#but i barely act different i just get totally fucked up

[0rionz-belt]

i had a thought yesterday involving monster house, scallops, and mouths. you can feel the inside of your mouth at all times. a scallop can feel everything inside it’s shell and opens and closes like a mouth so therefore it’s the closest thing we have to an animal that’s just a mouth. The house in a monster house adjacent au i like for a thing can also feel it’s insides and has all of its functions being done inside. therefore it’s a weird scallop.

Would you believe me if i said this was a completely sober thought i had. and that i only started to disagree with it when i was high.

[greengoblinswifey]

Breaking Innocence—Fratboy!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you fall for shy, sweet fratboy!nicholas who’s different from his cocky frat brothers <3

warnings— innocent!nicholas, sub!nicholas, dom!reader, loss of virginity, oral, unprotected sex, creampie, strip tease, dry humping, face sitting, praise kink, fluff.

a/n— this might be an on going au series so requests are open for frat!boy nicholas or him in general <3

You were known around campus, the popular girl everyone seemed to have their eyes on, but you didn’t have time for the typical crowd of college guys. Most of them, especially the frat boys, had a one-track mind, and you’d long since figured out they only saw you as a conquest, something to fuck and be praised for it. You’d shut down every attempt, disinterested in their shallow flirting and relentless pursuit.

Then, one afternoon on campus, you were mid-scroll on your phone, drink in hand, when someone collided with you.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped, not in the mood for another run-in with some cocky frat boy.

“Sorry! I’m really, I didn’t mean to—” he stammered, looking genuinely horrified, and you stopped. The guy in front of you wasn’t like the others. He was tall, muscular, and had this almost awkward sweetness, eyes widening like he was caught doing something wrong. He barely met your gaze, shuffling a bit like he wanted to melt into the ground.

You felt a small grin creep onto your face. “You always this clumsy?” you teased, watching him flush.

“N-no, I just, I didn’t see you there, sorry,” he managed, voice soft but earnest. And then, after a second, he surprised you. “Could I, maybe get your number?” He scratched the back of his neck, his nerves obvious.

Something in you softened. You weren’t used to guys who seemed this genuine, this…different? So you handed him your number, and he looked up at you, a glimmer of disbelief in his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll, um, text you later.”

As he walked away, your friend leaned over, eyeing you curiously. “That’s Nicholas Chavez,” she whispered. “He’s in Theatre Arts. Heard he wants to be an actor.”

You felt a flicker of intrigue. The shy frat boy wanted to act? Nicholas was already proving to be unlike anyone else around here.

As evening rolled around, you were in your dorm room, putting the final touches on your makeup and slipping into a sexy dress that you knew would turn heads. Your phone buzzed, a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: “Hey Y/N! I was wondering…would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I know it's short notice, and totally fine if you can't!”

Then, almost immediately:

Nicholas: “It's Nicholas, by the way…Nicholas Chavez.”

You laughed at his nervousness, finding it unexpectedly charming. Quickly, you typed back, “Sure, I’d love to. I’m on the east side of campus.” He replied instantly, “Great! I’ll pick you up at 7.”

Right on time, you heard a knock. Opening the door, you caught the look in his eyes as they widened, taking in your outfit. "Wow, you look incredible," he said, clearly a little stunned.

You smiled, “Thank you.” Then you noticed the flowers he was holding. “Are those…for me?”

“Yeah,” he said, blushing slightly, “I thought you might like them.”

“I love them, thanks, I’ll go put them in some water.”

As you headed to his car, he opened the door for you, and you settled in. The ride to the restaurant was filled with light conversation, but you caught his shy glances in your direction.

At the restaurant, he was every bit the gentleman, pulling out your chair and making sure you were comfortable. As you sat, you couldn’t help but notice how his nervousness seemed to melt away as you talked about everything from your favorite movies to his passion for acting.

When the check arrived, you reached for your purse. “I can pay my share, seriously.”

He shook his head, insisting with a smile, “No way. I asked you out, so I’m paying.”

After dinner, he drove you back, and as he walked you to your door, he paused, his hands nervously fidgeting. “I really had a great time tonight, I hope we can do it again sometime?”

You surprised yourself, not quite believing the words as they came out. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Nicholas grinned, his excitement clear. “Awesome. I’ll text you later?”

You nodded, and with one last smile, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn’t felt in a while.

The next day, word spread across campus about Nicholas’ fraternity hosting a big “End of Halloween” party. You were tempted to skip, knowing the frat’s reputation, but when Nicholas texted, personally inviting you, you decided to go, mostly because of him.

Dressed to kill, you arrived at the frat house with your friends. Nicholas was waiting outside, leaning against his car, and his face lit up when he saw you. His hand hovered protectively over your back as he guided you through the crowded party, never letting you out of sight. Once you were settled on a couch, he disappeared to grab drinks from the kitchen.

Just then, Connor, one of the frat’s popular members and a guy you’d briefly entertained in the past, slid up beside you, smirking. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he teased. “Thought you ghosted me for no reason.”

You raised an eyebrow, replying, “I cut you off because you’re an asshole…with a not-so-impressive dick size, I might add.” The party nearby burst into laughter, Connor’s face going red as he tried to stammer a comeback.

Before he could say anything else, Nicholas returned, stepping between you and Connor. “Is there a problem here?” Nicholas asked, his voice calm but firm.

Connor sneered. “Oh, so this is the guy you’re fucking now? Figures.” He turned to Nicholas. “Better watch out. She’s just a—”

You cut him off sharply, “I’m a ‘what,’ Connor? A whore? Funny, considering you never even got close.” The party erupted with laughter again as Connor glared, defeated, and stormed off.

Nicholas handed you your drink, clearly impressed. “Thanks for standing up for me,” you said, touching his arm.

His cheeks turned slightly pink. “Anytime,” he replied, flashing a shy smile.

After a few drinks, you felt the alcohol kicking in, and the music pulled you to the dance floor. Grabbing Nicholas by the hand, you started dancing, pressing your body against him and grinding to the beat. He was shy at first, but he reluctantly wrapped his hands around your waist, his face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

You glanced back at him, laughing. “Loosen up, Nick. We’re just dancing!”

He chuckled, stammering, “I-I know, I just, wasn’t expecting- this.”

But he was smiling, and you could tell he was enjoying every second. You took his hand and slowly guided it over your body, letting him feel the curves along your waist, your hips, and your thighs. Then, you turned to face him, your gaze locking with his as you moved closer. Feeling him rock hard against you, a smirk played on your lips as you pulled his hands up, guiding him to grab your ass firmly. You swayed together to the music, electricity buzzing in every touch.

As someone passed by with drinks, you reached out, grabbed one, and took a sip. The alcohol was strong, sending a rush through you. Without a word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, transferring the drink in a slow, heated kiss. He was taken aback but quickly melted into it, swallowing as the taste mingled between you.

“Didn’t expect that,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You grinned up at him, feeling bold. “Stick around; I’m full of surprises.”

His hand moved back to your waist, drawing you even closer. “I’m counting on it.” He was getting bold too.

He leaned down, his forehead against yours as you both dirty danced to the music blaring over the speakers. It felt like you were the only ones in your own little bubble.

“Do you wanna go back to my dorm?”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered, “Y-yes! I mean, sure!” You laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him through the party, the noise fading behind you as you made your way to your side of the campus.

“Why are we going there?” he asked, curiosity etched on his face.

You glanced back at him with a mischievous grin. “Shh, you’ll see.”

Once you reached your dorm, you opened the door and gestured for him to sit on the bed. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

As you stepped into the bathroom, you quickly took off your clothes, leaving yourself in just your lingerie. A flutter of nerves washed over you as you contemplated whether you should really go through with this, he was still one of the frat boys after all. With a deep breath, you stepped back out into the room, and his jaw dropped at the sight of you.

“Close your mouth, Nicholas,” you teased, your heart racing.

“Wow, you’re- so- wow. Um, you’re beautiful,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing.

You bit your lip, feeling confident, and stood between his legs. Taking his hands, you guided them across your body, letting him feel the curves beneath your delicate lingerie.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his neck, then tugging at his shirt. “Let’s see what’s under here,” you murmured, pulling it off to reveal his toned chest. You didn’t expect this shy, awkward guy to be a Greek god beneath those clothes.

As he leaned closer, you began making out, feeling the heat build between you. His hands explored your body and the air thickened with anticipation.

You sank to your knees, your hands gliding from his firm chest down his abs. Your lips followed, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made him shiver under your touch. As you reached the waistband of his boxers, you looked up at him, noticing the nervous anticipation in his eyes.

When you gently tugged them down, his face flushed a deep red. He stammered, “Y-you really don’t have to.”

But as you took him in, you felt a thrill. “Shy guys really do surprise you,” you murmured, grinning up at him, which only seemed to make him blush more. He was huge. The biggest you’d ever had, if you were being honest.

As you began, his hands gripped the edge of the bed, and he gasped, “You— you're amazing.” His voice grew breathy, and he looked down, struggling to keep himself together.

When he was close, he tried to pull back. “W-wait, I’m about to—”

You simply held him in place, and his protests dissolved into a moan as you continued sucking and slurping his cum as he released into your mouth. Afterward, he looked down at you in awe. “You really didn’t have to, but wow, you’re amazing.”

You smiled and leaned up, and he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your lips, surprising both of you with the intensity. He cupped your cheeks, tongue sucking on yours as he hummed, tasting himself in your mouth.

You nudged him back gently, stepping away with a sly smile. Slowly, you began to slip out of your lingerie, giving him a strip tease as he watched, entranced, his breath hitching. His gaze roamed over you, and you could see the effect you had on him, his entire body tensing and his dick hard and leaking as you played with yourself, then finally turned and bent over, offering him a full view.

Pushing him down onto the bed, you grinned at the way he looked up at you. “I want you to- sit on my face,” he said, his voice barely a whisper but full of confidence.

“Are you sure?” you teased, hovering over him.

“Sit,” he insisted, guiding you down until you were close enough, and then he pulled you fully down, his mouth on you with a hunger you hadn’t expected. His tongue explored with an intensity that left you gasping, his hands gripping your hips as he delved deeper. “Just like that, I wanna taste every part of you,” he murmured between breaths, and the sound of his voice sent you over the edge. You couldn’t hold back, your body responding fully, and you leaned into him, gripping his hair as he drew everything out of you and you squirted.

Catching your breath, you looked down at him, amazed. “You- you’re the first to make me squirt like that,” you said softly.

He smiled, a hint of pride flashing across his face. But then he hesitated. “I, uh- I should probably tell you… I’m a virgin.”

You smiled, taking his hand in yours. “Hey, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said gently. “It’s actually… kind of sweet.” You ran your fingers over his jaw. “Do you want me to help you feel good?”

He looked away, then back up at you, and nodded.

“Use your words, Nicholas,” you teased.

“I want you to take my virginity,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

As you straddled him, you both took in a sharp breath. The connection between you was powerful, both of you feeling it as you moved closer, slowly sinking down until his cock filled you completely. The feeling left you both gripping each other, your breaths mingling as you adjusted, the feeling almost overwhelming but perfect.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re so big, stretching me so good,” you gasped.

Nicholas' hands moved to your hips, guiding you as he leaned in, his mouth tracing a warm path to your collarbone before lowering to your hard brown nipples. His lips wrapped around them, sending shivers through your whole body as he took his time, savoring each kiss, each movement. You began to ride him slowly, letting every inch of his dick fill you as you took in the moment, enjoying how he reacted to each shift of your hips, his moans becoming more and more uninhibited.

As the rhythm built, you started moving faster, grinding against him, feeling the heat between you both reaching its peak. “I’m- I’m so close,” you whispered breathlessly.

“Me too,” he groaned, his voice heavy with need.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I want you to,” you reassured him, pulling him close. Moments later, he cried out, your name on his lips, his hands gripping you tightly as you both reached that final, perfect high together.

Breathing heavily, you both lay back for a moment, catching your breath. But as you glanced over, you noticed he was still just as eager, his cock hard. You lay down, opening your arms to him with a soft smile, and he shifted to take his place above you. His movements were careful but passionate, each thrust deep and unhurried, as he leaned in close, your legs wrapping around him as you whispered, “Tell me how good it feels sweetie.”

“So good,” he answered between breaths. “You feel incredible.”

His voice sent a rush of warmth through you, and you pulled him closer, murmuring, “Tell me how much you love my pussy.”

“I love it,” he admitted, his eyes locked on yours, his voice sincere, “I love your pussy.”

As you both reached that final peak, everything else faded away, leaving only the closeness between you. When it was over, he collapsed beside you, a soft smile on his face. “That was amazing,” he said, his voice full of gratitude.

You reached over, your fingers tracing gentle running through his hair. “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you murmured, and when he looked up, his eyes shy, he quietly asked, “Can you hold me?”

“Of course,” you replied, pulling him close as his head rested on your chest, your fingers running softly through his hair. There, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you both drifted into a comfortable silence, feeling the connection between you deepen with every moment and he soon fell asleep on your chest. His soft, cute snores filling the room.

[yieldtotemptation]

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

-

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting.  It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets.  You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.” 

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants.  “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good. 

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.  

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”  

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There���s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

[slasherscream]

the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION

❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥

Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke. 

Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while. 

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking! 

Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes. 

Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.

David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.

❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥

Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking. 

Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you…  Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while. 

Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hello!

Can you make a Virgin! Perv! Eddie fic with an assumed innocent! Virgin! Fem! Reader?

Eddie and reader are friends and he flirts with her often, but she’s all blushing and shy, very much a good girl vibe. Maybe he suggests to her to do some “self care” like Simon does with Daphne in Bridgerton…? And he sneaks out to her house and peeps her window to watch her change and stuff but finds her taking his advice and touching herself?? He doesn’t join in but jerks off outside the window to her.

Then maybe a next day scene where Eddie confronts reader and asks if anyone’s ever touched her like that before and offers to do it for her the next time she wants help?? Maybe a giggly dumb smut scene with them in a part two???

Bonus points for a girly girl reader or a chubby reader! 🥰

ugh i love this idea!

cw: masturbation

part two

Eddie knows he shouldn’t peep, but he just can’t help it. He knows he can see a woman undress on TV or even in porn, but seeing you in your pretty, lacy bras, god, that does more for him than anything else. Just one glimpse and he feels himself getting hard. 

And because he’s not a total perv, he quickly hurries to his own trailer before you get fully undressed. Besides, he likes to leave the rest up to the imagination. Imagining you taking off the bra in front of him really does wonders for his late night fantasies. 

He wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to sleep with you but he knows he won’t. Because he’s the weird metalhead who plays Dungeons and Dragons and women typically aren’t into that kind of thing. So, he thinks he’ll just settle for the little waves you give him when you see him around the trailer park and he has to act like he hasn’t seen you in your underwear. 

