leah’s lips on your neck as you clawed at her back.

“Le…”

“Fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed hearing you say my name. I’ve missed you.” Leah whispered in between kisses.

You let out a muffled moan as her teeth dug into your skin, her tongue soon soothing the pain.

“Your place?” Leah asked, not having to say anything else in order to make you understand.

“Yeah.” You whispered, a smile on both your faces as you realised what was to come.

You both made your way out of the club, a wave of fresh air hitting you as you walked along the pavement.

It wasn’t long before you were standing outside your apartment, Leah’s hand on your hips as she pushed you against the door.

Her lips were on yours in a matter of seconds, her tongue soon finding its way into your mouth.

“Wait… what about your daughter?” Leah asked, quickly pulling away.

“At my friend’s house. I need a break every now and then. Now keep kissing me.”

Leah didn’t need to be told twice, your lips connecting.

I’m between kisses, you managed to find your keys, opening the door before stumbling inside.

You dumped everything in the opening of your apartment, throwing your heels off as you pulled at Leah’s shirt, pulling her close to you and placing your lips on hers.

Leah guided you to the sofa, lying you down gently before hovering over you.

“Are you sure you want this?” Leah asked, her breath fanning against your face.

“I want this, Leah, I want you.”

“Good because I want you too.”

Within minutes, you were both naked, your clothes somewhere in your apartment.

Leah’s lips travelled down to your boobs, her tongue nipping at your nipples as you pulled at her hair gently.

Once she was content, she continued moving downwards until her mouth was in line with your entrance.

She didn’t waste anytime, too desperate to feel you, to taste you, to make love to you.

Her tongue swiped through you folds, a moan falling from her lips as she took in your taste.

“Fuck you taste as good as I remember.”

Her tongue lapped at your folds, moans falling embarrassingly loudly from your mouth.

She moved to your clit, sucking and nipping gently at it.

“Right there, le. Fuck! Feels so good.”

She brought her middle finger to your entrance, slowly pushing into you as she continued to lick your clit.

Your legs began to shake with the added pleasure of her finger.

She thrusted into you quickly - with purpose.

“Le, I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop.”

“Never, darling.”

Her finger found your sweet spot, continuously pounding into it as your body shook with pleasure.

“Le!” You cried, your orgasm crashing over you.

Leah guided you through your orgasm, helping you ride it out before resting her head on your chest.

You kissed her forehead gently as she cuddled you.

Whether it be the alcohol, the sex or the whole situation, the two of you were knocked out in a matter of minutes.

The stress and realisation of what just happened could wait till the morning.

Meanwhile at the club, the Arsenal girls searched high and low around the building looking for Leah.

“Are we gonna have to call the police?”