God, what he would give to squeeze your chubby thighs as he kisses you stupid, to love on your stomach because he sees the way you look at yourself in the mirror sometimes. He would want you to know how hot he thinks you are because fuck are you the hottest woman he’s ever seen. 

He hurries out the door to head to work and of course, you’re there, getting into your car. And he makes a beeline for you, resting his hand on the passenger door so you can’t go anywhere. He wants to look at you a little longer. You’re in one of your cute little dresses that Eddie loves. Bonus points when the wind blows your dress up ever so slightly so he can get a glimpse of your panties. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says as he leans in, his face only inches from yours. If he wasn’t so concerned about scaring you off, he’d lean in and kiss you. Your lips just look so inviting with that pretty pink gloss you’ve got on. He wants to kiss you until you’re both breathless then go to work where everyone’s going to ask why he’s wearing lip gloss and he’ll get to tell them that he had the honor of kissing the prettiest girl in Hawkins. 

“Hi, Eddie,” you reply, pulling him out of his daze. “How are you?” 

“Just peachy,” he replies, reaching up and fixing your cardigan that had fallen off your shoulder. It being bare is just a distraction because all he wants to do is leave hickeys across it. God, he got one glimpse of you changing by accident and now he can’t stop peeping on you or thinking about you in filthy ways. “And yourself?” 

Eddie is cute, hot, even. And you don’t know why you can’t get the guts to ask him out. You know he’s just flirting with you because it’s just who he is, but you just want to know if he’d be that nice if he took you out to dinner. 

And you can’t help but wonder what would happen afterwards. If he’d walk you to the door and kiss you there then wait for you to go inside before he went back to his own trailer. 

Your thoughts are so different to Eddie’s. So pure and sweet and that was one thing that he likes about you. That you see the world so much differently than he does and it’s always so refreshing to him. 

You seem tense and Eddie has no idea why. He wants to, though. He wants to know why, hoping that he’s not the cause of it. He would hate to be the one that makes you uncomfortable even though he’s pretty sure that he’s not. So it has to be something else. 

“Something bothering you, sweetheart?” he asks as he pushes some hair out of your face, his hand resting on your neck. 

You don’t want to tell him the truth, that he’s what’s bothering you. You have so many feelings towards him and you’re not sure how to get them out. You’re very close to just kissing him to see if his lips are as soft as you’re hoping. But you don’t. You can’t. You don’t have the confidence to do so and it’s killing you. 

You wish you were more like the girls you worked with. The confident kind who wouldn’t even bat an eye when it came to kissing a cute boy. You’re the kind who just fantasizes about it without ever actually following through with your desires. It’s too risky, especially since he’s your neighbor. If he doesn’t want to then you’re just going to think about the rejection every day for the rest of your life. And if he does kiss you back, then he’ll probably want more and you’ve never gotten to that part so you’d just end up embarrassing yourself. 

“I just-” you pause, feeling the frustration rising in you and Eddie is shocked, but also slightly amused since he’s never seen this side of you. “When’s it gonna be my turn?” You ask, looking him in the eyes. 

“For what?” He asks gently, his thumb rubbing up and down your neck with a featherlight touch. 

“For-for sex,” you blurt and Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh, but he’s just so caught off guard. Not only by your words, but also your outburst. He never expected to see you like this. 

“You do know you don’t need a partner for that sort of thing. When it’s late at night and you’re-”

“Sleeping?” Eddie laughs again. God, you’re so cute. 

“Pleasuring yourself,” he finishes and you still seem to be confused.

“Pleasuring myself?” Of course you’ve heard of it, but it’s never something you’ve done yourself. And it’s not that you haven’t wanted to, but nothing has ever made you feel that way. Nothing has ever made you feel the need to do so. 

“You do masturbate, right?” All you can do is shake your head and Eddie doesn’t judge you. He would never. He doesn’t get it, but he supposes that this could be a teaching moment. 

“You can pleasure yourself, no partner needed,” he repeats. “It especially does the trick when it’s between the legs,” he leans closer, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth. It’s like he knows what he’s doing to you, but the truth is that Eddie has no idea. He’s too busy thinking about how hot you’d look lying on your bed with your hand in your underwear, your eyes shut tight as you let out the hottest moans, your back arching as you reach your orgasm. 

“And when you find what feels best, you just continue until you orgasm.”

“But how do I get there? What do you do?” He’s surprised you have so little knowledge when it comes to the subject, especially when the internet exists, but again, he’s not going to judge. If he had it his way, he’d make you lie against the hood of your car and talk you through it while your fingers pumped in and out of you. And then as a reward for being such a good teacher, he’d lick your fingers clean then spread your legs wide, fucking you so hard that you’d be forced to call out of work because you couldn’t walk.

“I just imagine someone, maybe a situation that gets me hard and then go to town. I’d love to stay and chat about this sweetheart. Believe me, I really would, but I’ve gotta get to work. Give me a call afterwards and we can chat about it, okay?” 

He presses a kiss to your cheek then heads back to his trailer where his van is parked. You stand there, still in shock from your conversation. You had no idea that it would get to that point but now you have so many questions that you’d really like for him to answer, but they’ll just have to wait until tonight. 

You think about Eddie’s words the entire day. You’re so distracted as you sit at your desk, surprised that you’re able to write out an email to your boss, because all you can think about is Eddie and his words and how badly you want to call him after work and have him talk you through the pleasure he’s talking about. You want to do it, but you want to do it right. And you’re sure that he’d be able to teach you. 

You get home from work after the longest day of your life and as much as you want Eddie’s help, you think your first time should be by yourself. It only seems right. So after you set your purse by your desk before taking off your pants. You sit on the edge of your bed and try to get in the right headspace. 

You lie on your bed with your head on your pillow and spread your legs ever so slightly, closing your eyes as you slowly stick your hand on your underwear, pushing them into your cunt with the lightest touch. You pump in and out as your mind goes to Eddie, imagining him being the one to touch you like this. 

That seems to do the trick because the next thing you know, you’re moaning. You don’t know why you were so nervous. This is easy and definitely the most pleasure you’ve ever felt, especially when you have Eddie’s face in your mind, guiding you through the motions. 

You can imagine how his rings would feel inside you, the cold metal thrusting in and out as he smiles down at you with a devilish grin, telling you just how good of a girl you are. You want him, need him so desperately that you’re moaning his name as you reach your first orgasm. 

Eddie can’t believe what he’s seeing. He had every intention of watching you change, but now he’s stayed for the show. Seeing that you’ve taken his advice has filled him with a pride that he’s never experienced. He’s also super hard. So much so that he needs to take care of himself, and now. And when you moan his name as you climax? Oh, he’s done for and his pants have dropped to the ground before he can even process what he’s doing. 

He pulls down his underwear and takes hold of his cock, giving it a few slow pumps, wishing that you were the one to jack him off. His eyes flutter shut as he throws his head back, his pumps getting harder and faster as he covers his mouth to stifle his moans. You can’t know that he’s out there watching you. That’s just his little secret and he’d be mortified if you ever found out. 

“Eddie,” you moan out again and he thinks he’s going to come right then and there. God, he needs to hear that while he’s above you pumping in and out, in and out as he fucks you hard and deep, wanting you to cry on his cock as he gets all of himself inside you. 

He needs to hear you beg for him, your whiny moans making him even harder as he pounds into you. He needs to fuck you so hard that you’re unable to walk. But this is the closest he’s ever going to get. Because you’re a nice girl and he wouldn’t want to corrupt you like that. He’s always never actually had sex and he’d be embarrassed to admit that to you even though he’s sure that you never have either. 

His pumps get slower as he imagines how gentle you’d be with him. You’d be so gentle with him and he can’t help but let his mind wander to how you’d suck him off. If you’d take him all at once or inch by inch. You’re his good girl so you’d probably go for it all at once because of how badly you’d want to please him. And he’d fuck your mouth in a rapid speed as he hands tug on your hair, his balls slapping about because of how fast he’s going. 

That seems to do the trick because Eddie finishes fast, cum leaking out of his cock and god does he wish you could clean it up for him. He doesn’t bother wiping it off as he pulls up his underwear and jeans before heading inside for a much needed shower where he’s going to think of you some more. 

Once you’ve gotten your fill, you get the best sleep of your life, wondering why you had been so hellbent on finding a partner when you had the capability of pleasuring yourself the whole time. You got exactly what you wanted and didn’t need anyone’s help to do it. Even if you wanted a certain curly haired metalhead to do the honors. Maybe if you’d get the guts to ask him, he would. He’d do anything for you, even though you weren’t aware of it.

[maxtermind]

hello 👋 big congrats on hitting 3k ‼️👏🧨 i would request:

This is only, and only for the business deal. No more, no less.

That’s dangerous.

With Lewis, maybe sugar daddy or arranged marriage?

sending love 🫶

“this is only, and only for the business deal. no more, no less.” + “that's dangerous.”

( event masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ★:summary:: in which your husband just can't sleep on the same bed as you because- well his sanity is at it's last thread till it snaps! ★:feat:: lewis hamilton x reader ★:genre:: v lil angst; too much smut

“I have nothing more to add.”

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as you stood across from Lewis in the lavish hotel room. Your patience was wearing thin, and his calm façade was pissing you off.

“You're insane if you think I’m just going to-” your words cut off when he abruptly stood up, eyes still staring intently at you.

Why did he even care where you spen the night? You would rather just book another hotel room than sleep on the sole bed while knowing your husband was a few feet away, sleeping on the couch, and not with you purposely.

“This is ridiculous,” you snapped when you found your voice again, your tone cutting through the silence. “I didn't sign up for this kind of treatment.”

Sure, that was a bit extreme. Given that he was always so polite, so prime, so perfect. God, was it a sin to expect him to lose it a bit? To not hold back when you clearly lost it whenever you were around him?

“And what kind of treatment is that, Y/N?” Lewis clenched his jaw, barely holding on to his… temper? “You cannot get another room to stay in, this is not-”

“I’m not sharing a room with you! I don’t give a fuck about what your investors think of us!” you retorted, throwing your arms above your head. “Thought this marriage was only for a business deal?!”

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with frustration. “That's right. This is only, and only for the business deal. No more, no less.” Lewis’ eye twitched and you rejoiced internally at finally seeing a tiny part of him starting to crack.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of anger and something else— something you refused to acknowledge in his presence any further. “If that's all it is, then…”

Frankly, the words stung more than you wanted to admit to him and- yourself. You knew this marriage was arranged for the benefit of both your families' businesses, but hearing it out loud, especially from him, made it feel all the more real, and all the more painful.

Were you hoping for a different outcome? Not necessarily. It did hurt, though, when your ‘husband’ stepped onto any tiny flicker of hope you had with his ignorant comments. Why did he act like he didn’t fucking want you?

Because he really doesn't, your mind screamed, and as tears gathered in your eyes, you turned around to leave, but Lewis grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not painful, a desperate plea leaving his mouth. “Wait.”

You shook your head as he turned you around, hardening your gaze, your eyes challenging. His expression was a total contrast, softened with a hint of panic in his eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Please, don't go.”

“What?” You hesitated, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at his apology. But you weren't ready to let him off the hook so easily. “You can't keep saying things like that and expect everything to be fine, Lewis.”

Oh- what a sight it was, to see him close his eyes as he tried to get a check on his composure. “I know. I know, and I'm sorry. Just... stay.” He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Please."

There was something in his voice, a vulnerability that you hadn't heard before. It made your resolve waver, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, your bodies pressed together. His lips found yours in a desperate kiss, all the pent-up frustration and longing pouring out in that single moment and you were taken back to say the least.

“Why do you do this?” you murmured against his lips, your voice shaking. “Why push me away when you know you want this too?”

“Because it's easier to pretend this is just a business deal.” Lewis's grip on you tightened, kissing you again as he sent shivers down your spine with his fingers snaking towards your sensitive parts. “It's easier to keep my distance than to admit how much I- fucking want you.”

“O-oh,” was all you could muster up, nodding but not even listening to him, before the words processed, and you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. “You are a pain to be married to.”

His eyes softened, and he nodded slowly. “I know. I just... I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his, nails digging into the back of his arms to show him you didn’t care. “But tonight, I want you to.”

“Fuck,” he grinned, biting on your earlobe as his hands roamed over your body, pulling at your clothes, and you let him, your own hands busy with his shirt. The next few moments were a blur of hurried movements and breathless kisses until you were both naked, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps, or maybe that was just- Lewis, and how his bare skin felt against you.

Before you could savor the moment a bit more, your husband pushed you back onto the bed, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you shiver. He shamefully checked you out as you did the same,“You’re fucking beautiful.”

Lewis sucked in a breath when you pushed your hair behind, gracing him with the sight of your nipples standing out, just waiting- begging him to put his mouth on them and suck them. You decided to let him be and ran your gaze down his body, clenching around thin air when your eyes found his cock.

Your husband smirked as he loosely stroked himself once- twice then fuck- a third time, knowing you were rubbing your thighs subtly to relieve some of the pressure. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured as he climbed on top of you, his lips finding your neck.

He started trailing kisses down to your collarbone and then lower, mouth open, teeth hurting you just right. “Hmph! Lew-” You choked when he sucked on your nipple, lapping it up and wetting it like a starved man.

“You. Are. Perfect.” Lewis whispered against your skin, taking turns biting each nipple as your breath got caught in your throat. “Fucking hell.” His voice thick with desire, driving you absolutely mad.

You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “Baby- shit- please” His thumb immediately found your wet hole as he massaged around it when you thrusted up a bit. “Making a fucking mess, you dirty gir-”

Before he could carry on, your hand fumbled down to gather some of your slick before you rubbed it against his length, your husband shuddering against you when he felt you cover him in your own juices.

He moved lower, back to kissing your neck as his knees gave out and his weight fell on your arms. You gasped as his finger flicked upwards, towards your bundle of nerves, he was finally giving you everything you ever wanted, his thumb working you with a skill that left you breathless.

“Lewis- I’m.. I…” You choked out, barely before you figured out what he was drawing on your clit, your hand loosening the grip you had on his twitching- leaking cock. L-E-W-I-S, he kept on drawing this pattern, rendering you absolutely helpless under him.

Your hands found his back, nails probably drawing blood, holding him in place as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. “Cum for me messy girl,” You heard him groan before he took your nipple in his mouth again.

“Fuck- Lew! Shit.” You craned your neck to look down at him, catching his other hand wrapped around his length. His angry tip leaking pre-cum that he was rubbing to stroke himself, his grip tight on his cock.

The thought of your juices mixing together on his cock had you cumming immediately with a staggered moan of his name, your body shuddering with pleasure, he was right there with you, his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized.

Lewis moved back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. You could feel him pressing against you, hard and ready, and you wrapped your arm around him, pulling him closer. “I’m here, baby. Such a fucking good girl for me.”

He entered you in one swift movement, a gasp escaping your lips at the sensation, he was so fucking big. Your husband stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath, obviously it had been too long since you both did it.

This was the moment when you realized that all those nights you spent worrying whether he had a mistress were utterly useless because the way your man looked seconds away from cumming just by being inside you for a single second?

“I've wanted this for so long,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion and the softness doing something very ugly to your heart. “I’m afraid it’ll end too soon.”

“Me too, Lewis. Me too.” You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Your husband’s cock twitched again and you gasped as your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he started to move.

It was slow at first, your soft walls wrapping against every single vein of his cock. “Fuck- I’m- hngh!” Lewis was so gone, eyes closed before he increased his pace. “Shit!” he hissed not believing he’s been missing out on this all this time just because he thought you wanted nothing to do with him.

“Never.. Oh my god- always everything! Lewis- wanted everything…” You trailed off but he got the gist of it. Still not realizing that he was not just thinking- he was saying everything out loud. His hands gripping your hips as he set a rhythm that had you screaming incoherently.

“You feel hah- so good,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear. “So perfect.”

You could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, the way he filled you, fuck he really was so big, felt bigger than he looked and the way his body moved against yours, was so perfect. It wouldn’t be delirious to say you thought you both were made to fit each other.

“We are,” your husband dragged out, voice hoarse and breaking. It was suddenly almost too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, and you told him as much, your voice a desperate plea,“Faster, Lewis. Please.”

Your husband responded by increasing his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, driving you closer to the edge once again. “My beautiful- ah- Y/N! My w- wife.”

You realized he was cumming when you felt his whole body go stiff and a chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah,” fell from his mouth, his cum filling you to the brim. He came so much that the next time he tried to thrust his over-used, over-sensitive cock a little, your poor hole was so utterly slippery that he fell out.

For a moment, you lay there, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat. And then he pulled away, his eyes searching yours after he was panting a bit less than few seconds before.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with something you couldn't quite place, you didn’t know how he still had his voice intact. “Did... Did you finish again?”

You shushed him before shaking your head, your hand reaching up to caress his cheek. “Not with you inside me.” He groaned at that as his hands squeezed your waist and his head fell right between your marked breasts. “I promise I last longer than this usually.”

His words made your heart beat faster, you made him like this, made him lost control, lost himself after he entered you like so absolutely that he just couldn’t help cumming despite wanting to last.

You tried to stop it but a chuckle escaped your mouth, which didn’t last long at all before he picked up your leg and in a second hooked it around his shoulder, leaning down to kiss your clit that was sensitive as hell, making you immediately gasp.

“I know just how to shut you up.”

And in that moment, as your hands tangled in the locks of his hair as you tried to ride his face, you knew this was something. Whatever this was, whatever it would become, you were in it together. No more ‘no more, no less,’ you guys were way beyond that at this point.

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★:a/n:: wow i got carried away ngl but!! thanks for the request love! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :3

[themeraldee]

Hii can you do one where the reader rejects homelander because she’s married? He gets mad and obsessive??

Thank you for the ask! So originally I wasn't gonna do requests because I'm very particular about what strikes my fancy. But I'm nothing if not a people pleaser so your request got my head popping up with ideas as I've not really explored the 'loving someone to a fault' part of Homelander where things take a wild turn. So this is my humble attempt - hope you enjoy!

(Also I spat this out fairly quickly so it's not very well reviewed)

The Price of Love

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.7k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 2. Voyeurism. Dark themes but nothing very specific. Homelander being his own warning. Mention of canon-level violence.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re married?!” Homelander sputters, caught totally off guard by your admission. His body language frazzled, his arms expressing confusion just as much as his words as his presence towers over you. 

You’ve been Ashley’s secretary for a few months now. At first he took no interest in the presence of yet another busybody without a name that was surely going to crack under the pressure and either leave or fuck up beyond repair resulting in your resignation. But no, you’ve proven yourself to be reliable, responsible and most importantly you’ve got a fucking spine in you. You don’t cower in fear, shake when you talk to him or let yourself get talked into a corner. He likes that. He really likes that. 

His preference for you has become so obvious that Ashley made you his go-to. Any news, good or bad, just went straight through you. And somehow, Homelander didn’t mind hearing that he dropped a point or two when it came from your lips.

That’s why he felt so blindsided by your outright rejection when he asked you out. What the fuck do you mean married?! 

“I mean I’m unavailable.” Homelander tightens his hand into a fist now that his arms fell back to rest next to his thighs. He hides the lapse of control behind his cape as he clasps both hands behind his back. At this point the pose has become a bit of a defense mechanism, nobody can touch or hurt him when he’s playing a hero. It’s a whole lot different when he pours his heart out to some fucking assistant just to get it stomped into the ground. 

“You’re not wearing a ring.” His tone is quiet, sharp. He nods his head towards the hand that’s currently clutching a stack of papers, the last thing you were meant to bring over before you clocked out. In Homelander’s eyes, it was the perfect time to ask you out. He’d take you out the same night. Michelin star restaurant, booked out just for the two of you. But no, you had to ruin his whole plan.

“I know, I’m sorry. I oftentimes leave it at home. I worry about it getting damaged or lost.” You clutch your papers closer to you, Homelander’s eyes lock onto your empty ring finger. It’s like you’re trying to hide it from him. The skin where your ring would be sat isn’t even smoothed out or marked in any way. So either it’s a recent marriage or you barely wear your ring as is. Homelander scoffs to himself, what kind of marriage is it if you’re not willing to shout about it from the rooftops. 

“I just—what? You’ve been fucking coming onto me for ages!” He wheezes out in part anger, part embarrassment. His eyes widen at first before squinting, his eyebrows furrowing with the action. In his head he replays all your interactions and he’s not fucking stupid. He’s the Homelander. There’s no one who can read people better than him.

“Sorry? I haven’t, or I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to lead you on.” You take a step back. As much as this whole time Homelander’s been more than tolerating your presence, enjoying and looking forward to it even, now he’s acting like a whole kind of different animal. He takes one step in. Part of him relishes in the way your heart speeds up at the loud thud of his boot taking the one step closer to you. The other part of him doesn’t want you to be scared of him, just like you haven’t been this whole time, you’re meant to be his! 

He raises an eyebrow. 

“Lead me on?” 

“You know, make you think I’m interested when I’m not.” He nearly laughs. Not interested? Not fucking interested?! Give him a break. He might not have many experiences with the most genuine of relationships but he knows attraction when he sees one. He’s not stupid enough to mistake your professional kindness for attraction, it’s more than that. He’s sure of it. Your pulse still races anytime you’re in his vicinity, your pupils dilate, you smile all flustered and sweet when he pays you a compliment and there’s definitely times he’s managed to make you wet just by saying or doing the right thing. Someone who’s not interested wouldn’t be reacting like that. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose shaking his head. “Get out.” His voice rings loud and clear in the empty room. 

“Yes, sir. I’m really so sorry.” His teeth grind at the way you call him ‘sir’. A habit he’s weaned you off a long time ago. Yet there you go again, reverting back to factory settings as if you two didn’t have a whole load of history behind you. He watches you scamper off, the intrusive, violent part of him has an intense urge to laser you in half for making him feel this way.

But no, he knows there’s another way. First, he needs to get this energy out one way or another. And the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. 

Homelander waits till nightfall before flying around just to get his frustration out. First Madelyn, now you. What is it with women being dishonest with him! But no no no, you’re nothing like her. You do love him. You have to. He knows it. He can feel it. He just needs to nudge you in the right direction.

His thoughts get disrupted by a shrill scream coming from the alleyway below him. He pauses in the air, watching the situation with little initial interest. He lands on the building ledge where a man has a screaming woman pinned against the wall. He notices the light reflecting against the switchblade the criminal presses to her neck.

Well look at that, he can get his frustrations out and he’s gonna look like a hero. This night might just be turning around for him.

He leaves the bloody carnage behind, shaking some of the blood and viscera off his suit, bloody droplets hitting his boots instead. He’s so used to the copper tang of blood, at this point breathing it in is as natural to him as air. He’s just not particularly fond of the mess it creates.

But finally, after some physical relief, he grins to himself and with a clear head he can devise a plan on how to win you over. He’s the Homelander, who the fuck else could be more worthy of your love? 

Well… He’s about to find out.

Homelander takes off into the air, shooting up up up, until he finds a happy altitude where the air is just about getting thin, but more importantly where he’s unlikely to be recorded or photographed at this time of night.

He lands on the rooftop of the building opposite where you and your spouse reside. Bleugh. Your fucking spouse. Just the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He was being patient with you. Wanted to take it the traditional way. Just like normal humans you’d meet at work, get chatting, get comfortable and start dating. So he gave you the benefit of your privacy. Wanted to see you naked for the first time when you’d undress for him. All pretty and sensual, giving him a good show. Now it’s biting him in the ass. If he wasn’t so chivalrous with you he would have long known that he’d need to get rid of the obstacle before he’d even ask you out. 

He watches through the building walls. He needs to see who, or what, has you so whipped that you wouldn’t immediately offer to get divorced just to go on a date with him. At the very least it better be some good sex.

He scans your meager one bedroom apartment. Your spouse is sound asleep in your shared bed but you’re nowhere to be seen. It’s not even that late in the night. Wouldn’t happily married couples be fucking through the night like rabbits at this hour? 

He lights up when he lands on the sight of you in your bathroom. Finally, some fucking reward. It’s the least he deserves after all that he’s been through. You’re submerged in your bathtub, the water level hitting halfway up your chest. You have the most pleased expression on your face, pure delight as you rest your head against the rim of the tub, eyes closed all dreamy. 

Homelander palms the front of his pants, feeling his cock immediately fill out at finally getting glimpses of your naked self. It’s only then he notices that you’re not just relaxing. No. Your hand is holding the shower head right in between your legs, letting the water pressure light up all your sensitive nerves. 

Then it clicks. He grins like he hasn’t in a long while. The pure satisfaction of being right. You’re not satisfied. You can’t be. It’s obvious you desperately need to escape this situation. You need him. 

He carelessly unfastens his pants, surprising even himself that he doesn’t manage to rip them in half as he eagerly grips his hard cock. He strokes it harder than he ever has before, the blood on his glove just easing the glide of the harsh pace he sets himself. Homelander almost chokes on air as he watches you arch your back and whimper quietly, clearly hiding your little indulgent fantasy from your spouse. 

He wishes he could tell you it’s alright, your spouse is dead asleep. They won’t notice. They clearly don’t care. He does. And that’s all that matters, you have his attention. You have an audience of one. 

He doesn’t care what the reason is. There’s no reason in his book that would justify your spouse leaving you this dissatisfied that you have to get yourself off behind closed doors and not with their help. 

He’s so worked up, riding the roller coaster of wildly contrasting emotions, from heart-break to euphoria, that it doesn’t take long for him to feel breathless, panting as he strokes himself to the image of you all wet, pleasured and relaxed. What really does him in, unexpectedly is the whispering plea leaving your lips. ‘Homelander.’

And just like that he cums hard, not caring where his load ends up, his grin never leaving his face as he watches you reach your sweet, sweet release.

He has to have you.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[spenceragnewfics]

f!reader losing virginity to spencer ? maybe as "just friends" to help her "get it out of the way" but they really like each other.

So...this was supposed to come out on Spencer's birthday but work and life got in the way...sorry.

WE’RE JUST FRIENDS? | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader | 18+ MINORS DNI

(also, yes the girl in the photo has a certain skin color but it's not indicative of the reader. I try to make these open to everyone as possible.)

TW: Smut, oral (f! receiving), fingering, cursing, two idiots in love

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

DESCRIPTION: You have told you're best friend Spencer everything...well except two things. You're in love with him and you're still a virgin. Two things you never plan to tell him...until you do.

She never understood why people couldn’t just be friends. Opposite genders can be friends and not have any romantic feelings. Is it kind of hypocritical coming from her…yeah, but not totally. 

You see, Y/N has feelings for her best friend since college but is purely platonic with all her other male friends; Chanse, Shayne, Tommy, Ian, Anthony, and all the other guys at Smosh. She knows the main reason she’s attracted to Spencer and has been for years, he’s himself. It’s hard to explain unless you know Spencer but what made her fall for him…is him.

It’s not like her feelings are so intense she couldn’t date anyone else, in fact, she’s dated a couple of guys but they haven’t lasted for vastly different reasons. One thing has been one of the constant reasons for the break up, you don’t want to sleep with them.

She doesn't know why, but she has yet to date anyone who has made her feel comfortable enough to lose her virginity to, not wanting to regret it later on. That’s something she hasn’t told anyone, not even Spencer because she doesn't know how to explain why she hasn't yet. It’s something she never thought she would tell him until one night of drinks, pizza, and gaming. A semi-regular night for the two of them, especially after a long shoot week.

It was barely midnight, the two of them had been hanging out for like four hours at this point just talking, eating, and trying to beat the other at Mario Kart or play duos on Fortnite.

The night had gotten away from them after an epic Battle Royale about an hour ago where they celebrated with an extra drink and chatting. Like everything, somehow they got onto the topic of dating, both of them being single for almost, or over in Spencer's case, a year. That then delved into talking about more intimate stuff, “Honestly, I’m so fucking happy that I lost my virginity in high school. I could not imagine still being a virgin now. Too much pressure.” He quips after he makes a joke about the movie 40-year-old Virgin.

Y/N looks at him confused and lowkey, panicking, “Why do you say that? I don’t think it’d be that bad.” She confesses, sipping more of her drink. “Dude, when you’re in high school or college it’s all just part of the experience. You barely have dated anyone so there isn’t much pressure. Now though, fuck dude!” He says, rubbing his face in frustration at the thought and she looks down.

“There would be so much pressure at this point. You’ve dated so many people and at this point, it’s probably just you being in your head.”

“Or you’re scared to give it away and regret it. Guys losing their virginity is a lot more different than girls. You have to remember that, Spence. A lot more at stake too.” She looks at him, trying to show a stoic face but Spencer isn’t buying it.

Y/N is always someone who tries to show both sides of the coin but is usually more silly about it. Now, she’s being very serious and trying to act stoic, like she’s hiding something. It’s not something he wouldn’t have noticed unless they had been friends this long.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I know you’re all about being things neutral but this seems like a bit more than usual. What’s up?” She looks at him confused, trying not to get embarrassed and say something she doesn’t want to. “Nothing, I just think that sometimes this whole thing is oversimplified.” He raises an eyebrow, “You’re acting like you’re still…” He trails off when she looks down and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Oh my god! Y/N! What the fuck! I thought you and-”

“We were but I changed my mind. Every time I thought about possibly losing it to him I felt nothing but dread. Same thing with the other guys. I don’t want to regret it.” She plays with her fingers, not wanting to look him in the eye.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She looks at him shocked, “Why would I need to tell you? It’s personal but also how the hell do I bring that up?” She says before speaking in a silly voice, “Oh, Spencer, I gotta tell ya, buddy. I’m a virgin because I get major anxiety and overthink it to where I just haven’t done it.” She does a silly laugh that sounds a lot like Goofy.

“Okay, I get it. This is a sensitive topic, I’m sorry.” He apologizes, looking at her sadly and she feels her heart pinch. “It’s not that. I just…I want to. I want to so badly but I just get so anxious and overthink everything. Sometimes I think that it’d be easier to find someone to hook up with or just get an escort or something.” She looks at him, “Or someone I have been friends with forever basically and I trust more than anything.”

Spencer looks at her confused until she raises a brow and he gets the message, “Oh, you mean me? Really?” She nods, playing with her fingers again as she gets nervous. “Yeah, I mean. I know I wouldn’t regret it with you because you’re my best friend. I don’t think there is a guy I trust more than you.” She confesses, making his face light up.

“I would be honored. Holy shit, you won’t regret this. I promise.” He says, sounding like an excited young kid who just got picked first for baseball. She giggles at his silly antics before letting out a shocked yelp when he pulls her close. “So, are you more dominant or submissive or…” She shrugs her shoulders. Spencer shrugs his as well before putting his hand on her cheek, pulling her in gently before connecting their lips.

She puts her hand on his as her other moves into his hair. He sighs into the kiss as her nails scratch at his scalp, sending chills down his spine. Gently, he lays her down on the couch as his lips move to cheek then to her jaw, and landing lastly on her neck.

He feels his pants tighten as she lets out soft sighs from his lips on her sensitive neck. His tongue licks a long stripe along it before he sucks on her pulse point. Her hand pulls at his hair in response as she mutters out his name softly, the sound making him harder by the second.

Unknown to Y/N, Spencer was slowly coming to the realization of his own feelings for her. What he would always brush off as anxiety of her dating someone new and unknown to him has turned out to be jealously. Jealous that these random guys would take you out and not him. He finally has his chance to test the waters…well test a little more than the waters.

His lips continue to work on her neck but stop when she starts to giggle. “What, what’s so funny?” He asks, moving back a little and chuckling himself. “Your beard tickles a bit. I like it though.” She’s coy about her words, he smiles at her shyness before going back to kissing her neck as she giggles again.

This is nothing he’s felt before. The other girls he had dated and slept with were all serious about sex. They didn’t want or think that sex could be playful and fun but in this moment Spencer feels his heart soar. He’s pulled out of his trance as she tries to pull off his t-shirt, he helps her take the article of clothing off before slipping his hands under her shirt.

He holds back a moan just at the feeling of her lace bra, not even seeing it in person. She giggles before slipping the shirt over her head and swears his eyes are popping out of his head. “I knew you had awesome tits, but holy fuck!” He groans as he puts his face between them.

His warm breath fans over them, sending chills down her body before his warm tongue licks her lace-covered nipple. She bites her lip as he does the same to the other before pulling her bra down to expose the flesh fully.

A strangled moan falls from her lips when he wraps his around her right nipple. His thumb and forefinger play with her left, rolling and gently tugging it. She feels herself getting wetter with each tug as her hands tangle in his hair. He continues to stimulate her nipples for a while before moving down with open mouth kisses.

“Spence, you don’t have to-”

“I want you, now sit back relax and enjoy the show.” He jokes with his sassy smirk before kissing her plush thighs. She sighs comfortably at the feeling before laughing when he playfully bites her thigh. “Sorry, you just tasted too good not to have a bite.”

Her eyes stay on him as his beard tickles her thigh before he moves to be face-first with her pussy. His finger come up to spread her lips as she feels her cheeks heat up, not used to having someone see so much of her. Her thighs start to close but Spencer stops them before they can. “Don’t hide yourself. You’re beautiful.” He assures her as he licks a long strip up her slit.

The new feeling makes her eyes roll as she breathes shakily. He continues to give long licks before moving to suck on her clit. “Holy fuck!” She moans, her hands quickly finding a place in his hair as she relishes in the new feeling.

She had used vibrators and other toys but nothing had felt like this before. His tongue swirls around her clit a few times before sucking again. He moves a finger to her entrance, “I’m going to put a finger in. It might feel weird at first.” She nods, moving a hand down to his arm. She releases a breath at the uncomfortable feeling, her hand squeezes his arm.

“Are you okay?” He asks his finger fully inside. “Yeah, just feels… different.” She confesses as she starts to feel embarrassed. “It’ll feel better in a bit, just gotta get you warmed up a bit.” His finger thrusts in and out for a moment before he adds a second. She moans softly when adds a second and whimpers as they move. “Is it feeling better?” He asks, she responds with a sweet moan that makes his cheeks heat up.

His fingers continue going in and out, stretching her out slightly. His fingers graze the spongy spot inside her, “Oh my, do that again! Please.” She begs. The feeling made her see stars, who is Spencer not to please? His finger rubs the spongy spot as she starts to feel herself get close.

“Yes, yes, just like that-Fuck!” She screams when his lips wrap around her clit again. He licks and sucks intermittently while still playing with her G-spot as she screams his name. “Spencer! Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” She yells as the knot in her stomach snaps.

He licks and sucks her clean before sitting up. Pulling off his hoodie and pants. He aligns himself with her leaking hole, “This will probably hurt, but it’ll subside. I promise.” She nods as he slowly pushes in.

While the tight feeling makes him moan loudly, having been a while since he slept with anyone, Y/N bites her lip, the feeling being intruding and uncomfortable. Noticing her discomfort, he leans down and kisses her sweetly, trying to distract her as he continues to sink in.

Spencer is just a bit above average in length but more girthy than most. The stretch is something Y/N will come to love but for the first time, it’s a different feeling than anything she’s ever felt. Her face unconsciously skews in a bit of pain when he’s fully inside.

Leaning down, he locks their lips. His hips are still as he gives her time to adjust, the feeling of her wrapped around him is making it hard to keep still though. Her hands tangle in his hair once again and gently pull when she’s adjusted, giving them the okay to move.

His thrusts start out slow, letting her body adjust to the new sensations and the starting pain slowly melts away. He intertwines their fingers as he thrusts at the same pace. The gesture is small but is enough to make her feel safe and loved by the man on top of her.

It takes about a minute before Y/N starts to moan, “Faster, please Spencer.” She begs needing to feel more. It takes everything in him not to smirk as his hips pick up speed. “Oh god.” She moans, wrapping her legs around his waist to keep him close.

Spencer keeps a steady fast pace, his tip hitting her G-Spot as he moves his hips a little. The only sounds in the room are skin-on-skin, moans, and heavy breathing. The two are eye-locked, watching the other’s face and expressions.

“Shit, I’m close.” Y/N moans, feeling the familiar knot forming. “Me too, shit,” Spencer groans as his hand moves to rub her clit. “Fuck, Spencer!” She practically screams with the added sensation.

“Cum for me, Y/N. Please cum all over me.” He moans, his thrusts getting sporadic.  She screams his name as the knot bursts in her stomach and she cums on his dick. He groans as she clenches around him, making it hard for him to not cum inside her. He continues to thrust through her high before he starts to breathe very heavily.

“Where do you want me to cum?” He struggles to get out, feeling very close. “I don’t care.” She says, her voice very breathy. He pulls out and only strokes himself a few times before he cums on her chest.

Coming down from his high, the two look at each other and then laugh. “Oh my god, that was amazing. How the hell are you still single?” She jokes as he lays on top of her. “Just haven’t found the right one yet.” He says, his eyes looking at her softly as she runs a hand through his hair.

“Maybe you just haven’t been looking in the right places.” She smiles at him and he leans in, “Or maybe I just have been overlooking a certain someone.” he says before kissing her.

[milliumizoomi]

armando headcanons w his gf that is the total opposite of him? kind of like grumpy x sunshine? 😫

𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒

☆彡SUMMARY.; In which Armando doesn’t understand why for the love of god he fell in love with such a hyperactive woman.

☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO ARETAS x FEM!READER

☆彡TROPE.; ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP || GRUMPY x SUNSHINE

☆彡FORMAT.; HEADCANONS

☆彡GENRE.; FLUFF + CRACK + ANGST [if you squint]

☆彡WARNINGS.; Mature Language, mentions of violence, mentions of guns, mentions of possessiveness,

☆彡NOTES.; no cause I saw this request and immediately knew this was gon be tewwww funny😭,, thank u soooo much for the request love and I hope you all enjoy!!🩵

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED🎉.

★ firstly, I’d like to preface this by saying that you both met through his dad.. in a roundabout type of way

★ He was working a case with his dad, got shot at, the usual, shooter missed and you, an innocent bystander, almost got a hole put in your body had he not snatched you out of the way

★ and after that, he just became interested in you

★ his dad even game him a phone just so he can call and text you

★ and to be honest he wonders why.. because you’re “strange” he says

★ maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t even flinch when you almost got shot at, opting to thank him with a bright and warm smile

★ or maybe it’s the fact that as your relationship progressed, you found out who he was and what he does for a living and simply shrugged it off

★ he genuinely doesn’t get it.. at all

★ but you barely give him enough time to keep him thinking about that when every second you’re with him you’re practically bouncing off the walls

★ the both of you couldn’t be any different

★ you were practically a ball of hot radioactive energy, always laughing or smiling about anything at all

★ while he liked staying quiet, and when he does open his mouth it’s straight disrespect to anyone he’s taking to

★ so naturally, he finds you hard to deal with at times

★ not in the sense that he’s irritated with you, but in the sense that he wants to knock you out just so you can calm down

★ and if someone irritates him, you’d have to step in and excuse him before he can say anything that would get a gun pointed in his face or a fight breaks out

★ and when he’s around, you get fully dependent of him

★ seeming that he’s not around a lot having been in jail, whenever he does come out, whether it be a couple weeks or even months, whenever you get to see him it’s like you turn your brain off and let him make all the decisions

★ and as much as he hates to admit it, he actually doesn’t mind when you act like that (he loves it)

★ you act so wise eyed and elated everytime you’re with him

★ which throws off a lot of people in his circle of “associates” as he likes to call them

★ because how the hell did this happy go lucky woman get this is cold blooded murderer

★ and then you’ll just tell them “he’s hot and I love him so it works out”

★ and with you being so hyper and energetic, he’d definitely be reeling you in some of the time

★ he’d wouldn’t be rude with it though, but he’s very firm with you

★ like if he thinks you’re getting too loud when you’re in a group and having a conversation he’d be pull you into him by your waist so your back is on his chest

★ then he’d whisper in your, “calma tu trasero mamá” (Calm down your ass, mama)

★ and you ofc listened cause like.. who wouldn’t???

★ because of your personality, people tend to flock around you a lot, loving the energy you give off

★ he however, doesn’t play that shit and will tell people to back the fuck up

★ especially when he realizes that you’re starting to get uncomfortable

★ he’s possessive as shit so anybody he doesn’t know he doesn’t want crowding you or being in your space

★ you’d also bite him a lot and he’d let you

★ simply because your bites barely feel like anything since his pain tolerance is so high from all the fights and shoot outs he’s been in

★ and eventually, whenever you do manage to wear yourself out, he’ll carry you, whether it’s on his back or he picks you up by your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist

★ you definitely made him softer, to the people he knows like his dad and stuff, but that’s about it

★ and whenever he does get mad at you, he can’t even say he’s actually angry because you’d be smiling in his face

★ and when he is in jail and you go visit him, you carry his favorite foods and stuff and put little sticky notes with smiley faces and I love you messages that he can only crack a little smile and shake his head at

★ and seeming that your always so happy, you smile doing anything at all, and he loves that cause he thinks your smile is so pretty

★ that doubled with the fact that he finds your lips extremely sexy for some reason

★ and he’s actually very protective over you

★ type of boyfriend to say “wear what you want, I can fight”

★ you definitely soften up his image while with him

★ usually he’s the silent, intense type when he’s alone, but when you’re standing next to him, smiling up and him and pulling at him to go somewhere with you then the intensity goes down somewhat

★ that’s only cause he’s looking at you tho, when he has to look away from you that intensity comes right back

★ firmly believe also if and when he comes to you with injuries, you take care of them until you’re sure they’re all cleaned and wrapped properly

★ in private, he loves when you wash his hair or doing hair for him while you’re yapping away about something that happened while you were out that day

★ so in conclusion, you stress him out in the best way possible and he makes you put all you social abilities to good use to get his ass out of trouble

{TAGLIST} :: @loakswifesworld @ghettogirly @tinys0ftie @shurisgf || if you’d like to be added to the taglist just let me know in comments or dms😉💕.

[jupipedia]

— mine yours. - s. gojo. playboy!gojo x reader. warnings : nsfw [ minor do not interact!! ], cunnilingus, orgasm denial, possessive!gojo, praising, lowkey angst, tbh this is pretty tame, not beta read lol, idk if i missed anything !

gojo was infuriating to say the least.

he was beyond spoiled, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. he was used to the best. he had the best clothes, the best schools, the best friends, and even the best women. he's known for having a new girl every now and then, always just as beautiful as the last, driving them around his luxury car until he got bored of them and dropped them.

he's used to getting his way every time, not settling until things were in his favor. he hates being told no when he wants something. he's persistent in all of the wrong ways and for all of the wrong reasons.

however, you couldn't bring yourself to complain as he was knuckles deep into your core, curling his fingers perfectly as he sucked on you clit. your hands were tangled in his white hair, back arched off of your comforter as you withered in pleasure.

the arrangement between the two of you was a bit different that gojo was used to. the girls he was with usually like being shown off. they liked being spoiled with the little gifts he would give them. they would brag about him to anyone who would listen, even going as far to post pictures of the two of them kissing, not that he minded.

you, on the other hand, acted like he barely existed despite spending almost every night in his bed and almost every morning eating at his house, wearing one of his shirts. you didn't go out of your way to see him, you didn't accept any of the things he bough you aside from a necklace on your birthday, hell you didn't even speak to him when you were in the same room if other people were there. he would be lying if he said his pride wasn't hurt.

"got the sweetest pussy, pretty girl," he muttered around your clit, the vibrations adding to the stimulation as you tightened your grip on his hair. he'd spent the last half hour between your legs, having pulled three powerful orgasms from you. he would deny you your release and have the ache build up a few times which led to an earth-shattering orgasm that made your ears ring and vision blur.

"everything about you is just so cute," he released your clit and took one last swipe through your folds before he began to kiss up your torso, stopping to deliver a harsh suck at each nipple before continuing his path to your lips. "so. fucking. cute."

"toru," you whined out as he removed his fingers from your cunt, bringing them to his lips to suck clean before kissing you deeply, your heady taste present on his tongue.

"patience, beautiful. you and i need to have a little chat," he said, opening the foil of the condom with his teeth and rolling it on. as he lined himself up with your entrance, he spread your legs, offering himself a full view of your cunt.

"we have to talk right now? it can't wait—ah!" gojo ignored your words, pushing slowly into your heat and pausing when he was mostly inside.

"please move," you tried to thrust your hips, but gojo was quick to pin them back to mattress.

"here's how this is gonna go. i'll move as much as you want me to, but you don't get to cum until you say that you're mine," he groaned in your ear, unable to resist the shiver crawling up his spine as he settled deeper into your core. you tossed your head back as the tip of his cock scraped your walls deliciously.

"didn't know—fuck!" your snarky remark died on your tongue as he suddenly began to thrust his hips, setting a pace that numbed your mind.

"you can keep the sarcastic remarks. not interested in those right now," he grunted, biting down on your shoulder, hoping to ground himself. your mind grew foggy as you grew closer to your release. you couldn't form coherent words, let alone fulfill gojo's request.

you weren't totally clueless as to where this behavior came from. if anyone asked you if you even knew gojo, you would deny it without hesitation. it didn't matter how many times he fucked you or how many late night dates the two of you went on, you would not admit to dating the man.

and it wasn't even to save face, you just didn't think what you and gojo had going on was that serious. you knew his track record and thought it'd be best to skip any unnecessary future drama that would come with being "satoru's girl".

"'t-toru~ i'm gonna—n-no, please~," you whined as gojo's thrusts paused as your release approached.

"aht aht aht, you haven't said it so you don't get to cum," he said, continuing his pace when he was sure your pending orgasm subsided.

"satoru please! i just wan' cum on your cock," you whined in his ear, arching your back as he grazed your g-spot.

"and i wanna hear you say that you're mine. mine to kiss. mine to hold. mine to fuck," he emphasized his sentences with harsh thrusts. "my girl."

"why—ah! why w-would i say that when y-you aren't mine? i k-know how you work, 'toru," you pushed out, forcing yourself to focus on speaking as he fucked you dumb.

gojo paused in his thrusts to look at you, disbelief painting his face. "you think i spend my friday nights watching scooby doo movies with you just so i can fuck you? you think i wake up before you to cook you breakfast just so i can get some pussy? you think that i help you go over your proposals a thousand time as test runs because i just want to have sex with you? i must've fucked you stupid or something because that's the stupidest shit i've ever heard you say."

"'toru, you know that's not what i meant. i was just saying—fuck!" your arms shot out to hold gojo's hips, hoping to stop his resumed thrusting.

"i know you meant, pretty," he hummed as he picked up his pace. "change of plans. you can come as many times as you want, but i'm not stopping until you understand that not only are you mine, but i'm yours. got it?"

fuck, you were in for a long night.

© JUPIPEDIA. all rights reserved.

[hispg]

Whiny boy

Pairings: R4! Leon x Fem! Reader

Wc: 2.1k

Summary: You always bicker with your roommate Leon, but now the bickering goes a little bit different..

Warnings: Porn without plot, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, dom Reader, sub Leon, overstimulation, shameless smut.

An: Yes, I'm obsessed with Roommate Leon, I can't help it.

God knows how you got into this situation, riding your roommate, humping his erection like a bitch in heat, making out with him like it was the last time.

You never got on very well with him, the two of you were always at each other's throats, exclusively because Leon kept working out in the living room, not caring about all the times you asked him to do it in his room.

But he kept doing the same thing, working out in the middle of the living room, shirtless, just wearing those short shorts that barely covered his thighs. And whenever he started to sweat, his shorts would get wet, threatening to become almost transparent.

The bastard knew how much it turned you on every time he flexed his biceps while doing a weightlifting set. And he did it precisely because he got your attention that way, he'd see you biting your lip when he started doing push-ups, when he'd be covered in sweat and breathing heavily.

Could he work out at the gym? Yes, of course. But he liked to have his special audience watching.

You.

"Fuck - Holy shit, please." He begged in a whimper, desperate to be able to touch you.

He looked so miserable, whimpering and moaning so erotically beneath you, so helpless. Even if he had enough strength to push you aside and pin you to the floor.

But he liked this position, being submissive to you. Acting like a dumb, needy little boy, desperate for your touch.

"That's what you get for being so stubborn." You whisper, pressing your wet pussy to the head of his swollen cock, enough to elicit a loud whimper.

He rolled his eyes back and curled his fingers into the carpet, in a state of ecstasy and needing something to hold onto.

"Please..." He begs once more, sobbing your name again and again.

You give a sideways smile, forcing your breast into his mouth, making him let out a soft cry at the sensation.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he moaned against your flesh, wrapping his tongue around your sensitive nipple and making you moan.

You could feel the amount of pre-cum leaking out of him, soaking his shorts and underpants at the moment. But what could the poor guy do?

His mind was blank, all he could do was moan and whimper, feeling totally at your mercy.

He was so hard it hurt, his cock stuck painfully in the uncomfortable fabric of his boxers, and you refused to touch him or let him touch you.

He deserved it.

"Mmhm, let me eat you out." He moans and sobs at the same time, his voice being muffled by your breast.

"Shut up." You say authoritatively, pushing your breast against his lips once more.

You feel his body arching underneath you, just as he thrusts his hips upwards, coming into contact with you once again.

A pornographic moan escapes his lips, he couldn't bear to feel you so wet and he couldn't do anything about it. Although by then he didn't know what was what, whether it was his pre-cum oozing out or the slippery liquid coming out of you.

"If only you'd listen to me." You murmur in his ear, giving light bites and licks.

His voice vibrated against your skin as he closed his eyes tightly. His cock was throbbing and twitching in his pants, he didn't know how long he could keep it up.

You could swear he had a few tears in his eyes, the poor guy felt so miserable.

"Ooh? What? You look so beautiful like that." You force a warm tone, but make clear the debauchery behind it.

He gripped his fingers in the carpet, breathing heavily and moaning so much, he was close, and the way his cock was throbbing made it clear.

"Fuck, fuck, let me touch you." He begged like a puppy, trying to make the best sly face he could.

In response, you rubbed against his tip, he was so sensitive and so close that you could feel the sticky liquid leaking out of him. Just as you couldn't deny that your panties were soaked, you could already tell they were dripping.

He didn't even have to look, he could feel how wet and dirty his shorts were. It was so humiliating, you were being so mean to him, making him cum in his shorts.

But he deserved it, of course he deserved it.

"Mhm, what? Are you going to cum like that?" You tease him shamelessly, moving against him even more.

You saw clearly when he rolled his eyes, gripping the carpet even tighter, if that was possible.

He started sucking your breast harder, hard enough that you could feel his teeth lightly brushing against you. He was sure to leave marks, you bet.

You smiled, leaning on his chest, taking advantage of the fact that he was shirtless, and squeezed him a little, feeling how firm his body was.

With a sly little sound, he let go of your nipple, which was now quite red and swollen from all the sucking.

His eyes went wide and his mouth hung open, his mind was scattered and empty, all he could think about was you.

The way you had him underneath you, riding him and keeping him down. God, it was more than enough to make his blood throb, you had no idea how much he had fantasized about this moment, somehow.

Just out of spite, you sat right on top of his erection, giving him the opportunity to feel your wet slit, at which point he felt so much in the moment that he didn't care about anything else.

He could see and feel how wet his own shorts were getting, he could already tell how sticky things were getting down there.

"I'm sorry, I-I don't do that anymore." Another apology, though it wasn't apologizing that he wanted.

He only asked like that because he wanted you to move, he wanted to at least have a slight taste of what it was like to have you riding him, that's all he could think of.

"Say it again, I want to hear it one more time." You tease him once more, moving slowly, almost to a stop.

"I-I won't, -" He stopped, only to let out another loud moan as he felt your entrance being rubbed against his swollen tip, eliciting a more than impure sound from him.

You stop once more, grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to look at you, "Look at me while you talk." You mutter, starting to move again, still holding him and forcing his gaze towards you.

It was a punishment, and one he was accepting without complaint. And he would continue to accept it, like a good boy.

"S-sorry, I won't, - Fuck, do it again." It was the best he could manage, his eyes rolling back once more.

He wouldn't last much longer, his cock was throbbing and completely sensitive, ready to spurt his cum. And he certainly wasn't going to hold back, he was dying to release, he couldn't deny it.

Placing both hands on his chest, you began to rub into him once more, your hips rolling against the tent in his shorts, you could already see the wet spots emerging.

Oh, he was cumming.

"Ah! Oh, fuck! Fuck-" He groaned loud enough to echo around the room, his body writhing and the first spurts coming out.

Without any shame he came in his own pants, you could feel the hot liquid on yourself, since the fabric of his clothes was thin and cheap.

Still, that didn't mean he stopped bucking his hips upwards, desperate for more, for anything, any touch.

"Look at that..." You babbled, lifting his face and making him look down, seeing the mess he'd just made.

He hadn't even recovered from the high, he was still gasping for breath and whimpering, and you could bet he was still releasing a few smaller spills of cum. Even you didn't know how needy the poor guy was, maybe you'd stimulated him too much.

"For you." He answered under his breath, almost embarrassed about what he had done.

You let out a giggle, kissing him quickly on the lips, something you hadn't done in a while, as a way to punish him. So simple, but he was overcome by the feel of your lips on his, as if it was the sweetest thing you'd ever done.

"Again..." He looked at you with piteous eyes, as if he depended on it to breathe.

He looked like a poor helpless boy, begging you to touch him in some way, your touch capable of making him fall apart in a matter of seconds.

Once again you pressed your lips to his, but this time it was a longer, even sloppier kiss, because as soon as he could, he slid his tongue into your mouth, moaning all the while.

Who would have thought that a sour-faced guy like him could be so sly. So whiny.

Pushing your hands down, you found the waistband of his shorts, and it wasn't long before you were pulling them off him, pulling his underwear with them.

And there he was, completely exposed to you. His cock hard once again, resting on his stomach. Now you were aware of all the mess he'd made, his thighs and groin completely messed, you could already see even without touching how sticky the area was.

Delicately, your fingertips reached his tip. You were just caressing it without going too far.

As a reaction from his body, he thrust his hips upwards in desperation to find more of your touch.

"Please. Anything." Another plea, baby blue eyes staring intensely at you. Waiting for anything.

You got the message, and this time you would comply with his request.

As if you were an expert, you took off your clothes in a matter of seconds, getting completely naked for him.

And at the sign of you he blinked, salivating and biting his lip, paying attention to your features, the way your body was so perfectly beautiful.

Before he could understand, you were on top of him once again, this time brushing the head of his cock against your entrance, just giving him a taste of what was to come.

His hands left the carpet and found your waist, holding you tightly, doing what he had wanted to do for ages.

Without telling him, you sank into him, feeling his cock all the way in. All at once, and it fit so well.

"Shit-" he gasped, his nails scratching and digging into your skin lightly.

His eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling, he was in a state of purest ecstasy.

As soon as you lay on top of him, his hands came down to your sides, gripping tightly, as if he didn't want to let you go.

And he wouldn't.

Your movements were slow and steady, up and down. Leon's dumb face was priceless, the way your name rolled off his lips, the way he let out the dirtiest of moans every time, without worrying about anything else.

You could see how hard he was trying not to come too quickly, but his body betrayed him, the way he rolled his eyes every time your warm walls tightened around him. Or the way he was squeezing your sides even tighter, hard enough to leave a bruise.

His body squirming beneath you, just as he was thrusting his hips faster, moaning and whimpering non-stop.

"Mhmmh, I'm almost..." All he muttered, starting to pound even harder.

"Go on." You whispered, feeling your own orgasm approaching.

You were so wet that you just slid into him without any effort, just moving up and down. Rocking your hips against his.

The sounds of your moans in his ear were too much, his name coming out of your lips in the sweetest of whimpers, it was more than he could ask for. More than enough to send him over the edge.

"Fuck.fuck.fuck." He uttered, holding you tight, slamming his cock into you like never before.

You both moaned loudly at the sensation, unable to think of anything else. Leon couldn't hold back any longer than that, still sensitive from the last orgasm.

Two or three thrusts later he came, with a long, loud cry. You feel the hot spurts inside you, and that's all it took for you to wet his cock, making a mess of it.

His arms wrapped around you, preventing you from moving, he wouldn't let you go, he didn't care about the mess he'd have to clean up afterwards.

You surrendered there, clinging to him and enjoying the post-sex feeling.

For today you'd both given the all-clear, today's bickering ended in a different, unusual way, so to speak.

Maybe having Leon as a roommate wasn't so bad, on the contrary.

It was too good.

[rhiannonsknife]

Okay okay so hear me out.

Imagine the Yellowjackets are actually at the nationals instead of the plane crashing. And Jackie desperately tries to avoid r BUT the coach puts them in the same room for whatever reason, maybe shauna and jackie were playing around too much so as punishment shauna had to switch with r.

Now that they’re both forced to be closer than usual Jackie is genuinely losing her mind and her emotions are ALL around. Maybe they hook up, maybe not. Or they have a GENUINE conversation for once, which surprises Jackie..

You can do whatever you want with that idea, it’s totally up to you

— summary: secretly hooking up with jackie taylor. masterlist.

— warnings: implied internalized homophobia & cheating. angst. hurt/no comfort because this is how things are done here. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni.

— a/n: enough with the jackie taylor fluff, back to the filthy lesbian sex + angst. you’re welcome.

the hallway of the hotel buzzes with the usual pre-competition chaos: teammates of various different schools all across the states scurrying between rooms, the sound of laughter and last-minute pep talks echoing off the walls. nationals. the peak of everything the yellowjackets had worked for all season. your last chance to win the thing as a team before most of you graduate.

obviously, jackie should feel excited, focused, and ready to step onto that court and lead her team to victory one final time.

instead, her stomach churns, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the pressure of the next couple of days.

“switching rooms is a terrible idea,” she reasons, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glares at coach martinez.

“this is not a debate, taylor,” he replies, voice clipped. “this isn’t summer camp. you’re here to win, not distract your teammates with shipman. now get your stuff and make the swap. it’s only a weekend”

jackie glances sideways, catching your eye from where you stand a little further down the hall. you’re leaning casually against the wall, trying to act like you’re not paying attention, but she knows better. you’ve always been good at reading her, too good for her comfort. what you’re not so good at is pretending.

she can see the way you’re watching the exchange, trying to hide the obvious amusement in your gaze as jackie tries to reason with the coach.

she’s been doing her absolute best to keep her distance, to keep things simple and clean. nationals are stressful enough without throwing whatever this is into the mix. but now, thanks to shauna’s antics, the universe has decided to test her self-control all over again.

with a resigned sigh and not another look back at coach martinez, jackie grabs her bag and stalks toward her new room.

you’re barely done setting your things down when she barges past you and into the space

“hello to you too, roomie” you mutter as you close the door on your own way in.

she shoots you a look, tossing her bag onto the other bed with more force than necessary. “don’t get too comfortable,” she mutters. “this isn’t permanent”

“oh?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “didn’t realize you had the power to override coach’s orders all of a sudden”

jackie’s jaw tightens, her posture stiffening as she stands by the bed. “i don’t,” she snaps, her voice sharp. “but i’ll talk to him tomorrow and get it fixed. until then, just…stay on your side of the room”

you scoff, setting your bag down with a little more force than necessary. “stay on my side of the room? what are we? fucking twelve?”

jackie glares at you. “i’m serious,” she says, brushing past you to grab her toiletries from her bag. “i don’t want any trouble”

“trouble?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. truthfully, you don’t mean to. but ever since you started whatever this is between you, jackie has been doing the same thing over and over: pushing you away, pretending like you don’t exist at all. she won’t even look at you in school. all you can do is watch when she’s with jeff instead, holding his hands or kissing him in the hall, for once not afraid of the affection

“you’re the one acting like this is the end of the world. it’s just one night, jackie. maybe try not making it weird for once”

jackie freezes mid-motion, her hand gripping the zipper of her duffel bag. when she turns to face you, there’s a familiar edge in her expression. “i’m making it weird?” she shoots back. “you think i want to be stuck here with you?”

the words hit harder than they should, but you refuse to let her see the sting. of course jackie taylor wouldn’t want to be caught in the same room with you if you’re not knuckle deep inside her simultaneously.

“right,” you say flatly, crossing your arms. “because it’s so awful being in the same room as me, huh? god forbid we have to actually talk like normal people”

jackie flinches at the unexpected bitterness in your tone, but she doesn’t back down either. “i’m just saying,” she starts. “this is nationals. it’s a big deal. we should be focusing on the game, not…whatever”

“whatever,” you echo, narrowing your eyes. “right. because that’s all this is to you. just some ‘whatever’”

her cheeks flush, and she glances away, busying herself with folding a stray sweatshirt. “i didn’t say that,” she mutters.

“you didn’t have to,” you reply, your voice slightly quieter now, but no less tense. “you know, for someone who’s so concerned about ‘trouble,’ you’re pretty good at creating it”

jackie’s hands still, her knuckles whitening as she grips the shirt tightly. for a moment, it looks like she might say something, but then she exhales sharply and shoves the sweatshirt away. a part of you would prefer it if she actually did. if she, for once, recognizes what you two have, rather than keeping it something shameful. something unspoken. it shouldn’t surprise you that she doesn’t.

“i’m going to take a shower,” jackie announces instead. “just…stay out of my way”

she doesn’t wait for a response before grabbing her things and heading for the door, leaving you alone in the too-quiet room. the door slams shut behind her, and you sink onto the edge of your bed, rubbing a hand over your face.

this wasn’t what you had envisioned for the nationals. you didn’t ask to be thrown into a room with jackie, but now that you are, you can’t help the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. why do you have to be punished, just because she and shauna can’t behave?

jackie has been keeping you at arm’s length for months now, barely acknowledging you outside of stolen moments behind closed doors that she won’t talk about. and now, trapped in this tiny room together, all the tension and unspoken words feel like they’re pressing down on you, endlessly heavy and suffocating.

when she finally returns, her hair damp and her face scrubbed clean, the air between you is no less charged.

she moves stiffly, avoiding your gaze as she sets her toiletries down and climbs into bed without a word. you briefly consider saying something to break the silence, but the memory of her earlier words

you think I want to be stuck here with you?

holds you back. instead, you turn off the bedside lamp and lie down on your back, the too-small room plunging into darkness.

a long time passes by in the familiar silence. it’s all it ever is with jackie: radio silence until it’s not an inconvenience for her to want you. then, you’ll have her for a couple of hours, before things go back to how they were before.

the other bed creaks softly beside you as jackie shifts, her back to you. for a second, you think she’s fallen asleep already. then you hear her sigh, low and almost inaudible.

despite everything, her sharp words, her cold demeanor, you know jackie, for better or for worse. you know she’s scared, for reasons beyond you, and conflicted. she’s trying so desperately to pretend to be something she’s not. and she would've been able to succeed with it, had it not been for you.

the silence stretches on, thick and heavy. at some point, you roll onto your side, your back to hers too, determined to get some sleep, yet to no avail. you hear it before she speaks: the faintest shift of the mattress as jackie turns.

“are you awake?” she murmurs, her voice hesitant.

you don’t answer right away, torn between wanting to keep your distance and the part of you that aches to close the gap between you. finally, you whisper, “yeah”

she falls silent for a moment, and you can almost sense her weighing whether or not to say more.

you hear movement in the dark, and you’re about to turn when the mattress dips by your legs where jackie has sat. ”i didn’t mean what i said earlier. about not wanting to be here“

you swallow hard, your heart thudding in your chest. you don’t dare to turn and look at her. “then why say it?”

jackie hesitates. you can feel her shift closer, the warmth of her body radiating against your back. a part of you wants to push her away. another, stronger and more determined part wants her endlessly closer. “because it’s easier,” she admits quietly. you force yourself to fight against the shiver that threatens to run down your back when she curls up against you, her breath warm on your shoulder blade. “it’s easier to push you away than…than deal with any of this”

her words hang in the air, and you find yourself turning to face her. the darkness between you doing nothing to hide the vulnerability in her expression from this close. this, you realize as you take in jackie’s features, is the most vulnerable she’s ever been around you.

“how do you feel?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

jackie’s gaze drops, her fingers curling into the edge of the blanket between you. “i don’t know,” she says, but the tremble in her voice betrays her. “i just know that when i’m with you, everything gets so…complicated”

you reach out, your hand brushing against hers. “it doesn’t have to be”

jackie doesn’t move, her eyes locked on yours. then, slowly, tentatively, she closes the distance between you, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s equal parts hesitation and longing.

when she finally pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, and she exhales shakily. “this doesn’t change anything,” she whispers. there she is again. the jackie you know. the jackie you will despise again in the morning. the jackie you have, unfortunately, fallen in love with months ago, long before she decided that you were worth to keep around for some occasional hook ups.

you don’t respond verbally. if this is all of her that you’ll get tonight, you will still very much take it.

jackie’s fingertips trace your cheeks as your mouths move together. you’re not even sure who has leaned in first this time, only that you’re kissing her again and that she’s kissing you back just as eagerly.

her lips are so soft against yours it’s unfair, yet they’re demanding and hungry, ravishing your mouth in a way you never dared to imagine. simultaneously, her hands are running all over you, wherever jackie can reach. frustrated with how restrictive these blankets are, she grunts and pushes them aside.

with the newfound space, she smoothly slides on top of you, your legs tangling together on the plain bedsheets.

“come here” she murmurs, closing the distance between you again. you part your lips almost immediately, giving in to all that stupid, pent-up hunger.

it’s not long after, that you try bucking your hips upward, chasing after a pressure she is not yet providing. jackie has never been one to give. you can remember the one single time where she’s actually shoved her hand down your pants. it’d been in the back of your car, from a slightly awkward angle and without much aftercare to it. but it had been, to this day, one of your best orgasms simply because it was jackie taylor’s hand that had been touching you that night. to this day, it is what you think back to when you’re alone in your room.

now, she seems oddly eager to touch you. except this time, you realize, you have time. there are no parents anywhere nearby, no jeff that could catch or overhear you. just the two of you, in the middle of the night.

maybe coach martinez had, unknowingly done you the biggest favor of your lifetime.

you bite your lip when jackie leans back to look down at you. her hair is a mess, her chest heaving with how hard she’s panting.

one tug is all it takes before she’s all over you again, caging you in between her forearms on either side of your head. you bury your hands in her hair and allow yourself to pretend that any of this is normal.

her shirt comes off first, tossed off the bed carelessly. you sit before her, hands roaming her sides, eyes glued to her chest. yours is next and jackie seems almost impatient to peel it off of you. once you’re both topless, she pushes you back into the mattress and straddles your hips.

you moan into her mouth when her bare breasts slide up against yours. eager to feel more of this, for as long as she lets you, you arch your back up against jackie. she groans softly into your mouth, the noise shooting straight between your legs.

“jackie” you manage. your fingers have, without you even noticing, wrapped around her forearms in a silent plea for her to stay this close. you only let go when she puts her mouth to the side of your neck and sucks.

well, this is new, you briefly think. jackie, for obvious reasons, never lets you mark her up at all. but you didn’t think of her as one to be into leaving hickeys. how you’ll cover them in the morning is a problem for your future self. for now, you just don’t want her to stop. whatever has gotten into her tonight, you want more of it.

“jackie” you sigh again, more urgency in your voice this time. “touch me”

she leans back from where she had her face buried in the crook of your neck. for a moment, as your hand slides from the back of her head, you think you’ve messed it all up. you’d been playing with fire from the start. and now you’ve pushed her too far, asked for too much. then, an unfamiliar determination flickers over jackie’s face, and her fingers drop down to your shorts.

“holy shit” you can’t help but mutter when she, unlike what you expected, doesn’t immediately shove her hand down past the waistline. instead, jackie pushes them all the way down your legs with your help, leaving you in your underwear. she watches as you kick them off, then turns back to face you. you do notice that she’s purposefully not looking right at you, but you don’t mind it all that much when she settles down beside you and runs her flat palm down your body.

her fingers briefly brush over your nipples but don’t waste any time to get to where you both want them the most. you’ve learned to love jackie in the quiet, stolen moments in between. you can’t miss anything you’ve never had and only the comfort of a bed and a room all to yourselves seems too luxurious to be true. you’re not going to ruin this for yourself by getting caught up in the lack of proper foreplay.

you involuntarily spread your legs wider for jackie when she reaches your underwear and you can feel her smile against the side of your neck, where she’s resting her head.

when her index finger runs over the fabric there, her mouth falls open. she must feel the wet patch of your arousal.

“you’re so-“ she gasps, just barely managing to cut herself off in time. jackie taylor doesn’t speak to you while she gets you off. she clears her throat and makes up by finally pushing your underwear aside.

you have to slam a hand over your mouth so your next-door neighbors won’t hear the sound you make when jackie circles your clit for the first time. she’s deliberate, her wrist moving in firm, clockwise circular motions.

the blankets rustle quietly as she adjusts, propping her weight down on one hand as she lingers above you and watches, then presses down harder.

your head falls back into the pillows and your jaw goes slack. to your surprise, jackie’s expression is a reflection of your own: her mouth hangs open as though she’s the one who’s getting touched, and her eyes are heavy as they study your reactions. just by the way she’s touching you, you wouldn’t know that this is only her second time doing this. she must've been attentive to the way you've been touching her during all of your past hook-ups.

you can feel how wet you’re getting -embarrassingly fast. her fingers slide over you in no time whatsoever, gathering your arousal on them before pushing it up and over your clit.

a shuddered breath falls from your lips. jackie is still watching you, alternating between your face (yet never your eyes) and where her hand is moving between your legs.

she keeps this up until you can feel her in every single nerve ending. whether jackie knows this or not, though something tells you that she does, this is not quite enough to make you cum. it’s merely enough to get you towards that edge, toeing it, yet never falling over. the pressure isn’t hard enough, the sensation too brief.

in spite of yourself, you begin to rock your hips into her hand. at this point, you’re so wet it’s dripping through your underwear. there’s no reason to hide your own desperation anymore when she can feel it herself.

“jackie-“ you gasp. it’s tortuously good.

the first time she looks into your eyes that night is when she dips her soaked finger lower and pushes it inside. the moan that you let out at this is definitely too loud for a packed hotel, but she makes no attempt to hush you.

you can feel the place where jackie's pebbled nipples press against you, every inch of exposed skin curled up with your own, and her breath fans against your earlobe. you’re half convinced you’re only imagining it when she whispers: “you like this?”

you hardly hear the words at all, drowned out by your own, mindless gasps and the sounds coming from where jackie is pounding into you; the obscenely slick noises.

she’s deep. she’s so deep inside of you, her delicate fingers pressing deeper than she’s ever been before. it’s the first time you actually feel her there and that alone is enough for your eyes to roll back in your head.

“yeah” you manage just so.

“yeah?” jackie pouts, almost mockingly, forcing them inside some more.

“oh my god” is all you can say to that.

usually, it would be you touching her. this is one of those rare occasions where the roles are reversed. where jackie gets to touch you. to fuck you, really: she's pressing her hips against you from where she’s lingering on top, draws them back as she does the same with her hand, then snaps them back immediately the moment she pumps her fingers into you. like she’s really fucking you, you think.

it briefly occurs to you that maybe, if jackie is so eager for this, you’ll have to invest in a strap so that you can fill each other up properly. then again, it would probably be too much to bring this idea up to her. you’ll consider yourself lucky if she so much as looks at you after tonight.

as soon as jackie’s third finger slips into you, you no longer bother to even try and hold your head up. she’s never fucked you like that and you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing for this feeling back.

she’s steadily pressing, curling, and exploring with three of her fingers and all you can do is chant cries of her name as you try to ride her hand.

your head falls to the side, into the pillows. a necessary but pointless try to stifle your moans.

“jackie please”

you can hear her mumbling words of “that’s it” and “take it” against your temple but it’s white noise to what you feel when her thumb finds your clit, rubbing in fast circles that match the brutal pace she’s set. even jackie is panting now. her wrists must be aching, at this rate, but she’s not stopping. you wonder if she’s as wet for you as you are for her. you know how easy it is to get her wet. so she must be, it wouldn’t surprise you if she’s stained your bed.

in the end, these aren’t the thoughts that push you over the edge. it’s jackie’s voice urging you to “cum” to “please cum for me”.

the rest of the world blurs in and out of focus and, for as long as your orgasm lasts, there’s nothing but the pleasure that explodes in your abdomen and leaves you shaking on the mattress.

you choke out a moan as it washes over you. jackie is watching you, her mouth hanging open like it only dawns upon her now that she's got this kind of effect on you.

even as the pleasure starts to fade, your thighs are still shaking. jackie is almost hesitant about lifting her hand from between your legs, though she makes a point of not looking down at your arousal on her before she wipes it off on the mattress.

“holy shit” you mutter, staring at the ceiling above and dropping the weight of your head back onto the pillows. your whole body feels ten times lighter than it did mere minutes ago.

reality sinks in soon enough though.

after another deep breath, you turn to jackie. she's still sitting on your mattress, but her bare back is turned to you. stupidly enough, you try to reach out. she senses the movement and shoots you a sharp glance, so your hand freezes mid-air, never reaching her.

“don't” the sharpness in her voice has no right to sting the way it does. you pull your hand back, uselessly dropping it onto the mattress.

“jackie...”

“i said don't" she snaps all over again. "it's better this way”

better for who? you wonder. the question burns but you force yourself to bite it back. there's no point in trying to push her further. you watch jackie reach for her discarded clothes on the floor. her movements are hurried as she pulls her shirt back over her head. like if she's frantic enough about it, it'll all go away.

“was it something i-” “no,” she immediately interrupts. with her shirt back on, she stands. “don’t make this into something it’s not”

“jackie you don’t have to-“

“this didn’t mean anything” she interjects all over again. “we shouldn’t have…it was a mistake, okay? it won’t happen again”

“a mistake?”

it’s not the first time jackie calls it that. for a ‘mistake’ she’s been coming back a surprising amount of times. yet it always comes down to this.

“i don’t want to talk about it,” she snaps, her arms cross defensively over her chest as she turns toward her bed. “we have nationals tomorrow. we need to focus”

“are you serious right now?” your voice rises slightly. “jackie, you can’t just-“

“i can,” she says firmly. “and i am”

you sit there, half naked and stunned into silence as jackie climbs into her own bed and pulls the covers up to her chin, facing the wall so you can’t see her expression. her breathing is shaky, though, and you can tell she’s trying hard to steady it.

“fine,” you say stubbornly when you realize she’s actually serious. “pretend it didn’t happen. pretend it didn’t mean anything to you”

jackie doesn’t respond.

you sit in the stillness for what feels like an eternity. as you finally settle under the covers, your back turned to her, you hear jackie’s voice:

“stay away from me. for the rest of this trip”

you swallow hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “got it,” you whisper.

then, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of her breathing. jackie doesn’t move, and neither do you. whatever you’d hoped might come from tonight has slipped right through your fingers.

eventually, jackie’s breathing evens out, and you wonder if she’s actually asleep or just pretending. either way, you close your eyes, trying to make the hurt fade.

[xoxochb]

— psycho killer ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: chb setting, graphic violence, insane behavior, seduction-ish, two make outs pairing: ghostface! luke castellan x ghostface! daughter of aphrodite a/n: after ages I’ve finally finished this 😭🙏🏼

a ghost mask, a hunting knife, two beloved campers.

typically at camp when you heard anything about the hermes cabin counselor or the favorite daughter of aphrodite the mind would go to the perfect couple— and as this was indeed true, it wasn’t how they expected. one hundred percent not. It was almost obvious, the murders at camp. It wasn’t like you were trying to fully hide them, of course not. all the assholes you killed deserved to get their bodies shown on full display, to show off your handiwork. It was almost surprising how nobody knew the mastermind behind these perfect kills

the campers chosen for your bloodlust rage weren’t randomly selected this is why. each belonged to a certain point in your life, to a certain experience. such as an ares kid who threw you to the ground during a sparring session, or one of your siblings who made fun of your looks (in your defense an awful hair day, but who the fuck where they to be talking their outfit was three seasons out!), or a stupid athena kid thinking their the smartest in camp all “I know rocket science I’m better than everyone” bullshit. they might’ve got the worst of it. but there was more than just those three— you’d claimed the title ‘serial killer’ at this point. your killings didn’t go unnoticed though because luke castellan saw through your innocent act. how you’d be the first to every scene, how you’d dramatize every action trying to help mourn over the loss of many different campers who lost their lives to your hands. and he was surely not going to let you do this alone

tonight you had a conquered a perfect scheme with your partner in crime. thoroughly planned over the course of september, halloween night, campers busy with activities and your victim busy getting totally gutted!

“are you sure this plan is going to work?”

“are you serious?” you cross your arms and glare at your boyfriend “I’ve been working on this for a month and a half if this doesn’t work that’d be unlikely. and don’t you trust me?”

luke laughs softly and takes a step towards you, placing one hand around the small of your back, the other gloved hand cupping your jaw before you’re pulled in for a feverish kiss. and when he pulls away with a smirk against your lips he mumbles, “with my life”

you slip your knife from atop your bed into your hands. “then let’s do this”

⋆˚✿˖°

It was dark outside. a stygian hue filling the sky along with the small bright stars and the dull brightness illuminating from the moon above. not only was it dark it was fucking cold. though it was mid fall so you shouldn’t have expected anything less. In your lacy pink dress, you barely had anything on which wasn’t helping your cause either. with every step leaves crunch beneath you, left, right, left, right. until you at last reach your designated spot where your victim waits, paper in hand, twirling it around his fingers. you come up as quietly as possible behind him (or the tree behind him, whatever)

act i: currently in session

you put on your best I’m-so-happy-to-see you smile when you get close enough. “hey you”

the hepheastus boy turns himself with a seductive looking smirk. yeah you know exactly how this is going to go. you’d heard a rumor spreading through camp about this boy, apparently he’s a player, paying girls to have sex with him (which apparently isn’t a big deal but it might once stds start spreading, gross). regardless of this one reason you hated the boy anyways so it didn’t matter to you

his gods awful expression make you want to vomit on the spot, nonetheless you power through. “I was hoping it would be you. I always knew that stupid boyfriend of yours was a dud”

you roll your eyes and scoff. “ugh, I know right, he’s so pathetic”

you take the paper from his hands: a note written by your sister to meet her here. you throw it somewhere on the ground and fumble your fingers with the collar of the boys shirt, while his dirty hands wrap tightly around your hips

“are you gonna kiss me or what?” you mumble when your lips are close enough. but it’s almost as if the boy is aware there’s more to this meet up. doesn’t matter because once he hungrily connects your lips at last he won’t remember a thing

act ii: in the process

It was utterly disgusting— the way you let his hideous boy touch you, his hands gripping tightly over your dress in hopes it may disappear at any given moment. could this process take any longer? you began to wonder if your boyfriend had left you yo handle this on your own. yet at the same time you knew he wouldn’t let this idiot boy get away with putting his hands on you

you take matters into your own hands for the time being. while the hepheastus boy sucks along your neck you reach to your thigh where you had strapped your dagger. and almost as if on queue luke appears from within the bunches of trees. or so you hope— you don’t know for sure who it is until the ghost mask comes off. slowly but surely, through your sighs you manage to get the metal to the fabric of his shirt. luke gives you a nod indicating to make your move, quickly you shove the weapon into the boys abdomen, crimson liquid instantly pouring over your dress and the grass. the boy tightens one hand round your dress, the other touching the knife placed in his stomach. his head lifts from your shoulder to look up at you, the same blood pooling out from his mouth

and it’s heavenly, the sound he makes as he falls to the ground in agony, attempting to plea for you not to let him die, but of course you can’t hear over the liquid in his mouth all he can do is spit it out. you smirk and crouch down to his level admiring your recent work, then looking up to luke. “wanna do the honors?”

act ii: completed

he takes his mask off, shoving it into his robes pocket before taking your hidden ax from behind the tree. “what do we do once we’re done with him?”

“we burn him. once he’s all ash there’s no proof he was murdered”

you stand up from your spot on the ground, looking at the amount of blood that had fallen onto your dress. you frown but ultimately chose to ignore it, that was a problem for later. for now, the last task of the night was to properly dismember the body and take it back to hermes cabin for burning. you feel a sudden ecstasy as his limbs disconnect, one by one, legs, arms, torso, head, feet, hands, until he was nothing but bits and pieces. even better, it was none other than your lovely boyfriend that had completed this process, instantly making your knees weak— even better than this, however, was his blood adorned face, how badly you wanted to kiss all of it off slowly…

and you can. when he throws the ax on the ground and walks towards you, his hands resting against your hips as he pushes you back against the tree. you moan in utter delight when luke finally attaches his lips with yours (this elicits a laugh from him). your whole body practically curves into his, you throw your arms around his neck tightly to keep him as close as humanly possible. his hands find themselves trailing down to your thighs and back up underneath your dress. the heat of the moment is palpable (though this probably isn’t an exaggeration as his fingers twirl around your underwear, taking his time as he slide them off), in a needy manner you tug his hair gently, and if it weren’t for his hands on you, your knees surely would’ve gave out and you might’ve collapsed by now. his tongue traces over your bottom lip, you can taste the blood, and you need more of it, whether that was his touch or the taste of the crimson liquid you’ve grown to love

“you’re perfect” he rasps against your lips, before disconnecting them and trailing down your neck “gorgeous”

he reaches your pulse point and keeps his lips there longer, for sure making a mark for you to struggle to cover up later. he bites down carefully on your skin, making you moan in response, in addition to this he grinds his hips into yours, evoking more soft sounds from your mouth. you stop him for only a moment to murmur, “y’know, there’s nobody in my cabin…”

and that was enough confirmation for the both of you to discard of the dismembered body for someone to find the next morning, and to settle (or not so much) in cabin ten for the night

꣑ৎ if you enjoyed then reblogs would be greatly appreciated! my requests are currently: open if you have any <3

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

LOVE POTIONS ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ BJ Lips, princess paparazzi — love potions ♩

pairing: pope heyward x reader

cw: blood, period sex, speaks of a soul tie / spirituality.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day three.

you’d been on three dates. you didn’t think pope heyward would be this down for anything.

“its blood.” he shrugs, shuffling closer to you to throw a slightly nervous arm around your shoulder. “look, it’s nothing i haven’t seen before. plus, isn’t sex supposed to… relieve you of cramps and all that bad stuff? i can think of one hundred ways this could be mutually beneficial. unless you don’t want to, then that’s totally cool too.”

next thing you know, you’re on your back.

you’re used to getting wet for pope, but the sounds coming from down below were obscene. a thicker, more humiliating squelch slapping each wall of the room as you gasp, letting pope roll his hips, eyes fluttering.

“holy shit, right?” he groans quietly and it’s only then you realise that he’d been wanting this, fantasising about it even for a while now. despite the room being only lit by your lamp, you can still see the way your dark blood coats the skin connecting the two of you and drips gorily onto the towel he’d lovingly laid out below.

“so sensitive.” you whisper, quivering — not feeling any urge but to raise your voice any louder. the two of you were simply so close, so connected that upping the volume even slightly could shatter the intense intimacy created.

“yeah?” he huffs sympathetically, yet his hands press your thighs wider — still fucking into you slowly and kindly. you whine. “jesus you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” he huffs all in one breath, entranced by the sounds leaving you. three dates in, and something about this intimate act had pope gasping to say those three forsaken words. not now. not yet.

you felt euphoric, which is something you never thought was possible to feel on day two of your period. whilst those few days are usually spent wallowing in bed, undoing every positive affirmation you’ve ever told yourself in the mirror as you pick apart your every flaw— staring at nothing but the four walls of your bedroom, the room seemed to look different now, sparkly and new— just like how you felt on the inside. pope thought you were beautiful. even like this.

the definition of soul tie is as followed: ‘Soul ties are profound spiritual connections shared with someone else that generally transcend the closeness in a typical relationship. A soul tie can cause you to feel incredibly attached to a person, and life without them becomes hard to imagine.’ those were the words staring back at pope on his laptop screen only one evening later, back in his own room.

“dude you’ve been on like three dates, do you maybe wanna cool it? she’s gonna say you’re like, lovebombing or some shit.” jj’s voice breaks through the facetime call, popes phone screen shoved off into a corner displaying the blonde reclining on a gaming chair in his room, tossing a ball into the air and catching it. pope barely glances his way, staring off into the white of the google page and tapping his fingers absentmindedly.

“it just feels different. i— i don’t know what to tell you jj, i’ve never felt this way before.”

the hum of white noise from jj’s fan rings repeatedly. a dog barks outside in the distance.

“is it bad if i call her?”

he feels like a pervert when you pick up the phone, because he’s already got his thumb grazing his tip. memories of that night flush his body, excite him to the point of dizziness.

“pope, it’s late.” he can hear that you’re smiling and now he’s remembering the way you moan, the way your brows twitch into a furrow and your bottom lip trembles slightly.

“i needed to call you.” he sighs, beside himself. there’s a pause on the other end.

“is everything okay?” the worst outcomes fill your mind, he sounded awfully serious after all. it had only been three dates, what could you have done in that time to destroy his perception of you? your guard flies up, ready to defend yourself. he was the one that suggested period sex.

“look i… can’t stop thinking about you.”

you deflate in your bed, lips twitching into a relieved smile.

“aw, pope that sweet. i can’t stop thinking about—”

“no, like — i’m really sorry to cut you off but it’s, it’s disturbing me. you’re infiltrating my every thought. ever since… that night, all i can think about it doing it again— and— and i don’t just think about you sexually, you know? i hope you don’t feel objectified i mean obviously i would love to… touch you again, but it’s more than that— and jj told me not to ‘lovebomb’ you and if it feels that way i apologise but—”

“pope… it’s okay.” he hears teeth and saliva. you’re grinning.

“right…okay.” for the first time in a minute, the boy breathes. “so… i hope this doesn’t sound batshit crazy but, do you have any opinion’s on soul ties?”

[cloudnineminusnine]

How would the Destined One and Wukong (separate) react to you asking to sit on their face?😏😏🙂‍↕️

P.s- Love your blog here on Tumblr, I do sincerely hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, only answer if you wish of course💖

oh, it's fine anon! it doesn't make me uncomfortable, not at all. i apologize in advance for any spell mistakes as i'm still learning to write in english.

without further ado, here you go! (and nanashiii thank you once again, partner in crime 😶‍🌫️)

!NSFW CONTENT AHEAD SO MINORS GET OUT!

in both situations you're in the middle of things with them. afab reader!

♡ sun wukong got your sweaty body caged by his hairy arms, pressing your arched back on the smooth surface with the weight of his own body, lips avidly leaving trails of his devotion over your exposed neck and chest — when they weren't busy muffling your needy murmurs.

you can barely take your stare away from his lustful eyes, piercing you so hungrily "please, i- let me sit in your face, please!" a hot breath blows past your lips, heavy with so much desire that it makes you feel dizzy. he's shivering above your body, clenching his jaw to suppress a scandalous moaning from escaping.

"you...!" oh, so that was the reason you wouldn't take your eyes off him, getting all worked up everytime his eyes rolled to the back of his skull in pleasure. he knew you were up to something, acting weird somehow, spacing out. fine, he gives you the permission to turn that humble wish of yours into reality. it would be kind of the same as eating you out, rigth? so no complaints on his side.

for the first time ever you would be in charge, literally on top of him. he seems enthusiastic about the idea, amusement painted all over his face, and a smug grin showing up when you slowly push him backwards, crawling over him. he tries his best to not burst his load as soon as your hips are hovering his face, so close that your scent impregnate his senses, luring him in.

almost at your limit, there's no time for you to lose with being ashamed. your trembling knees sit around his head and the touch of his big rough hands find it's way immediately up your tensed thights, smoothing your skin lovingly. he's got the perfect balance in between calm and restlessness.

"now do it, love. sit on my face with all that you have, just as you want." he encourages you, and there's a faint hint of a plead in his tone that makes your insides squint. you can't control yourself when he's talking to you like that, staring at you like that. he looked totally blissed out. brown pupils filled with adoration being eclipsed by the heavy eyelids.

you do as said, crying out loud when you meet the hasty tongue halfway. he goes in like he's in a hurry, not able to wait anymore, not wanting to, giving in to the temptation of being drowned by your heated core.

and it was kind of different than eating you out. but so, so much better. the heaviness of your naughty hips moving against his mouth and the warmth of your soft thighs around his sensitive ears, i'ts so hot. he goes feral, immobilizing your legs with the tight grip of his hands to keep you in place, wet tongue burning and messing each and every spot he can reach as your juices drip by the corners of his lips.

you can sense his non stop moans vibrating deliciously through your soaked walls, making it hard for you to not just give in and cum all over his face. you can't just yet. you need him inside.

some time is needed for the both of you to calm down, to climb down from the top of a iminent climax. the overwhelming feeling making your legs so weak that you simply sit above his chest, delighted by the sight ahead.

he looks so fucked out, like never before, and just the image is enough to pull a painful moan out of you. panting deeply in the middle of horny grunts, you can see those beautiful eyes of him blurred by lust, yet he still smiles like the cocky monkey he is — vestiges your nectar glistering over his lips and chin.

you can tell it's not enough for him by the way he nips at your inner thighs with his teeth, slowly lapping each bite right after, hairy hands easing carefully your petrifying tension until you feel like feeding him again.

♡ the so called destined one, less composed than he normally is when it comes to you. whenever you two start to make out he find a way to have your body closer, to the point of almost fusing in one single being. he's always on the verge of desperation, wanting to make sure that you feel pampered, worshipped — and of course you take advantage of the fact that he clearly has a sweet spot for you.

"you know, i..." sultrily you whisper against his lips, making him fidget under you, gulping down with anticipation"i wonder how it feels to sit in your face" faking a innocent tone you bat your lashes smoothly at him, earning a frustrated, low mumble in response. you know just how to melt him.

mesmerized by your lustful hungry eyes he surrenders himself readily, lying on his back as soon as your hand push him to. you travel up his body with your lips first, kissing everywhere in an attempt to calm him down a little — his breath has gotten rigged to the point of coloring his handsome face in scarlet red. so adorable.

he begs you silently with his endearing, pretty brown eyes, shivering under the weight of your body and words, barely breathing cause the air around you suddenly feels so dense.

"is that alright? would you like that, sweetie?" you lick his neck intensely, causing visible chills to run through his torso. he's nothing but a mess, losing himself to desire so easily.

moaning wholeheartedly, he break down from his silent facade. big calloused hands make their way to your waist so he can press you down on him. he so want it. "yes, please-... please do it!" in a painful expression his brows frown, accompanied right away by that obscenely raspy voice, causing you to throb eagerly.

one last prolonged kiss to his jawline, inhaling his fruity scent harshly, and then you're ready to go. he watches intently as your hips approach his face, your smaller hands guiding his to your thighs — wich causes him to pulsate down bellow. he feels like a vulnerable prey ready to be engulfed by you, and he loves it.

"you can touch me as much as you want, alright?" as you hover his mouth you let go of his agitated hands which waste no time, squeezing, kneading and caressing your responsive body, burning over your sensitive skin.

he goes for it thirstily, it feels like the it's first time he's exploring you, but he knows just where to touch and what to do, feeling you up in way that makes you lose a bit of your balance, immediately sitting right on his face. you try your best do keep the surprised scream to yourself, firmly biting down on you lip. a hoarse grunt resonates through your insides and he presses you so hard that his wet muscle seems to go deeper than it would usually.

he's not much skilled and that's exactly why everything with him gets much more intense. it's all about how good he wants to make you feel, and how needy he turns to be in the process.

the more you spill over his mouth the more he wants to drown himself in, the harder he squeeze your hips and waist. he needs more, he wants to get fully drunk on you.

you're on the verge of cumming already, lightheaded, sweaty and panting, but you can't stop riding him — and he's taking it so, so good.

[rosemariiaa]

~The Weight of Want~

part: 5

pairing: Paige x Azzi

a/n: surprise,this is kind of rushed and shorter than expected!! happy reading lovelies 💌

themes: teasing , language, drinking

The leaves outside were turning shades of orange and gold, and the air had that crispness that signaled Halloween was just around the corner. Paige stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her hat, feeling more anxious than she’d like to admit. It had been almost a year since everything had “fallen apart” , and while she had tried to take Caroline’s advice to heart—focusing more on her studies, basketball, and just enjoying life—tonight felt different.

What if Azzi was there? The thought sent a rush of anxiety through her. Fuck. I haven’t seen her in months. They’d left things on somewhat good terms, but there had been no real closure. The idea of seeing that doe-eyed brunette again, with her cheeky smile and deep dimples, sent a rush of warmth through her. Get it together, Paige. It’s been a year.. But were you really ever over someone who made your heart race just by being in the same room?

“Yo P! Are you ready yet, or are you just gonna stand there and stare at yourself all night?” KK’s voice cut through her thoughts, impatience thick in the air.

“Yeah, just—” she started, but KK barged in, a teasing grin plastered on her face.

KK leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “You look like a grinning tomato. Are you ready to scare people with that outfit or what?” Paige rolled her eyes, letting out a nervous laugh. “It’s not that bad! Just give me a sec!”

“Seriously, though, why are you so jittery?” KK asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re acting like you’re about to walk into an exam you didn’t study for or something.” “I’m not jittery!” Paige protested, but the high pitch of her voice gave her away. I’m totally jittery.

KK stepped into the room, inspecting her costume. “Oh, really? Because you’ve been checking your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline.

Paige thumped KK’s forehead again, causing her to stumble back, hands flying up in mock defense. “Shut up. I’m just making sure I have everything I need.”

KK smirked, leaning in closer. “Look at you, still worried about something. What’s really going on?”

Paige tried to shake off the feeling, but it wouldn’t leave. “Nothing, okay? It’s just… I might be a little nervous about tonight.”

KK crossed her arms and leaned in, eyes narrowed playfully. “Nervous about what? You know it’s just a party, right? It’s not like you’re going to a funeral.”

“Yeah, but—what if…Azzi is there?” Paige blurted, her voice barely above a whisper. The thought of seeing Azzi again sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t shake it off.

KK raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk creeping onto her face. “Oh god, don’t get your hopes up! You haven’t even spoken to her in forever! You think she’s just gonna pop up outta nowhere?”

“I don’t know!” Paige snapped, her nerves getting the best of her. “I mean, she doesn’t even like these types of events. But… still.”

“Girl, boo! Don’t get any ideas!” KK teased, shaking her head. “I’m over that! We’ve both moved on—she’s with Laila. She’s fine,” Paige insisted, though the words felt a little hollow.

“Yeah, about that…” KK said, raising an eyebrow. “I heard Laila cheated on her.”

“Wait, what? Seriously?” Paige’s heart skipped a beat. That’s… actually kind of great. “Good for her. I mean… fuck Laila, honestly.”

“Oh god, you’re so pussy whipped!” KK exclaimed, laughing at her friend.

Paige opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. KK shot her a knowing look. “Yeah, exactly. You haven’t even talked or fucked any girls since that talk with Azzi. Hell, you can’t even look at anyone else unless you’re stalking Azzi’s Insta.”

Paige fell silent, her heart racing as KK’s words hung in the air. She knew it was true, and that realization settled uncomfortably in her stomach. I can’t be this way. But I can’t help.

“Let’s just go, okay?” Paige finally said, brushing off the tension as she grabbed her bag. “We’re gonna be late.”

KK laughed again, clearly enjoying the view of the angry blonde. “Alright, alright! Just don’t get all mopey on me tonight. We’re here to have fun!”

As they left the apartment, Paige’s mind raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. With a final glance in the mirror, she reminded herself that she wasn’t that scared girl anymore. Tonight was about having fun, enjoying herself, and maybe, just maybe, reconnecting with someone she had lost.

As they made their way to the party, Paige felt a flicker of hope amidst the nerves. Whatever happens, I’ll handle it. I’m ready. But are you?

———-

Azzi stood in front of her mirror, giving herself a once-over. The red cropped V-line top clung to her like it was made just for her, and those matching shorts? They fit her ass perfectly. She slipped into her red ankle boots, feeling like a total badass. The devil horns in her curls added the perfect touch—she felt like a cute little menace.

“Fuck Laila,” she muttered, still remembering how that whole shitshow had unfolded. Catching Laila in bed with some girl from accounting had stung, but the aftermath? So much better. She thinks she can just lie her way out? Nope, not this time. Surprisingly, Azzi had bounced back quicker than she expected. Maybe it was because she realized she didn’t need the drama.

Since then, she had tried going out with a few girls. But each time, it felt like they were just a distraction. Whatever, I don’t need that right now. She shrugged off the thought. Tonight was about fun, not some half-assed date that wasn’t going anywhere.

“Are you ready yet, Az? You’re taking forever!” Caroline’s voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to reality.

“Yeah, yeah! Chill, I’m coming!” Azzi shouted back, giving herself one last look. The flutter of anxiety mixed with excitement in her stomach as she thought about the party. What if Paige was there?

Get it together, girl. She took a deep breath, shaking off the nerves. It’s been months. You’ve got this.

As she stepped out of her room, she could hear the laughter and chatter of her friends in the living room. They were buzzing with energy, and she couldn’t help but feel it too. Tonight was going to be wild, and she was ready to let loose. With one last glance in the mirror, she adjusted her devil horns, smirking at her reflection. If Paige showed up, cool. If not? Whatever. She was done worrying about things that were out of her control.

“Let’s go!” she called out, confidence surging through her. Tonight, she was going to enjoy herself, and nothing was going to hold her back.

———-

Paige’s Pov

As I step into the bar, the energy hits me like a wave. It’s packed, and I scan the room, heart pounding when I spot Azzi leaning against the bar, a playful smile dancing on her lips as she chats with some guys. She’s wearing a fitted red top that draws the eye. my eye. And I can’t help but feel a mix of nerves and excitement. After everything that happened, this feels like a test.

Taking a deep breath, I make my way over, trying to look casual. “Hey,” I say, the word barely escaping my lips. Azzi turns to me, eyebrows raised, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Hey,” she replies, her voice steady but cautious. “How are you?”

“Good,” I say too quickly, my heart racing. “You? I heard about… well, you know.” I try to keep my tone light, but it feels heavy. She shrugs, her expression hardening a little. “It’s whatever,” she says dismissively, taking a sip of her drink. “How’ve you been?”

I swallow, wishing I had something witty to say. “Oh, you know, the usual. Just… focusing on basketball.” I glance down, feeling a twinge of discomfort. We stand in awkward silence, both sipping our drinks. The tension hangs between us, thick and unyielding. It feels surreal to be in the same space after everything, and I can’t help but steal glances at her.

“Been hanging out with anyone special?” Azzi asks, tilting her head slightly. There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but I can sense the underlying curiosity.

I shake my head, my heart sinking a little. “Not really. Just been busy. How about you?”

She smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sure, no one at all? You really expect me to believe that, Paige?”

I feel my cheeks heat up. “Yeah, I do. I haven’t talked to anyone since… you know.”

Her expression softens again, just a flicker, but it’s enough to catch me off guard. “Oh. Right.”

Another moment of silence stretches between us, and I can’t help but steal another glance. It’s strange, seeing her like this—confident but still vulnerable.

———-

Hours later

A little while later, I notice she’s already four shots down, laughing a bit too loudly. “Damn, Azzi, slow down!” I call out, amusement lacing my tone.

She just sticks her tongue out at me, a defiant grin on her face. “No way!”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Whatever you say, little drunken devil.” I hop up on the bar next to her, facing her directly. “Want a sip?” I push my drink towards her.

Azzi takes the glass, swirling the straw a little while keeping intense eye contact with me. She takes a sip and lets out a soft moan at the taste. I can’t help but stare, captivated by the girl in front of me, a rush of memories flooding back.

“Stop staring,” she teases, but there’s a softness in her voice.

“I can’t help it,” I admit, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

Her smile widens as she leans in a little closer, her lips barely a breath away. “You’re really trying to play it cool, huh? Because it’s not working.”

“Yeah, well, you know me,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant, but I can feel my heart pounding. “Always cool under pressure.”

Azzi leans back slightly, crossing her arms with a playful smirk. “Right. Like the time you tripped over your own feet in front of everyone during practice?”

I laugh, the memory fresh. “Okay, that was one time! But it was just a… tactical error!” “Sure, Paige. Tactical,” she says with a wink, and I feel the warmth in my cheeks deepen.

Suddenly, she hops off her chair and moves closer, her body mere inches from mine. Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “Do you miss me?”

The question takes me off guard, and I blink at her, trying to process. “Uh, yeah. Did you?”

Azzi bites her bottom lip, a small nod confirming what I’m hoping to hear. “A lot.”

That makes me smile, and without thinking, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers brushing against her soft skin. “I’ve missed you,” I say, my gaze drifting over her outfit. I lick my lips.

Azzi notices, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Is that better?” she asks, pulling the zipper of her top down slightly, revealing a hint more cleavage.

I smirk, nodding. “Definitely.”

Wrapping my hands around her waist, I pull her closer, staring deep into her brown eyes, my heart racing as I scan her face. The moment stretches between us, thick with unspoken words. I can feel the tension building, and before I can think too much about it, I whisper, “Can I kiss you?”

Without waiting for my full permission, Azzi closes the gap between us, her lips crashing onto mine. The kiss is electric, filled with urgency and desire. I can’t help but explore her back with my hands, finally letting them drop down to her ass. She sighs against my mouth, the sound sending shivers down my spine.

We break apart, breathless, both trying to catch our breaths.

Azzi looks up at me, her gaze softer now. “I’m tired. I wanna go home.”

“Okay,” I reply, still trying to process everything that just happened.

She looks up at me, her thumb grazing my cheek, then my lips. “Can you take me home, P?”

My breath hitches, and I nod, my heart racing. “Yeah, I can do that.”

———-

goodnight 😊

tags: @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @ohbueckers @sierrale8ne @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful