#hand and mouth kisses are laurent

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Nickname Runs in the Family || CL16

Summary: When you end up crying on your father’s shoulder over a boy, Kimi enlists the help of Charles to teach him a lesson. Charles Leclerc x Raikkonen!Reader Warnings: nsfw, fighting, mentions of sex, WC: 2.9k

To the outside world Kimi was known as ‘The Iceman’, garnered for his cold personality in the media and how he never let anything bother him, at home however he was just called isä or dad. You really could have done with more of The Iceman persona because when it came to his family your father was anything but cool and collected.

“Tell me what happened,” Kimi demanded, your tears only streaming faster down your cheeks.

“Nothing happened, dad.”

“Something happened, tytär, don’t lie to me.”

It was stupid to go there after what happened. You should have just returned to your student accommodation at the college but you needed the comfort of home and someone you trusted. Now all of Monaco was going to hear just how hotheaded The Iceman got while your step-mother tried to put your baby half-sister back to sleep.

“Nothing happened!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands as embarrassment flamed across your cheeks. “I said no, okay. I said no and he called me a frigid bitch before dumping me and leaving me at the party.”

You expected to hear something break, or at least his heavy stomps storming towards the front door. You didn’t expect your dad to throw his head back and laugh, a deep belly laugh that echoed around the quiet living room. 

“Ah, that’s my girl,” he laughed as he bundled you into a hug. “I like that, Frigid Bitch. It’s good.”

You snorted a laugh despite the hurt and wiped your tears on his shoulder. “I thought you would be angry.”

“Oh, I am,” he admitted somberly. He placed a kiss on your head before standing up and pulling his phone out of his pocket. You didn’t see who he was calling so late at night but groaned when it was answered. “Hello, Charles. You know everyone in Monaco, where does Devereux Laurent live?”

“Isä! No!”

Your father ignored you as he grabbed his car keys and his jacket, his phone shoved between his shoulder and his ear. “I’m not going to kill the little bastard, fuck, Charles, I just want to have a chat.”

The door slammed shut behind him and you collapsed back onto the sofa with a groan about keeping your mouth shut next time. You were still ruminating over your life choices when the doorbell rang an hour later. 

“Charles?” You frowned at the man panting in your doorway like he sprinted across the city before your eyes widened at the split lip he sported. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

“Kimi.”

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah.”

You grabbed your purse that had been discarded on the kitchen table when you arrived. “Where is he?” 

“The police station.”

“Shit, he didn’t do that to you, did he?”

Charles reeled back, clearly offended. “No, you’re asshole boyfriend hit me.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you clarified as you dragged him inside and grabbed a tea towel to wrap a bag of peas from the freezer. Charles flinched as you gently pressed the ice pack to his lips and you sighed. “I’m sorry my dad got you involved in this.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, taking the pack from your hand to place it on his swollen knuckles that you hadn’t noticed. “I got myself involved when I heard what Dev did. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t get punched in the face,” you said as you playfully rolled your eyes, however you soon sobered. “It's nothing a few drinks and a bad romcom can’t fix, after I’ve bailed dad out first. It’s not like we were together long enough to get heartbroken. Do you want me to drop you off on the way?”

“I’ll drive.” He snatched a set of keys from the hook by the door, but you caught his wrist and took them back.

“That’s Minttu’s minivan.” You hung the keys back on the hook and grabbed a set for your dad’s Rolls Royce Wraith instead. The empty hook beside it was where the keys to his Ferrari Pista usually hung. “She wouldn’t be happy if you crashed her car again.”

“I didn’t crash her car,” he argued as he pocketed the keys and opened the door. “You were driving!”

“I had a shit instructor. You were too busy checking yourself out in the mirror to teach me.”

His finger jabbed the call button for the elevator as he scoffed. “You only know that because you were too busy checking me out to watch the road.”

The elevator arrived but you held a hand out to block him as you stepped into the small space. “Sorry, your inflated ego is too big to fit in here.” 

“That wasn’t a denial.”

You ignored him and jutted your head to the fireproof door. “Try the stairs.”

“But we’re on the top floor.”

You smirked as the doors started to close but he darted inside before they sealed shut.

“You’re still not denying it.”

“So you really went swinging for my honour?” you deflected as he hit the button for the garage level, exposing his swollen fist again.

“You sound surprised.” He leaned back against the wall and looked at his hand, massaging the tender bruises. “When I saw he was still at the party…”

You frowned, first at the fact that Dev went back after leaving you there, asshole, then at the fact Charles knew where he was. Charles was definitely not at the party, if he was then you would have heard the women going feral for him. “How did you know he was there? You don’t follow him on Instagram.”

“Not on my main account,” he said with a shrug. Anyone that Charles followed on social media made sure to announce the news like it was an instant ticket to ViP treatment, and Dev would have been no different. It was also the exact reason you went by Y/L/N, your mother’s surname, instead of Raikkonen. You didn’t want to be used by people for the name you carried. 

“You hate him, why would you follow him?”

“It doesn’t matter why.”

“It does to me.” 

Unfortunately the doors opened and he pushed off from the wall to stride past without an answer. A flash of lights responded to the click of the button on the keys and Charles slowed his steps for you as he led the way to the sedan parked in a secluded corner, the space beside it empty of your fathers red Pista. Charles stopped at your door and opened it for you, his eyes scanning the open space that was empty and quiet save for the whine of the elevator leaving the level. 

“For you,” he admitted as you slipped into the leather seat. “I followed him to keep an eye on you.”

The door closed and you watched him walk around the car, dropping into the driver’s seat before pushing it back to suit his longer legs. He then silently adjusted the mirrors and turned down the heavy rock music that blasted when the engine started. You didn’t know what to say, all you had were more questions that could only lead to more confusion.

“You deserve better,” Charles said, breaking the awkward silence as he pulled out into the street. 

“He was just drunk.” 

“That’s not an excuse. You deserve someone who will wait until you are ready to have sex, not try it on drunk and at a party.” His words were seething by the time he finished and his knuckles turned white from the tight grasp he had on the steering wheel.

“Uh, Charles, I was joking about my honour…I’m not a virgin.”

“Wait, what?” The car slammed to a halt and he earned a toot from the Lamborghini behind before it drove around when Charles didn’t move. “Since when?” he asked as he turned in his seat to face you.

“I didn’t realise it was such a big deal. Was I meant to stand at the corner and hold a sign that said ‘deflowered’ in Times New Roman or Comic Sans?”

He didn’t even blink at your icy tone and heavy sarcasm. “But Dev said he dumped you because you didn’t want to have sex. He didn’t force himself on you, did he?”

“Oh my god, no! I can’t believe we are having this conversation, Charles.” You figured it couldn't get any more awkward as you looked out the window into the sleeping city. “Sex wasn’t the problem, he was upset because I didn’t want to have sex with him.”

“Oh…oh.” He cleared his throat and put the car back into drive before continuing his way to the police station. “So, uh, is there anyone you do want to, um, have sex with at the moment?” 

“Why? Are you offering?” It was meant to sound teasing but there was too much curiosity in it.

His face flushed pink and his lips parted two twice before his voice worked. “I don’t do casual.”

It wasn’t a no, and that somehow made things both better and worse as a new possibility began to worm its way into your mind. You didn’t like the hope that fluttered in your stomach. Charles was a friend. Charles was someone your father trusted after Seb vouched for him. Charles was off limits. 

By the time you had filtered through the thoughts he had induced, Charles was pulling into the police station and you hoped your dad was fairing well behind bars. It turned out you had no reason to worry as you walked inside and heard his voice from behind the glass wall. 

Kimi was being well taken care of by the officers. He had a coffee in one hand, a pastry in the other and was answering questions that had nothing to do with Dev. You cringed as he recounted why he missed meeting Pelé years ago, but Charles chuckled along with the policemen as you knocked on the door.

The Monégasques fawned over their hometown hero while you watched Kimi pull himself to his feet, cracking his back that had stiffen while he was sat down. 

“I thought you would be in maximum security by now,” you said as he pulled you into a hug. “What did you do?”

He patted your cheek and smiled mischievously. “I like Charles even more now.”

He gave you nothing else but that was expected. Whatever happened was obviously not on the record and you wanted to keep it that way, especially since he didn’t have a single scratch on him - like he hadn’t been in a fight at all. You were quietly contemplating that knowledge when you climbed into the backseat of the Wraith and your father readjusted everything on the driver's side back to how he had it.

“You took the fall for Charles, didn’t you?”

They both swivelled back to look at you. Charles’ eyes widened, while your father’s narrowed. 

“Fucking hell, I’m not going to tell anyone,” you growled as you threw your arms up in exasperation. “I just want to know what actually happened tonight.”

Charles waited to see if your dad wasn’t going to explain as the car pulled out of the station car park. After a moment of hesitation he took a breath and started to rattle off the truth.

“I called Kimi when I realised Dev was still at the party. It was only a block away so I thought I would meet him there to point him out.”

“I was just about at the address he gave me when he called. I got there as fast as I could but Charles was already inside,” Kimi said with a proud chortle. “Got a few good hits on the little bastard too.”

“Iså,” you warned as he enjoyed the violence just a bit too much and Charles looked sheepishly down at his hands. “Why did you fight?”

“You know why. I couldn’t stand by and let him talk about you that way.”

“Good man,” Kimi said with a stern nod. 

“And you, what did you do, dad?”

“What I had to do,” he said with a shrug. “I’m retired, Charles has a career.”

You stretched the seatbelt and leaned forward to hug your dad and kiss his cheek before doing the same to Charles. “Thank you.” Your eyes lingered on Charles as his eyes said everything he couldn’t with your father in the car. 

“He’s not pressing charges but there may be some questions if anyone caught the fight on camera. You might want to give your PR team a heads up.”

It took a moment to realise where you were and why the car had stopped outside the venue where the party was still in full swing. Drunken revellers could be heard behind the velvet curtain hanging over the door and your father handed his keys over to Charles with a shake. “Make sure she gets home safe. I’ll pick it up in the morning, no scratches.”

“Yes, sir,” Charles promised with a nod before getting out.

“You’re trusting him with your Pista?”

“I trust him with you, the car I can replace.”

You surprised him with another hug as your door opened, your voice thick with emotion as you said, “thank you.”

“Do you want to come home?” he asked quietly. “I can make up the sofa bed.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t think I’ll want to get out of my bed tomorrow.”

“Fair enough. Love you.”

“Love you too.” You stepped out and Charles closed the door, placing his hand on the small of your back and guiding you to your father’s favourite car. “He doesn’t even let me drive this, you know.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t support Ferrari,” Charles teased as you buckled yourself in.

“I support it now.”

“What changed your mind?”

You dared to look at him and met his green eyes. “You.”

—

“Awww, she called her little puppy,” Dev taunted as he spotted Charles walking towards him.

Charles chuckled, but it held no humour and his smile was dark. You had never seen that look in his eye and your thighs clenched in response. “At least she will still call me. You just lost the best thing you never deserved.”

“Well you can have the frigid bitch, good luck getting her to put out though. Fucking cocktease.” The snort Dev made was cut off by the fist that crashed into his nose and then the both of them were going to the floor, grappling and twisting until Kimi darted into the fray and grabbed Charles.

“Go, she’s at home,” Kimi ordered as he pushed Charles back the way he came. “I’ve got it from here, kid.”

The video looped back to the start and you watched it twice more before determining you were fucked. It hit you like a train, the pressure slamming into your chest as you realised you were in love with Charles. No one had ever stood up for you like that, or taken a punch for you or risked their career. But he had.

You stayed cocooned in your blankets for most of the morning, watching the video footage from the night before and it became your new favourite binge worthy entertainment. It would probably be classed as insanity if anyone knew you had become addicted to it, but it was only the fact someone knocked at your door that you placed your phone down.

“Charles? I’m getting a little déjà-vu here,” you commented as you opened the door and found him sweating.

“Will you go on a date with me?” he blurted out. “Please.”

Your brows shot up at the outburst and you checked the student halls were empty before pulling him into your room. “Uh, you do realise who my father is, right?”

“I do, thank you for your concern,” he chuckled. “I was actually just with him. I wanted his permission to ask you on a date.”

“Well that explains why it looks like you’ve been running for your life.” You looked at your door expecting to see it kicked in. “Was he chasing you?”

“What? No, I wasn’t running. Fuck,” he groaned as he ran his hands over his jeans to dry his clammy palms. “I was just nervous about asking you out. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I will.”

“Answer the question or go out with me?”

“I will go out with you,” you clarified with a laugh.

Relieved, he took a seat at the edge of your bed and sighed happily. “I have been waiting years to ask.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded before flopping himself down comfortably and you dropped down beside him. “Your dad scared me,” he admitted as he took your hand in his.

“But not anymore.”

Charles smiled and it was one so similar to the video that was still playing on loop. He seemed to recognise the muffled sound coming from the blanket at the same time you remembered it was there and fished it out. “You’ve seen it.”

“Once or twice,” you lied. “I see why you’re not afraid anymore. That’s one hell of a right hook.”

“Oh no I am definitely still afraid of Kimi,” he corrected as he rolled on his side to face you. “But I am done watching you date assholes when I know exactly how you deserve to be treated. I want to give you the world, if you’ll let me.”

[snowseasonmademe]

Slow burn, Deep strokes

word count: 5,238

pairing: aurelien tchouameni x famous black female reader

warning ‼️: smut!!

summary: your little “meaningless flirting” game doesn’t go over well with aurélien

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

@amirawrah

note: ahhhh it’s great to be back with an aurelien smut. back to my root, yes gaaawwwdddd! a little makeup sex ;) i had sooo much fun writing this and i hope you love it just as much as i do. thank you to the anon that requested this. as always, enjoy and tell ‘em what you think❤️‍🔥!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

YSL Fall/Winter 2025, Paris.

The air outside the venue buzzed with electricity, camera flashes like lightning against the night. You stepped out of the black SUV like it was your runway. You didn’t need a red carpet—your presence turned concrete into velvet. Black 30 inch middle part bussdown laid like silk, body hugged by a custom YSL matching three peice set. A vision.

And right next to you? Your man. Aurélien in custom Yves Saint Laurent: smooth black turtleneck, tailored overcoat, strong shoulders, glinting chain peeking from under his collar. He looked like wealth and warning.

Together, you were art.

You clutched his hand, confident in your stride, soaking up the attention as you made your way into the venue. Front row seats, of course—nothing less.

You slid into your seat, legs crossed, fingers grazing the inside of Aurélien’s wrist. His head tilted toward you, dark eyes dragging down your figure like he was memorizing every inch.

“You look so sexy tonight bébé” he murmured, voice a low curl of smoke in your ear.

You turned to him with a slow, smug smile. “You make this outfit illegal. We should’ve just stayed home”

The corners of his mouth curved upward, but his gaze stayed trained on you—watching, simmering. You turned your attention back toward the aisle, grinning to yourself. You were feeling bold tonight. Flirty. Teasing.

Every person who came to greet you got a dose of charm. Your compliments were slick and sweet, and your eyes sparkled just a little more than usual. A well-known model greeted you with a soft “Hey beautiful” and you replied with a slow up-and-down gaze and a sly, “You’re lucky I’m taken.”

Aurélien chuckled once under his breath. “You’re in a mood”

“I’m always in a mood” you purred, brushing your nails down his thigh. “And you love it”

He did. But tonight, that mood was running hot enough to stir the air.

Then he appeared.

“Damson!” you exclaimed, eyes widening as your good friend strode toward you.

Damson Idris. Actor. Trouble. One of your favorite people in the industry—charming, familiar, and someone who always made you feel seen. You’d worked with him before—just a couple episodes on Snowfall, but the bond had clicked instantly. The playful banter, the creative chemistry, the late-night rehearsals with wine and playlists. You kept in touch here and there, a few DMs, liking each other’s stories, the occasional FaceTime. But it had been months since you’d seen him in person.

You stood up before he even reached your row, arms already out. He pulled you into a tight hug, scent warm and familiar. You curled your arms around his shoulders, letting your hand linger a little on his bicep as you squeezed. “I’ve missed your fine ass” you said under your breath, teasingly.

He laughed against your ear. “Still got the slick mouth, huh?”

You both pulled back with matching grins, giving each other a cheek kiss.

Then you remembered your man. You turned, still holding Damson’s arm, and reached for Aurélien’s hand.

“Come here baby, this is Damson” you said sweetly, almost too sweet.

Then to Damson: “Damson, this is my man, Aurélien.”

The handshake was firm. Respectful. But heavy with unspoken weight.

Aurélien didn’t like men who stood too close. Damson didn’t like men who got defensive too quick. And you? You just stood there smiling like nothing was amiss, your hand still on Damson’s arm, the other laced with Aurélien’s.

All three of you sat. You in the middle. Aurélien shifted closer to your left. Possessive.

You placed a calming hand on his knee, still smiling.

But the real show hadn’t even started yet.

You leaned toward Damson during the first walk. Whispered about the velvet coats. Complimented the men’s loafers. Your knees brushed. He made you laugh a few times—those inside jokes still hit. You touched his wrist once, just a friendly little nudge.

You didn’t think it was that serious.

But Aurélien noticed everything.

“I really like Damson’s shirt” you said, your voice light, looking over at your man. “It would look so good on you baby.”

That was it.

No words from Aurélien. No expression. Just stillness.

He didn’t speak to you for the rest of the show. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t nod. Just watched the models walk like it was any other night. Cold.

When the final walk happened and the house lights came up, you hugged Damson goodbye, promising to catch up soon. Then you turned back to Aurélien.

“Are you ready to g—?”

But he had already grabbed your hand, firm, not rough, but tight. He led you toward the exit with purpose, not aggression—controlled, composed.

Outside, before you could reach the car, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey gorgeous”

You turned to see Devin Booker approaching, hands in his pockets, smile boyish and soft. Longtime friend. Another one who always gave you light.

You greeted him warmly, the way you always had. “Did you get a new skincare routine or something? Your skin is glowing Dev.”

He laughed low. “Stop playing. I’m always glowing like this.”

Behind you, Aurélien’s hand moved from your waist to the curve of your ass, grip steady.

Devin gave him a nod. “Saw your goal the other day. You did your thing, bro.”

Aurélien replied without a flicker. “ Preciate it.”

You said your goodbyes and barely made it five steps before Aurélien was pulling you toward the car again. You looked down at your intertwined hands—his grip was tighter than usual.

“You don’t have to squeeze my hand like that.”

No answer.

Just the sound of your heels clicking along the sidewalk.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, stepping aside without meeting your eyes.

You stood in front of it, unmoving.

“What the hell are you mad about right now?”

Still no response.

“Hello??......Aurélien?........Baby—”

“In the car”

His voice was dry. Still. Like water right before it boils.

You blinked.

The look he gave you—calm, unreadable, a quiet warning. You knew that look. The one that said, Push me again, and you’ll find out.

You didn’t argue. You slid into the passenger seat with a shaky sigh, pulled your seatbelt across your chest, and turned your face to the window.

And then the silence grew thick.

He didn’t start the engine with a growl. No sharp turns. No speeding. No dramatic tension.

Just a slow, easy roll onto the road.

He drove like he had nowhere to be. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift. His knuckles calm. Not tense. Not flexed.

The kind of stillness that comes from restraint, not peace.

No music.

No thigh touches.

No usual post-show analysis. Nothing.

He didn’t even glance at you.

And that scared you more than yelling ever could.

The soft click of the gear shift into park was the loudest sound either of you had heard in the last thirty minutes.

No music.

No talking.

Just the eerie stillness of the drive home.

Aurélien hadn’t looked at you once the whole way. Not a glance at your thighs crossed beside him. Not a hand drifting to your leg like usual. He didn’t even ask if you wanted food, which he always did—whether you were full or not. That kind of silence from him wasn’t loud—it was surgical. Measured. It was intention.

He drove like he had nowhere to be, like every red light was a meditation session. No sharp turns. No deep sighs or wheel gripping. Just one hand steady at 10 o’clock, the other resting on his thigh, his eyes calm but unreadable as they watched the road.

And that made it worse.

The way he wasn’t showing his hand.

Wasn’t raising his voice.

Wasn’t giving you anything.

It was eating you alive.

You sat in the passenger seat, stiff and trying not to fidget, your fresh hair swaying every time you turned your head toward him. But he didn’t bite. Not once.

When he finally pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine, he didn’t immediately hop out. He just sat there for a moment, hand still on the wheel like he was winding down from something… or preparing to start something.

Then he moved. Slowly. Calmly.

He stepped out of the car, his tailored YSL pants hugging his thighs just right as he rounded the vehicle. You swallowed. Every step he took felt like a countdown. Not to an explosion—but to a reckoning.

He opened your door and extended his hand, and though you wanted to keep up the attitude, you slipped your hand into his too fast, drawn to the warmth and quiet dominance of his touch. He helped you out with that same effortless grace he always had, but tonight, it wasn’t affectionate. It was possessive.

Still no words.

Inside, he let you enter first and followed behind without so much as a glance. His pace didn’t change. His energy didn’t spike. He didn’t drop his keys angrily on the counter or throw off his jacket. No.

He walked past you, pulled off his watch with silent precision, then made his way into the living room and sank into the couch like a man settling into control.

You watched him like he was a stranger. Mouth parted. Brow furrowed.

What the hell kind of crime did you commit to get this kind of response from Captain Tchouaméni?

He was cooler than when he got benched. Cooler than when a ref gave him a red card. And that scared you more than yelling ever could.

You followed, standing just outside the living room, arms crossed tightly under your chest.

He looked… too relaxed. Legs wide, arm draped across the back of the couch, like he was lounging after a long day. His face, though—that was where the fire sat. Not blazing. Not wild. Controlled.

You stepped closer.

“What the hell was that about?” you asked, sharp with attitude but laced with confusion.

He didn’t blink. “I should be asking you that.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to stay grounded. “Aurélien, what are you talking about?”

Then came the tap on his thigh. That silent demand.

“Come here.”

The way he said it was quiet. Casual. Like he wasn’t asking. Like you were already going to obey.

And you did. You walked slowly, pretending to be unaffected, pretending your thighs weren’t pressing together with every step. You sat across his right thigh, back straight, gaze fixed forward like you were watching a commercial break.

But you could feel his eyes piercing into the side of your face.

“You want to play games?” he said, low and even, his fingers sliding up to your jaw. “We can play games.”

He turned your head to the left gently but without room to resist. You were eye to eye now, and the look on his face? Calm. Focused. Like a man who had already decided how this would end.

You swallowed hard. His thigh beneath you was too relaxed. Too steady. And that told you everything.

“Ugh, are you mad at me for some meaningless flirting, Aurélien? Seriously?” you bit out, trying to reclaim the upper hand.

“I didn’t say that” he said, jaw tightening just slightly, eyes still on yours. That stare? It was so sharp it felt like he was peeling the truth off you.

Shit.

You stiffened. You had just told on yourself.

“O-okay well… what do you want me to say? I was just playing. It’s fine.” Your voice dropped into something softer. Less sure. He could feel the shift. You could feel it too.

His hand slid up your back, warm and firm. Then he wrapped it around the back of your neck, just tight enough to steal your breath. He pulled you an inch closer, his voice low, heat curling off every word.

“You love to play” he murmured. “Why don’t we play together, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, growing irritated, even though your thighs were already tightening from the tension.

“Aurélien, I’m not about to play stupid games with you right now. Come on.”

You made a move to stand, shifting your weight and placing your hand on his other leg in front of you for leverage. But he didn’t budge. Instead, his grip locked around you, holding you firm in place—one large, warm palm spreading over your thigh, fingers curling into the flesh possessively. His other hand stayed at the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, applying just enough pressure to make you remember who was in control.

You stilled.

“No?” he said, voice like smooth velvet stretched over fire. “You’ve already been playing this whole time.”

Then his head moved forward, and his lips—full, soft, but commanding—pressed against your neck.

The first kiss was featherlight. Teasing.

The second… slower. Wetter.

He kissed like he was unwrapping you. Not with lust alone, but with intention. With memory. His thick tongue made slow, deliberate strokes up the curve of your neck, the kind that left a warm trail even after he pulled away. Your breath caught in your throat.

You tried to hold on to your frustration. Tried to stay sharp. “Are we gonna talk about this or—”

“Shhhh.” His interruption was low and gentle, but it silenced you completely. “Enough talking. You got yourself into enough trouble”

The finality in his voice made your stomach flutter. You swallowed hard.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were just trying to breathe evenly now, trying to resist the way his lips and tongue made your body ache. He continued moving, mouth painting slow circles into your skin as if he had all night.

“Aurélien…” you whispered, your hips beginning to move instinctively, rolling in subtle circles against his thigh. You felt the muscle tense beneath you—just slightly—but he didn’t stop.

“No talking, I said”

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t shift in tone. But something about the calm way he said it made you freeze. You obeyed. Your chest rose and fell faster as you realized what kind of night this would be.

Oh, he’s serious, you thought, pulse fluttering in your throat.

And then he moved.

With maddening slowness, he shifted you off his lap. You didn’t even notice the transition until your back was against the couch cushions, and he was hovering above you—those deep, intense eyes studying your body like it was something to be solved.

And then… he started undressing you.

One. Piece. At. A. Time.

First, your jacket.

He peeled it away like he was revealing something sacred. When your arms were free, he took your hands in his, brought them to his lips, and kissed your knuckles, your palms, your wrists—his breath warming your skin in the most delicate way. Then he traced his mouth up your arms, over your shoulders, and across your collarbones. Slow. Methodical.

Then your shoes.

He slid down to the edge of the couch, unbuckling each strap as if it mattered, and placed your heels neatly to the side. Then he lifted your foot gently into his hand, kissing the arch, the top, the ankle. Worshipping. Devouring.

You were already starting to tremble.

Next, your pants.

He looked at you the entire time, never breaking the tension. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down, inch by inch. Your breath hitched when his knuckles brushed your thighs. Once they were gone, his mouth replaced them—sinking into the soft, thick flesh of your inner thighs. He kissed, licked, and gently bit, leaving no part untouched. Then he reached your panties.

He didn’t move them. Didn’t pull them aside.

He just kissed over them. Soft, deliberate pressure against your heat.

You gasped, your hips twitching upward. His hands pinned them down.

Last, your top.

He sat back, tugging the fabric up your torso, watching every inch of skin appear. When your top was fully gone, he leaned in again. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your waist. He pressed his mouth to your lower abdomen, slow and possessive. When he reached your breasts, he didn’t touch. He hovered, let his breath drag across your nipples, and then pulled back to watch you squirm.

Your whole body was buzzing.

And then—he stood up.

It took everything in you not to beg.

He began undressing himself, just as torturously slow. Untying his shoes with perfect control. Removing his tailored black jacket and revealing the fitted turtleneck beneath, snug across his chest and arms. Your eyes were glued to his biceps, thick and veiny, flexing slightly as he adjusted the sleeves.

He rolled them up to his elbows. Slowly. You licked your lips without meaning to.

Then the belt.

He unbuckled it with one hand, each sound echoing in the silence. Then the zipper. You sucked in a sharp breath. When he pushed his pants down, your eyes dropped to his thighs—powerful and thick, every step of muscle flexing as he shifted his stance.

He stood there in just his grey briefs.

Already hard.

Your mouth watered. You clenched your thighs together, desperate for friction, for him—anything.

And then finally, he pulled them down.

He let them fall, exposing every hard, beautiful inch of himself to you. Full, heavy, throbbing. Your eyes locked there, a tremble spreading across your legs.

But he didn’t step forward. He didn’t move.

He just stood there. Letting you see him. Letting the weight of anticipation grow unbearable.

Because somehow, you knew—

It wouldn’t be that easy.

He came back to you like he never meant to leave, his tall frame casting a slow-moving shadow as he leaned over, wrapping your legs around his waist. His skin was warm, flushed, his body heavy with tension and hunger he refused to release. You could feel the full weight of his dick pressed against your lower stomach, thick and pulsing, a dark promise he still wouldn’t deliver on. It was maddening.

His kiss felt like a curse—like it carried a spell meant to make you forget how to breathe. He moved with excruciating control, soft lips dragging over yours, deep and slow, as if he wanted you to feel every millimeter of contact. No urgency. Just tension and the taste of punishment.

He touched your thighs like they were made of velvet—squeezing, stroking, dragging his palms up and down with reverence and control. Every movement was thought out. Intentional. He was worshipping you… while withholding you.

You arched your back instinctively, trying to grind against him, hoping for just the slightest hint of friction—but he shifted his hips and pressed his full weight into you, anchoring you down into the couch cushions. His restraint was terrifying. Sexy. Cruel.

“No. Stay still” he said, low and sharp, like a warning wrapped in honey.

Then he dipped back into your neck, mouth warm and open, tongue slow and wet, tasting you like you were his last meal. The pace. The pressure. The way he lingered. He was savoring you.

“But baby please—” you begged, voice small, broken by need.

He cut you off without even looking up. “No. Talking. Do I need to make you be quiet?”

The cold authority in his voice sent a shiver up your spine. You blinked, speechless, throat dry. All you could do was reach for him, pulling him back into your mouth, letting him kiss you again, needing to feel some part of him where he allowed it.

He didn’t stop. He was everywhere now—his mouth branding your neck with hickeys that felt like bruised memories, raw and fresh. Each one more possessive than the last. Your mind briefly flashed to the press run you were starting in two days. Hair. Makeup. Stylist. Publicist. All of them asking how you were going to hide the evidence of the man who was fucking you like his heart would stop if he didn’t.

You tried to keep quiet, but your breath betrayed you—coming out in short, high-pitched moans, shivering through your throat. You could feel the wetness dripping down between your legs, soaking through to the cushion. It was humiliating, how much he could make you need him without even being inside you.

Then, like he was done playing with his food, he flipped you over effortlessly, and you found yourself facedown, ass arched for him. He didn’t say a word. Just looked. You could feel his eyes on you, dragging heat up your spine.

He pressed one hand to the back of your neck, the other gripping both your wrists together like he was locking you into place. You could barely move. Barely breathe.

You expected him to take you. Ravish you. Finally give in.

But instead… you felt the heavy, teasing slide of his tip running through your folds, slow and slick. He dragged it up and down, letting it graze over your clit, circling your entrance, never entering.

It was unbearable. You whimpered.

“You want it, bébé? Take it. Go ahead and take it.”

You blinked. Was he serious?

You pushed your hips back, trying to line him up, trying to take it—and just when you thought you had him, he moved his hips back. Taunting. Laughing silently.

“Ah, not quite. Try again.”

Your eyes stung with frustrated tears. You clenched your fists. If he wasn’t holding you down, you might’ve flipped over and cursed him out. But instead, you tried again. Pushed back harder. Still missed. Another denied entry.

He chuckled low in his throat. A breathy, cruel little sound.

“You can do it. Try again. You want it, so take it.”

Your heart was pounding. You were overheating. Dripping. Shaking. You took a deep breath, exhaled sharply, and threw your hips back with more force—and this time… finally… he let you take him.

“Auuhhhh shit” he moaned behind you, his voice rough and desperate, like he hadn’t expected how good it would feel either. That sound made your walls clench tight around him, welcoming him home.

You moaned, too. Loud and messy. The sound of him sliding in echoed—slick, obscene. You were soaked, stretched, filled. Every nerve ending lit up.

And then he started to move—slow. So goddamn slow.

There was no slamming, no pounding. Just deep, luxurious strokes that made you feel every inch of him.

He leaned down, his lips right by your ear.

“Putain. Si humide pour moi. Est-ce que Damson se sent si bien ?” (Fuck. So wet for me. Does Damson feel this good?)

You froze. Every part of you went still, trembling.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The question punched the air out of you.

He stopped. Entirely.

“When I ask a question, you answer.”

The silence stretched until you finally forced the words out.

“I don’t know how Damson feels, Aurélien. Please just keep going.”

His grip on your wrists tightened. His other hand curled harder around the back of your neck.

“You were acting like you know exactly how he feels” he murmured, his tone chilling even as his hips began to move again—slow, even slower than before.

Every word, every stroke, was punishment. And you loved it.

He let go of your wrists slowly, with a kind of terrifying calm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. Your arms dropped limply against the couch, trembling, weak from restraint and overstimulation. But he wasn’t done—not even close.

His grip shifted—one hand wrapped firm and possessive around your neck, thumb resting just beneath your jaw while his other hand dropped to your hip. He grabbed it like he owned it. Like it was his hip. His body. His to take.

Then he pulled you back into him with a brutal snap of his hips.

Faster.

Harder.

Louder.

There was no buildup this time. He went straight to punishment. And it felt so good you almost blacked out. The lewd sound of his hips slamming into your soaked, swollen core echoed through the living room like music made of sin. Your mouth dropped open, the couch cushions catching your desperate moans as you gripped at anything—his thigh, the cushion, your own flesh.

“I— I’m sorry, baby—fuck—I’m sorry, please—oh my god—” you gasped between every deep thrust.

“Don’t apologize now” he snapped. His voice was low, like a growl coming from somewhere deep in his chest. You could feel it vibrate against your back when he leaned in, fucking you so deeply you saw stars behind your eyes.

You screamed into the couch, body writhing from the inside out. You were moaning, crying, gasping—completely undone. Then suddenly, just like that, the rhythm shifted. Slowed. Slowed way down.

You cried out in pure frustration. The loss of that brutal pace felt like physical pain. His dick still filled you to the brim, but now it moved achingly slow, grinding with such teasing softness that it felt like he was mocking your desperation.

“No—no no no, baby don’t do this, please” you whimpered, your face damp with sweat and tears. “I need you so bad.”

But he didn’t give in. He wasn’t done toying with you yet.

“What about Devin, hm?” he murmured right into your ear. His voice was silk-wrapped steel. Cruel in how soft it was. “You don’t need him?”

The mention of another man’s name from his lips, at a moment like this, made you feel completely raw. You could barely speak.

“No, Aurélien” you choked. “I don’t need him. I need you. Only you. Please.”

His breath hitched behind you. He liked hearing it. Needed it.

“You need me” he repeated slowly, savoring every word like a sweet piece of fruit.

Then the snap.

His hips collided with your ass again, and again, and again. Hard. He was back to that punishing pace, but somehow deeper this time. Wilder.

“Yes—ahhhh—I need you!” you moaned, louder, more open, more desperate.

“That’s right. You need me. Remember that shit.” His voice was strained now, laced with pleasure, his hands anchoring you in place while his thick dick dragged in and out of you, perfectly hitting every swollen nerve inside your walls.

You were wrecked.

The wet, sticky sounds of your bodies filled the air—filthy, obscene. His hips slapped against your ass like waves crashing against the shore. Your legs couldn’t hold your body up anymore, but it didn’t matter—he was doing all the work, gripping your hips tighter and dragging you back onto him with perfect, relentless control.

His strokes got longer. Still hard, still just as deep. You weren’t thinking. Not about Damson. Not about Devin. Not about your hair, your image, your press tour. The only thing in the world was how deep Aurélien was inside your guts.

Then he collapsed over you, body pressing you flat against the couch. His chest against your back. His skin sticky and warm. His moans right in your ear. You could feel his abs flex and roll with every grind of his hips. His weight—solid, hot, heavy—felt like a blanket you never wanted to crawl out from under.

You pushed your ass back, trying to feel more, needing all of him.

“You want me to cum in this pussy bébé?” he whispered into your ear, voice rough, thick with lust.

“Yes baby” you cried. “It’s yours. Cum inside me.”

One final, deep, soul-shattering thrust—and he was there. You could feel it. His release flooding into you, hot and thick, painting your insides in wave after wave as he groaned your name into your neck.

You came with him. Hard. Violently. Your whole body shook like an earthquake, moans raw and broken. You didn’t even realize you were crying again until his lips kissed your shoulder.

He stayed deep inside you. Kept moving. Kept fucking you through your orgasm until the aftershocks made your toes curl and your brain go blank.

He didn’t just fill you.

He claimed you.

You couldn’t hear.

You couldn’t see.

You could only feel.

The room around you was blurred into silence. Your ears were ringing faintly, like you’d just come up from underwater. Your eyes fluttered open and closed, lashes sticking together from sweat. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was the body above you. The man still wrapped around you like a blanket of heat and muscle and dominance.

Aurélien’s lingering moans vibrated through his chest, pressed against your back. You could feel the way his voice rumbled in your bones. It was like he was still inside you in more ways than one. His hips were flush against your ass, barely twitching as aftershocks rolled through both of you.

His lips moved slowly over your temple—kissing, not just touching. Full, plush lips planting small, hot promises into your skin. You could taste salt on your lips, unsure whether it was your own sweat or his.

Then his body shifted.

His weight lifted off your back inch by inch, peeling away like a warm, weighted blanket. You immediately missed the pressure, the fullness, the suffocating closeness that had held you together through all that pleasure. Cool air licked at your damp skin, making you shiver even in the heat of the room.

His big hands slid back down to your hips.

Firm. Possessive. Gentle now, but still in control. His fingertips flexed as he held you steady and slowly pulled out of you. You gasped—your body clenched in protest at the loss. But even that couldn’t prepare you for the next sensation.

His cum.

Spilling out of you.

Warm and thick, it leaked down your thighs in heavy drips, slow and sticky like maple syrup sliding down the bark of a tree. You twitched with each droplet, your oversensitive core pulsing as his release oozed from your swollen folds.

You barely had time to whimper before you felt him again. Not inside, not commanding—but there. His arms wrapped around you like a balm. Solid and grounding. He pulled you in so close, your cheek met his slick chest. His heart was still beating like a war drum under your ear, but softer now, fading.

You hummed. You couldn’t help it. The vibration of your contentment made his arms tighten around you in response, like he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

This embrace was different.

No tension.

No heat.

Just warmth.

Like he needed you close as much as you needed him.

You melted into him, fully limp, legs trembling with aftershocks and thighs still sticky with the mess he made of you. Your breath slowly synced with his. His fingertips traced random patterns along your spine—up your back, over your shoulder blades, across the curve of your waist. Like he was still learning your body, even after owning it completely.

The couch was a mess—pillows thrown, cushions damp, the scent of sex thick in the air—but you didn’t care. You were wrapped in his arms. Safe. Loved. Fucked out and satisfied in a way that felt like more than just physical.

Aurélien’s lips brushed against your hair again.

“No more of that” he murmured, low and gravelly. “I won’t be so nice next time.”

The words rolled down your spine like thunder.

You knew he was serious. That wasn’t a threat—it was a promise. Next time, there wouldn’t be any teasing. No patience. No letting you off the hook.

And honestly?

You’d worry about that tomorrow.

For now, you just exhaled, let your body melt into his, and let the night hold you both still.

[gurugirl]

Pervert

sugardaddy!harry x yn

Summary: This is a flashback (before he and Romy split) based on this request. Harry calls Y/n to his office in the middle of a workday.

Word Count: 3k+

Warning: 18+ only, smut, cheating (technically), public sex (sort of), a touch of degradation kink

The Arrangement Masterlist

Y/n was in the elevator with coffee from Starbucks for Harry and Sean and their guests. She had two trays balanced in her palms and the strap from her gorgeous new purse from Harry, hanging from her shoulder.

She bit her lip thinking about the man she shouldn’t be thinking of like she was. She knew he was married and it was just an arrangement but she was so far gone for him. And he’d said so many things that got to her. That had her head playing his words over and over and over again. How much he missed her between meet-ups, how he wished she could stay in his house with him so he could have her when he wanted. The way they’d just sit and talk for hours. The way he’d wind his eyes over her face with his gentle gaze, his fingers softly brushing over her jaw or her cheekbone before he’d kiss her. It had her insides glowing hot.

When the elevator had made it to the office floor the doors slid open as Y/n stepped out but she didn’t get far. Hands clutched her forearms under the coffee trays and walked her backward into the elevator, “Let me help.”

Harry pulled a tray from her hand and then scooped her in by the back of her head and smashed his mouth against hers wetly as the doors closed behind them.

He wasted no time in getting his tongue against hers and making her feel blurry and faint.

“Needed to do that all day,” Harry leaned his forehead to hers, “You’re wearing the dress I bought you.”

She smiled, “Well everything I wear these days is something you bought me.”

“Harry pushed himself off of her and looked down at the fit of it on her, “I suppose that’s true. That doesn’t mean I don’t love seeing you in things I paid for. God, you’re gorgeous.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened up to Jessica standing there, “Oh! The elevator doors must have closed on you two. Need help?” She eyed the trays and then Harry.

“Oh, we’ve got it. I noticed she was struggling so I came to help her but the doors closed behind me,” he laughed, “But thank you, Jessica.”

Y/n and Harry slipped past Jessica as she got into the elevator.

“That was close, Mr. Styles.” Y/n teased.

“Come to my office after this meeting. Okay?” He pushed the entry door open to let her pass him with the coffee tray.

“Sure. Whatever you want, sir.”

She walked into the conference room and gave everyone their order before quietly leaving. Harry watched her on her way out. He was quickly letting himself get too attached to the girl. But he wasn’t sure he could help it.

An hour later Y/n watched as Harry walked past her desk to his office. He glanced at her as he did so and she quickly got up from her spot to follow him.

“Close the door.” Harry took his suit jacket off and sat down on the couch as he watched Y/n shut the door.

“Now come here.”

She complied, walking toward where he sat and stood opposite the coffee table in front of him.

“Turn around for me. Let me see how pretty this looks.”

She cracked an embarrassed smile and turned around for him before giggling and looking down at her shoes.

“What’s underneath?”

“Mm…” she thought back to what she’d put on that morning, “The yellow lacy panties and bra from Saint Laurent.”

Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, “Take the dress off. I want to see.”

She swallowed, “Uh? Here? Should I lock the door?” She looked toward his office door and then back at him.

Harry laughed and got up, walking past Y/n to lock his door.

“Now it’s locked. Show me what’s mine, Y/n.” He walked to stand before her.

She felt hot all over as she stepped out of her heels and then began to unzip the back of her dress, letting the fabric fall down her torso before she caught it, and slowly stepped out to drape it over his coffee table.

“Fuck,” he spoke under his breath as he walked around her, taking in all of her skin and the pretty fabric of the set he’d bought her.

He stepped behind her, his hands starting at her shoulders and slowly moving down her chest and over her breasts before he lowered his mouth to her neck and began to softly run his lips over her skin making her sigh.

“Every time I see you in such pretty panties looking so feminine and put together, it just makes me want to ruin you. Can I ruin you, baby? Can Daddy take what he wants from you?”

She whimpered softly as she leaned her head back into his shoulder, “You can have whatever you want, Daddy.”

Harry smiled into Y/n’s neck as he pulled away from her and began to undo his pants. She turned to watch what he was doing and his eyes were already on her.

When his zipper was down he reached for her hip and pulled her in before he smoothed his hand down to her crotch, rubbing circles over her lace-covered clit. He could feel the moisture seeping through already.

“Filthy thing. Getting these expensive panties all wet, dirtying them,” he dredged his fingers up and down, her arousal, making his fingers slick as she moaned softly, “Do you know these cost more than Jessica makes in a whole week? And here you are just making a mess inside of this delicate, hand-stitched, Italian fabric.”

He tsk’d at her as he as he watched her eyes. He loved it when she started to melt for him, “Daddy buys all these pretty things for you and this is how you treat them?”

She inhaled and balled her fists to her sides to keep herself from reaching for his arms or his shoulders to hold on to, “Sorry, Daddy.”

Harry nodded, “That’s okay baby. I know you can’t help it when you’re around me. Like an excited puppy who needs potty training. Isn’t that right?”

His demeaning words were spoken low and quietly as he continued slipping his fingers over the panties, spreading her arousal all over the front.

“I just really want you.”

“Well, you have me already. What is it you want right now?”

She let out a shaky breathy and her rounded eyes fluttered when he switched from using his fingertips to glide over her panties to his knuckles, creating more friction, “You. I just want you. Whatever you want. Anything.”

Harry licked his lips. He loved the sound of that. And he knew she would let him do anything. That was the thing about Y/n. She loved it all. She liked it rough and soft and painful and slow. She never said no even when he gave her so many chances. She liked everything. She was perfect for him.

“Since we have to be quiet and quick I can’t do what I really want to do to you right now. Do you know what I want to do to you right now?”

She shook her head as Harry dropped his hand away from her pussy and walked toward his couch before sitting.

“Come here into Daddy’s lap and I’ll tell you what you deserve. What I’d do if no one could hear us.”

She felt her limbs buzzing as she followed after him and climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs with hers. Harry lifted his hips and pulled his hot, angry cock from its confines.

“I’d make you bend over the desk and tie your hands down and your legs apart, tied at the ankles so you were just spread out for me and at my disposal.” He nudged the wet fabric at her crotch to the side and pushed a finger into her entrance slowly as he watched her swallow harshly.

“I’d use whichever hole I wanted at different times. First your cunt,” he punctuated as he jammed his long middle finger inside of her deep making her coo softly. “I’d use your wet hole to fuck into and please myself. Get myself off while you are immobile and grunting and whining.”

Harry’s palm smeared over her clit as he pulsed his finger in and out of pussy, “I’d dump my come deep inside your tummy and make sure it was all fucked inside of you as deep as possible.”

She began to pant and wiggle against his hand while his other hand moved up to pull her tits from the lace. He pinched softly over her nipples as he continued, “You’d be drooling and crying, begging for me to let you come but instead, I’d go back to work to get things done because I’m a very busy man, you see. You’d have to lie there for me all spread out and needy while I work and make money so I can keep spending on you.”

The sound of her pussy being fingered was dirty as she tried to maintain her breaths and keep quiet.

“But then I’d see this pretty ass,” he pulled his finger out of her pussy and reached to the back of her panties, and hooked his finger into the flimsy fabric to grant himself access to her tight hole before he circled it with her arousal, smearing her wetness all over, “And I’d need to fuck it too. Use this pretty hole to get myself off again. But you’re a nasty girl who likes getting her ass fucked, isn’t that right?”

Y/n nodded in desperation. Her lips were parted as she breathed heavily. But when Harry pushed his middle finger into her tight hole she gasped and widened her eyes.

“You’d be so pathetic and helpless. Just desperate for more come and I’ll give it to you because after I’m done I’ll watch how it drips from both of your holes while you’re shaking and acting like a desperate slut. You’ll be lying there begging a married man to use you and breed you.”

She continued to nod with her mouth dropped open as she kept her eyes on Harry.

“Now sit on Daddy’s cock. I can tell you need it, baby. We’ll get these panties all stretched out and wrecked since you don’t care for them anyway.”

Y/n raised herself upward and placed her hands at the back of the couch to steady herself as Harry kept his finger in her asshole.

She was so wet and so swollen he fit inside of her easily as she slid down his shaft.

Her head began to spin as he lifted his hips and began to fuck into her slowly, “There we go. Soaking wet for me, darling.”

Harry’s dirty talk ceased for a few moments as he reveled in the way she felt stretched around him all creamy and tight and warm. The couch squeaked the smallest bit when Y/n began to ride him up and down slowly.

The feel of his thick cock spreading her open and dipping deep into her guts with his finger in her ass had her shaking and holding in a moan.

“Getting yourself all worked up aren’t you, baby?”

She pouted as she began to roll her hips and ground her clit into his pelvis, “Daddy… can I come? Gonna come really fast, you feel so good…”

Harry smiled and leaned his head back into the couch as he looked from her soft tits to her scrunched face, “Wait for me, baby. I’ll tell you when you can. Just a little more,” he panted.

Slushy, slick noises, and heavy breaths filled the room as they moved together, getting each other off. No one did it for Harry the way Y/n did and he wasn’t sure if that was a shame or if that was a good thing. He certainly felt no guilt when he thought of the way Romy couldn’t even compare to Y/n.

“Fuck baby, you always know just how to squeeze around me like that,” Harry gritted his teeth, “So much better than my wife. You deserve to be filled up and dripping with my come because you’re mine. Isn’t that right?”

Y/n’s insides were sparkling and pulsing. She was doing her best to hold back but Harry’s words always got to her and his cock felt so good taking up every inch of her cunt, “Yes…” she breathed, “I’m all yours, Daddy… please!”

Her please came out too loud so Harry pulled her in by the back of her neck to crash his mouth to hers as they both felt their orgasms begin to unfold and take over.

“Come on Daddy’s cock baby,” Harry spoke against her lips before shoving his tongue into her mouth to keep her quiet.

She trembled and let out muffled moans as her pussy fluttered around Harry’s shaft and swallowed him deep. He felt his cock being wrung out by her as his come poured out from his tip inside of her. Where it belonged.

They moved their mouths together to mute their gasps and moans as they released together there in his office on the couch he used for clients and co-workers.

Part of Y/n didn’t care if anyone heard. She wanted him to herself and she wanted everyone to know that she was getting his cock on the regular. That his wife could never make his ears ring and his thighs shake like she did. He never felt so desperate for his wife that he needed to fuck her in his office in the middle of a workday. Never dreamed of her the way he dreamed of Y/n. Didn’t masturbate to the image of Romy while he was showering but rather he imagined Y/n’s eyes and her lips, and her fingers when he was fucking his fist. She was his dream girl. His favorite girl. Y/n was. Not his wife. And Y/n knew this to be a fact.

When they both finally slowed their movements and Y/n parted from Harry’s mouth she felt the way she’d drenched his lap and looked down, “Oh god. Sorry!”

Harry laughed and eased his finger from her ass, “I have a change of pants here for just this kind of emergency.” Harry tapped her bottom, “Up you get. I’ve got a call to make and you’ve work to do.”

Y/n slowly dragged her pussy off his cock and he hissed at how sensitive it was. She stood up and began to slip her panties down her hips but Harry stopped her, “Keep them on. Want you to sit in your wet panties with a pussy full of my come so you remember exactly what bad thing you’ve done today,” he smirked at her as he stood and took his pants off to switch them out for a clean pair.

“But I’ll get my dress all wet too,” she looked down at the yellow lace and back up at Harry.

“It won’t show through your dress. No one will know you’re all messy and freshly fucked.”

She pouted as she moved the crotch of her panties back into place and readjusted the bra before picking up her dress.

Harry pulled up his clean pants and sighed as he looked at Y/n trying to avoid getting her dress a mess as she stepped into it, her face scrunched.

He walked up behind her and helped her zip the back of the dress, “Darling, you know you can take them off if you want, right? I’m not that mean.”

She turned to look at him, “But you said–“

Harry shook his head, “It’s just a fantasy. You don’t have to suffer through wet panties just because I’m a pervert,” he grinned.

She smiled at him, “You’re not a pervert. And if you want me to keep them on I will. I love making you happy.”

“I know you love to make me happy. It’s why this works so well,” he pulled her toward him and kissed her, “But you’re a big girl and you can make your own decisions can’t you?”

She nodded.

“Do you want them off?”

“Well… I mean. It is uncomfortable. It’s so wet.”

Harry laughed, “I know they’re wet. You completely destroyed them. How about this, we’ll compromise. You take them off but that means you get to feel my come dripping down your thighs for the rest of the day. Every time you get up or move a little bit will seep out. That’ll be your reminder.” He had his long fingers wrapped around the front of her neck as he spoke.

She grinned, “Okay.”

When her panties were finally off Harry took them and stuffed them inside of the pocket in his dirty trousers, “I’ll have the housekeeper clean these up and make them like new again. Then I’ll bring them back to you. How’s that sound?”

“Okay. But what if your wife sees them?” She asked as she slid her heels back onto her feet.

Harry shrugged and tossed his pants behind his desk, “So what if she does? She knows I’m fucking someone else. Knows someone else is giving me what she can’t.” He stepped toward her and pushed her back to his office door, “I don’t care if she sees them. I hope she does. Hope she finds them all sticky and dirty and knows what kind of good girl I’ve been enjoying.”

With her back pressed into the wall next to his door and his hand on the front of her neck he gave her a soft and sloppy kiss before pulling himself away, “Now it’s time to get back to work.”

Y/n nodded and bit her lip as she slowly walked out of his office and back to her little cubicle, his come dripping out of her cunt and down her thighs as she went. The feel of him warm down the inside of her legs made her smile knowing that she was his favorite.

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[wrenaspun]

what about the prompt that damen starts dating laurent but laurent thinks it's only casual to damen and is dying inside while damen is planning for their future 👀

👀 👀

Damen’s hands were warm on Laurent’s hips, grounding, the sole point of steadiness in a dizzy world. His eyes were very dark. Laurent’s whole body was flushed and trembling. He’d lost track of how long they’d been in bed together; he knew his thighs were sore. His back was sore. He could barely keep himself moving, but the thought of stopping was unbearable. He hadn’t known anything could feel this good.

Damen pushed up into him, grip tightening, and Laurent felt another impossible pulse of searing pleasure, heard himself make another helpless, embarrassing noise. He was submerged in sensation, utterly conquered by the sweep of Damen’s thumbs over his skin. Coming was almost irrelevant. He wanted to stay like this forever.

Underneath him, eventually, Damen’s body tightened as it did when he was close. “Laurent,” he said, and just the sound of his voice was sensual, rough and fucked-out. Laurent shuddered, a breath away from coming. Damen kept murmuring to him, endearments, encouragement, praise, and then one hand moved to stroke softly up Laurent’s side — and it was that which brought Laurent over the edge of pleasure, the sweet touch which was impossible to defend against.

Laurent’s body was weak and shaky in the aftermath, overwhelmed. Damen gathered him close, kissed his cheek, the tip of his nose, his slack mouth, and that was also impossible to defend against, in a slightly different way. Laurent’s heart ached, but he was never strong enough to deny himself this, the tender moments after their lovemaking when he had an excuse to cling to Damen, to nuzzle close and breathe him in.

“Lovely,” Damen was saying now. Pleasure always left him loose-limbed and loose-lipped, prone to saying horrible things. Like now: “Sweetheart. You look so lovely like that, taking your pleasure. I missed you.” He kissed Laurent’s temple. Laurent had been roped into visiting Auguste over the weekend; two whole days they hadn’t seen each other. Damen’s arm was slung over Laurent’s waist, their legs tangling together like he wanted to erase the memory of their separation. “Will you stay for dinner?”

The first time Damen had said something like that, Laurent had kept his wits about him enough to keep smiling. “You don’t have to flatter me,” he’d said. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Damen had just furrowed his brow, looking earnestly confused. “I’m just telling the truth.” He’d kissed Laurent’s bare shoulder, soft, very tender.

That was just the kind of person he was, Laurent had realised. He was open-hearted, always willing with his affections… He was entirely earnest when he called Laurent his sweetheart, said he was lovely, wonderful, precious. It didn’t mean — what Laurent wanted it to mean. It didn’t mean what it would have meant if Laurent was the one saying it. Sometimes he wondered how Damen would talk to a real partner, someone he really loved instead of a convenient rebound hookup, and his heart squeezed painfully in his chest. He hated that person already.

“Yes,” said Laurent now. And realised, with a humiliated flush, that he’d come straight to Damen’s flat after work, that if he went to his apartment now there wouldn’t be any food in the pantry. He’d expected this invitation so intrinsically that it hadn’t even registered as an expectation.

Damen stretched and got up, all rippling muscle and smooth motion, moving with the ease which came with perfect command over his own body. He kissed Laurent once more, said he’d be in the kitchen, and left.

Laurent rolled over and buried his face in Damen’s pillow. He needed to get a grip. One of these days Damen was going to do something casually nice by his standards and Laurent would just stop functioning. He was barely managing now. He knew better than to expect anything of a man who’d just come reeling out of an engagement, but — he was barely managing now. He made a noise of abject despair into the sympathetic pillow, then got up and wrapped one of Damen’s shirts around himself and went into the kitchen.

Damen looked over and grinned to see him, heart-stoppingly gorgeous. “Sweetheart,” he said, abandoning the vegetables he was stir-frying to come over and press a kiss to Laurent’s mouth. And then, looking almost shy, he gestured to a little vase overbrimming with bright flowers: “I almost forgot. Happy three months.”

Laurent stopped functioning.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Do you think any of the OI characters could be convinced to put on a sexy nurse outfit, while taking care of their sick partner?

I am giggling! (I really tried not to just be like YES to all of them, but I am a weak, weak person.)

oscar isaac charcters x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Warnings: silliness, references to sexy times

Word Count: 465

_____________________________________

Steven: Giggles the whole time, and puts on a fantastically over the top accent to go with the new character he’s created. You have to kiss him to shut him up when he starts quoting Carry On, Doctor.

Marc: Will put on the outfit and make you take your medicine and go to sleep. “I’m taking care of you, so you feel better, why did you want something else?” Is a little shit about it until you beg him for kisses.

Jake: No sooner than the words are out of your mouth, he’s already scrambling to get changed. Nurse Lockley is here with medicine (his dick) and to take care of you (fuck your brains out if you’re up to it.) 

Nathan: Nathan ‘I’m not putting that fucking thing on’ Bateman. Getting all grumpy and muttering under his breath. The second you are out of the room though and (preferably) laying down, he’s knocking on the door in the most outrageous outfit you’ve ever seen and telling you he’s ‘been hired by Dr Bateman to take care of you’.

Anselm: You never have to even bring up the idea, because Anselm has already dressed up for you in a nurse’s outfit many times. (He has several for different occasions, but tends to prefer a custom made latex one that is skin tight and crotchless.) 

Cecil: Thinks the idea is hilarious and gets a little too into character. Tries to wear a pair of very high heels and you just about manage to convince him to take them off before he falls over and gives himself a concussion. 

Club!Blue: Doesn’t mind dressing up at all and is far too into it. (If a guard knocks on his office door, he will be answering it in full costume and with his cock out.)

Orderly!Blue: Please do not encourage this man. 

Jack: Has a disturbingly realistic outfit with blood stains that you do NOT want to ask where they came from. 

Santiago: Takes some convincing because it makes him feel a little self conscious, but he wants to try to not only cheer you up but also to get over some insecurities and he knows he’s safe with you.

Shimmer!Kane: Puts it on without a second thought, clothes are clothes, right? However he does like that it makes you happy. 

King John: Even though this is not historically time period accurate, I can’t help myself - he’s gonna fuck you in a plague doctor mask. I’m sorry.

Rydal: Will be a brat about it, because he wants you to spank him in the outfit.

Laurent: Starts going on about how he’s a ‘wet nurse’ and keeps shoving his boobs in your face.

Poe: As if this man doesn’t have 400 outfits on hand at all times.

_________________

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[angelholic1]

Spoil me ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

⤷ You always stay. Is it because of his money or because you want to keep trying with him?

pairing : reo mikage x fem reader 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ

warning(s) : ooc? not edited, manipulation and gaslighting? mild sexual content ( not rlly )

You’re halfway through ignoring your third call when there’s a knock at your bedroom door.

Your roommate pushes it open, eyebrows raised, arms full with an obnoxiously shiny silver box. “Another delivery,” she says flatly. “Guess who.”

Your stomach twists. You already know.

The card tied to the top is white, thick and expensive, with a gold script that’s as familiar as the voice that’s haunted your head since last night.

“Don’t be mad, princess. Come home.” Reo.

You don’t want to open it.

You do anyway.

Inside, a diamond bracelet glitters up at you like a soft apology, delicate, elegant, ridiculous. It's the exact one you said you loved weeks ago in passing. You didn’t think he remembered. You hate that he did.

Because now you're holding it like it means something. Like he means something.

Last night you told him you were done. That you weren’t going to let him buy his way out of another fight. But Reo Mikage always knew how to dazzle you just enough to distract you from how ugly things really were.

Your phone buzzes again.

This time, you grab your coat.

He opens the door for you like he expected you to cave.

He always does.

“You made good time,” he says, a smirk already creeping onto his lips as he steps aside to let you in.

You walk past him, straight to the center of the room, not speaking.

“You’re quiet,” he notes, watching you from behind. “Still mad?”

You turn slowly, the bracelet already on your wrist, shiny, tight, heavy, and damn pretty. “You think this fixes anything?”

He shrugs. “It’s not supposed to fix it. It’s supposed to remind you who you belong to.”

Your jaw clenches. “I’m not some object, Reo.”

“No. You’re mine.”

The words hit like a slap. You hate how calm he is, how easy it is for him to say it like it's a fact, not a threat.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you snap, voice rising. “You can’t screw up and then throw gifts at me like it erases everything.”

He steps closer, hands in his pockets like this is all some boring argument.

“I’m not throwing gifts at you,” he says smoothly. “I’m giving you what you deserve. You like nice things. I like giving them to you. I don’t see the problem.”

“You don’t see it—” You let out a soft sigh. “We’re not meant to be together anymore, Reo.”

He grins at that. Actually grins. “You say that like it's true.”

“It is true.”

“Then leave.”

His tone is sharp now but he knows you won’t leave him and you hate yourself for proving him right.

He closes the distance between you in one slow, practiced motion, his fingers curling gently around your chin. Tilting your face up.

“I missed you,” he says, voice low.

“You shouldn’t.”

“If you’re bad for me,” he murmurs, leaning in, “then I’ll just get worse.”

And god, he always knows what to say to ruin you.

Your lips meet like they always do, upset and desperate. It’s not sweet, it’s never sweet. His mouth claims you like property, and you let him, nails digging into his shirt like you’re holding on and trying to push him away at the same time.

By the time you two break the kiss, you’re dizzy, dizzy enough to forget why you were mad.

He leads you to the bedroom, silk sheets already pulled back like he’d been waiting. The lights are dim. The air smells like his cologne and the perfume he bought you last month.

You lay there, together, in silence.

The bracelet still gleams on your wrist.

Gift bags clutter the floor, Chanel, Cartier, Saint Laurent, all unopened. It's nothing but apologies and bribes.

Reo is beside you, scrolling through his phone like nothing happened. Like your not upset at all because of this.

“I hate this,” you whisper into the dark.

He doesn’t look up. “Hate what?”

“This,” you repeat. “Us.”

His hand reaches lazily for one of the bags. He pulls out a new necklace, emeralds and diamonds, cold and sparkling in the dim light. He dangles it in front of you like bait.

“Do you still hate it?” he asks.

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You can’t keep buying me,” you finally say, voice raw.

He glances at you, eyes cool. “Why not?”

You don’t answer.

Because he already knows the truth.

You always stay.

[koralkoffee]

Mr. Kilgore, Sir. (Chapter one)

PLEASE READ: This is a SEQUEL. Please read Mr. Callahan, Sir, before continuing.

❈.. pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

❈.. chapter wc: 6,057

❈.. warnings: Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/Female Reader, Arthur Morgan, Original Male Character, Dutch van der Linde, Tacitus Kilgore, Low Honor Arthur Morgan, LH Arthur Morgan, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, MH Arthur Morgan, self-loathing, fear, anxiety, stress, panic

AO3 Link

❈.. summary- You haven't seen Arthur since that cold winter's night ❈.. proofread by: @indiedadrock ❈.. banners by: @cafekitsune | @bernardsbendystraws | @omi-resources

There is a gentle softness to the sun-kissed fog, stagnant yet whispering, as it slowly disperses across the wide plain. You feel as though you are living in a painting, like ones you've seen in Galerie Laurent, where the beautiful hues of an autumn afternoon stir the pleasures of your mind.

A gentle touch of a leaf against the back of your hand causes you to slowly lift your head toward the sky. The grand existence of the old oak dwarfs you as you lean your body against its weathered bark. A hum can be heard, though its source is unknown, only realizing after a moment or two that it is you who carries the tune. You do not know the song, nor do you know why you hum it, but its notes of sorrow create a new wave of apprehension, swelling within your chest.

The sun is setting as you rise from the soft grass below. Looking at the amber waves of the tall grass, you realize you do not know where you are or how you came here. A sudden shift in your solitude makes you turn, and you notice a large white-tailed buck standing no more than five feet away, watching you. You feel no emotion—neither happiness nor fear—as the two of you stare at one another. Then, with a swift bow of its head, the buck charges, goring you instantly.

You gasp and clutch at your chest, bracing your racing heart as the sudden jostle of the carriage rouses you from your slumber. Your fingers quickly swipe over your mouth, checking for blood, your mind still lingering in the haze of the dream. The last thing you remember is the strange sensation of feeling the soft, smooth velvet of the antlers as your body wracked itself with sharp, hot pain from where it pierced you. The body you leaned on stirs, reaching out to touch your arm with its warm, familiar tenderness.

Continue reading on AO3

[gojossocks]

Bf! Gojo Headcanons

nsfw content below the cut

★ Has a mediocre fashion taste. usually hit or miss with his outfits because his build is really nice AND he is really good looking so no one really pays attention to how he dresses 

★ but then you came along so you gave him the ‘girlfriend effect’ then suddenly you transformed gojo into this fine ass even more attractive man because you made him he look richer 

★ spends money on absolutely ludicrous things .

“babe i got us Saint Laurent condoms!” he excitedly says, holding up 5 pieces of them. 

 “Satoru, I am on birth control.” 

★ loves touching you ALL THE TIME

★ like it’s even at a subconscious manner at this point, one time he gropes your ass while you were at a grocery store and you gave him no touching privileges for 3 hours.

★ he gets really pouty when he doesn’t get what he wants and you give in all the time because who wouldn't?

★ gets cocky when he makes you a blushing mess 

“shut the fuck up, satoru.” 

“I will if you kiss me.”  then that would get YOU to shut up and him smirking at you. 

★ Gojo has an oral fixation so he also makes it your problem. candy wrappers everywhere and he tastes sweet all the time because of that.

★ Speaking of kisses, he is absolutely addicted to your lips. won’t stop until you’re both out of breath and your lips are swollen— gets filthy while doing it too. 

“Satoru, please stop kissing me. My lips would bleed at this point."

“Can’t help it baby, you taste so sweet.” he would smile before plunging right back to your lips and would let out a satisfied hum when you gasp into his mouth, granting him access to slide his tongue right into your mouth. That way, your lips would get their rest, because he is tongue fucking you :D

★ Also has a huge fixation on you, good luck on having anything done with him in the same vicinity as you.

★ You have a paper to work on? No worries! You can sit between his legs while you do it. It’s not his fault that you can’t concentrate on writing when he’s just being a good boyfriend, licking and giving you hickies on your neck. It’s also not his fault that you were just wearing his shirt and those baby blue lace panties that he loves so much.

★His hand would travel under his your shirt to cup your boobs,  while the other that’s resting on your hip slowly inched its way to your covered cunt. 

He would chuckle when he elicits a needy whimper from you when he moves his hand away from your pussy. Well, you’re busy so he’s going to have fun, right? 

Gojo’s obsessed with your tits, he’s shameless when he’s kneading and squeezing them, his thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples– savoring the way you squirm. 

“pay attention to your paper, babe. don’t mind me." Then seconds after, he’s bringing his lips to yours as he rubs your clit through your panties, swallowing your moans. 

“I’ll give you what you want when you’re done with what you’re doing.” He murmurs softly to your ear. 

“p-please…Satoru, quit teasing me–” he loves it when you guide his hand where you need it the most. He gives in of course, ripping your panties so he could insert his long fingers inside your pussy.

He would overstimulate you, your paper long forgotten as your laptop falls off your lap. Don’t even think of trying to stop him, he wouldn’t stop until he’s satisfied. 

“You asked for this. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” 

Once you come down from your high, he brings his soaked fingers into his mouth, savoring the taste of you. Then maybe if he makes you cum twice or thrice more, he would reward you with his cock— filling you to the brim the whole night. Who cares about your finals? He could just pay your professor to make you pass.

★ He is an absolute menace but he is the best boyfriend ever.

Wanna read more?

[boredzillenial]

Sweet Relief

Laurent finds you during a difficult time of the month, he wants to help you feel better.

Themes: period sex, f!reader, reader has rough periods, fingering, pinv, a silly amount of whimpering, praise kink in full swing

Word Count: 1.1K

A.N.: this was fully self indulgent while my own uterus was trying to kill me, hope y’all can indulge as well 😘 special thank you to @ominoose for the beta read & encouragement 🥰

You were used to Laurent visiting you almost every night. But it’d been a couple weeks without a word… Worry gnawed at your gut along with wave after wave of pain. Menstruation had never been easy for you and it appeared this month would be no different.

You laid in bed, body too drained of energy to stand let alone work in the shoppe below. Another washed over your stomach and lower back as you heard footsteps approaching the door.

“I already told you I can’t work today.” Your shout twisted to a whimper. A gentle knock wrapped against the wood. “I said -“ your wrecked shout cut short as your gaze landed in the figure in the doorway. “Laurent…”

“Don’t worry I snuck in through the back.” He offered a soft smile as he locked your bedroom door. “Thought this may help.” He set a paper bag down on the edge of the bed.

You shuffled forward with a groan and opened it, “Yarrow… where did you-“

“At the market, though I think the woman who sold it to me was a witch.” He grimaced for a moment before he smirked. “Figured a lock of my hair was a fair trade, she wouldn’t do anything weird with it do you think?” His smirk turned to a grin as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“Laurent what if-“ you started to protest before he leaned in again, ending your objection with the soft press of his lips.

“They don’t know I’m here. We’re fine.” He nuzzled your nose with his as he whispered against your lips. “The shoppe is very busy, lots of customers, lots of noise…” his voice trailed off as he kissed down your neck.

“Laurent, please I can’t.” You mewled despite leaning back and uncurling yourself. “It hurts.”

He adjusted, hovering his body over yours “Let me help.” He whispered against your neck as his kisses trailed back up to your lips. A groan grew in your throat, another wave of discomfort washed over. Laurent swallowed the sound slowly, tenderly. “Just trust me.”

You nodded against his lips and laid back fully against the mattress. “Sorry for the -“

“Do not,” Laurent’s voice was low and stern, “don’t you dare apologize.” He nipped your lip and slowly grazed his hand down your stomach, sliding beneath your undergarments.

His fingers circled your clit softly, pulling a whimper from you. “How’s that?” He murmured, you bit your lip and nodded in response. He leaned forward and slotted his mouth against yours again as his touch grew rougher against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

He swallowed another one of your pitiful sounds with a smile as you reached for his wrist. “Ah my love please-“ he shook his head and dipped his tongue into your mouth as his pace quickened. Before you knew it you reached your peak as you clung onto him. The euphoria washed away the painful grip your uterus held you in. “Thank you, thank you.” You groaned as you reveled in the relief.

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m not finished with you.” He nipped your lip with a mischievous grin as he pulled away. He picked through the pile of spare linens you had stored away for your monthly intrusion and wiped his hand clean. He picked through again and grabbed a dark thick towel, “Lift.” He instructed softly as he laid the towel under you. “Now undress…”

Anxiety roiled in your gut while you removed your garments and laid bare before him. “I’m already a mess, if we get caught…”

“We won’t - the door is locked, the shoppe is busy, and you’ve plenty of linen for us to clean up after.” He smirked as he pulled his shirt over his head, the light from your window highlighting his toned tan chest. “You my dear, are out of excuses.” His trousers dropped with a soft thud.

You sighed, he had a talent with removing your feeble reasoning. He always had from the moment you met and he made his first advances. In all the nights you’ve spent tangled together the sight of him throbbing for you never ceased to excite you.

“Now just let me do the work, I intend to draw as much pleasure from you as you can take.“ he shifted onto the bed, lining up his fat tip with your soaked folds. “Deep breath darling.” He coos as he sunk slowly into you. You winced at the stretch of him as the pleasure from your first orgasm faded and pain crept back into your belly. “I know I know, you’re doing so well.” He encouraged as he sunk to the hilt and pressed his body against yours. “I’m sorry I’ve been away - fuck, you’ve gotten so tight.” He groaned.

Your soft whimpers filled his ears as he slowly rolled his hips. “Shhh shhh, just breathe.” He sunk as deep as he could go, his soft curls pressed against your clit. He kissed across your neck and shoulder as his hips churned.

You pressed your lips against his shoulder to stifle a groan. Another wave of pain mixed with the pleasure building from his fluid motions. The fullness of having him fully seated along with the curls along his pelvis pressed against your clit sent you reeling.

You arched, your body plastered against his as he continued his motions. He smiled down at you and quickened his pace. His forehead against yours, carefully watching for any serious signs of pain. “How’s this.” His murmured and pressed harder against you.

Your brow furrowed as you held his gaze. “Good, so good.” You whimpered, the pleasure the pressure brought overwhelmed all other sensations in your exhausted body.

His tender gaze remained locked on every expression as he continued to chase away your pain. “Cum for me darling. I need you to feel good again.” He panted.

That familiar pressure built in your belly as his thrusts continued. His embrace tightened as he felt you tighten. “That’s it, right there.” His hand snaked up behind your neck. You hadn’t realized what his aim was until your climax washed over you, instinctively you bit down on his shoulder. He winced and hissed against the pain but the feeling of your channel fluttering around him sent him over the edge.

There you laid together, whimpering, sweaty, smiling messes as the afterglow washed over. You spent the rest of the afternoon like that. You, handling the waves of pain as best you could. And Laurent, doing his best to take your mind off them with mischievous smiles, his hands, and his cock.

—————-

Y’all I am SO SORRY this took so long to put out but I hope y’all enjoyed it!

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[nu11lar]

𝓢 uggestive content ◞ mdni !

"stick out your tounge," his thumb tapped your chin gently, index finger raising your head up slightly to meet his eyes. the afterglow from constantly kissing your lips awakened something to rindou, his bony and slender fingers now cupping your puffed cheeks. the cold metal of his rings made your body jolt and shiver from the sudden movement, giving your cheeks a light squeeze, your lips puckered up before you slightly stuck your tounge out. revealing the tip of your tounge to his view as he amusingly chuckled,"more, stick it out more." his voice was firm but you could hear just a little amount of gentleness being present to his tone.

you obeyed, sticking out your tounge more until your mouth was fully agape,"good girl." licking his lips, he harshly (almost aggressively) smashed his lips against yours in a hungry manner. even though he already suffocated you with his previous kisses, it never failed him to become more eager and anticipated to give another taste of your sweet lips. with a surprised moan he pushes your body against the stiff mattress of the bed, his hands finally having the chance to touch you all over again.

he absolutely adores the way you just helplessly give your submission to him. knowing that he's the one who can make you feel this way, and the one that's always in control during foreplay and during sex.

his fingers trail along the way to your hips, squeezing them lightly as the kisses intensified. his tounge rubbing against yours, intertwining together and twirling against eachother like a whirlpool. his eyes are half opened, pupils dilating as he takes in your struggling but pleasurable reactions to the kiss. with a bold move, his hands slip under you pleated skirt, his fingers almost within the reach to feel the cotton fabric of your panties. a gasp hitched your throat, body jolting from surprise as rindou chuckled softly against your mouth. his fingers teased the hem of your underwear, brushing through the tiny bow that was placed in the middle of your panties.

words cannot describe how much he wants to remove (or rather rip) your panties off and just have his way with your pussy throughout this entire night. he can wait but he also couldn't, not when your reactions are this cute and... so pathetic to him. your reactions were evident that you were enjoying this, muttering "more" against his lips like a needy slut. after a few more harsh pecks, he withdraws from your lips and immediately goes down to your neck,"i want to fuck you," his hot breath hitting against your skin, making your body shiver from the close contact,"wanna ruin this pretty face..." he huffed, hips dryly bucking against yours in almost a desperate movement,"fuck..." he whispers against your jaw, his eyebrows furrowing from how aroused he feels.

"you're driving me wild." he admits, he has never felt so turned on in his life. you were the first girl he can imagine fucking for the rest of his life.

your legs managed to wrap around his waist, his fingers entangled in the hem of your panties. his mind wanting to strip away all your clothes and fuck you like he misses you,"you know i love you, hm?" he snuggled more against the crook of your neck, his nose taking in the sweet and alluring scent of your yves saint laurent black opium perfume, paired with other scents such as the almond butter body cream,"m' never gonna feel the same way for anyone else, got that?" rindou's actions were way different than his words, he was saying such sweet things all the while he was devouring your body like a five course meal.

he couldn't wait any longer, pulling away from your neck he looks down to see how much he's marked you up recently. he wasn't ashamed nor did he regret doing all of this, he is yours, and you're his, nothing in between. an airy chuckle filled in your ears as his hands finally left your lower part of your body, now his hands sensually going up to your torso, feeling every inch of his palm and fingers turned you on (again). his calloused hands made its way to your clothed breasts, squeezing, fondling, and kneading them like a stress toy.

"what am i to you?" you whispered softly, causing rindou's ears to perk up from the sudden question. it almost made him laugh, what were you to him? what a dumb question,"you're my girl silly." a lazy grin curled up his lips, giving your breasts another squeeze,"want me to show you a different way pretty?" oh that made you wet instantly, vigorously biting down your lower lip you nodded hesitantly, making rindou sneer at your reaction. his hands moved to where his belt located, slowly but almost eagerly unbuckling his belt as the both of you await for what is about to come next.

with a sharp cling being heard from his santos de cartier belt, you knew there's no going back. looking down to see the poking bulge peek through his slacks, his lavander eyes remained glued to every expression that lands upon you. leaning down to press a little amount of his body weight against yours, rindou whispered in a raspy voice,"close your eyes, don't think about anything else okay?" all he was received was a simple nod from you, showing that you understand on what he wanted you to do for him.

you and rindou had one thing in common, you were both crazy about eachother.

[goldencuffs]

woke up to news of ur new snippet!!!! yay yay yay yay doing cartwheels im so excited it's insane, i love everything u have written and the fact that u r continuing to write and post is so crazy and im so grateful, i wrote this ask while doing another cartwheel

stopppppppppppp omg you're too bloody nice!!!!! 🥹😭😭😭😭😭😭

tbh im still shocked im still here but then again im not damen and laurent truly never leave my mind!!!! also i love you a lot so here is a small dumb little snippet that shows a little bit more about damen and laurent's dyanamic hehe 😋

Damen's hair was already starting to grow out; less buzz cut now, more of a tuft. It was ridiculous he made it work, especially because his curls were also coming in. One stubborn one was forming over the top of his left ear.

His silver chain glinted under the light, and the shirt he was wearing was tight. It strained against his biceps, which shifted every time he lifted his glass. His tattoos jumped with each movement too.

Laurent's mouth was dry. He swallowed a large mouthful of the scotch and then topped up.

Outside, the cicadas had come out. Laurent tilted his head to look out at the stars, thinking about Aimeric and Ancel. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been, revealing his… thing with Damen like that. He should've… denied more. Not admit it all. Maybe laugh it off, wave his hand and say pshawwww me and Damen? Maybe he should have admitted to fucking someone else--like someone from the convenience store. Maybe he should have said he was a virgin. Anything but confirm that he'd been with Damen.

Aimeric had said they were brothers. That implied trust, bond. But Laurent had a real brother--and the biggest betrayal in their life had come from him. Not all brothers were good. Not all brothers could be trusted. Sometimes all they did was lie.

"…Laurent?"

"Hmm?" Laurent turned his head to Coach.

"Remember to clean up the kitchen before you go upstairs, okay?"

Laurent blinked, more alert. "You didn't clean up while I was outside?"

He regretted asking as soon as he did; Coach stared at him, befuddled. "No, that's your job, Laurent." he said this slowly, like he was explaining it for the first time. "Remember what I said, kid? A house can only function when we all follow our assigned responsibilities. Yours are cooking and cleaning and--"

Laurent stood up. Scotch sloshed over his fingers. "Right," he said, and left.

He'd heard that lecture a thousand times. Laurent cooked and cleaned and mowed and painted. Coach paid for the dishawasher and the microwave and cared for and about the Football Guys.

The cicadas were louder in the kitchen. Laurent stood in it for a moment, alone and  still, staring at the mess on the table--bowls and pots and spoons; evidence of life.  Once upon a time, it had always been like this; now the image was foreign and pulled at Laurent's heart.

Laurent worked slowly. The scotch had been stronger than he expected. His head wasn't spinning, but he was warmer than he had been a few minutes ago. It was probably because he was unusued to it; drinking, particularly on a weeknight, wasn't something he did.

He was thinking about Damen, too. Couldn't help it. Just knowing he was so close hurt.

He'd just put the last dish into the dishwasher when Coach came by. He smelt of scotch, which was so unusual, it made Laurent pause. But he seemed sober enough, and he kissed Laurent's temple sweetly. "Love you, kid," he said, and then headed from the stairs.

A few minutes later, Damen walked into the kitchen. Laurent froze, and then realised that Damen was probably going to slip out of the alfresco, because he was an asshole who refused to use front doors.

But Damen came towards him instead. His eyes were like two coffee drops, rich and deep as he leant against the counter top and watched Laurent wipe it down.

Laurent refused to break first--even as the silence in the ktichen grew thick and gelatinous.

"So," Damen said, when the counter tops smelt like lemon. "what's with your new twink group?"

Laurent rolled his eyes. He moved onto sorting the utensils. "Don't call them that."

"Uh huh." Damen's arms crossed. "They're the reason you're ignoring me now?"

Laurent looked up and scoffed, truly taken aback. "I'm ignoring you? Funny."

Damen watched him. Laurent went back to the silverware.

He tensed when he felt Damen come up behind him. He was warm.

Laurent inhaled sharply when Damen's arm came around his waist, pulling him flush.

He smelt stronger like this. Damen's chin dropped to Laurent's neck, rubbing the side of it. It tickled and Laurent squirmed. Damen held on tighter.

"I don't like sharing you," Damen said.

[rainbowwinedemon]

joukai fucking in costume 👀

sjsjsjs i hope this fits what you wanted. it’s a bit silly, and kinda messy, but it was really fun to write.

i don’t know if they ditched the party or if they never made it in the first place. you can chose which one you like the most

nsfw under the cut

“Why are you pants so fucking hard to take off?” Jounouchi grunts, giving up and unbuckling the belt, mouth twisted around the prosthetic and scoffing at Seto’s raised eyebrow. “What? These are supposed to be stripper pants.”

Jounouchi yanks the pants, hoping to hear a tear. Of course, the cloth stays firmly put together, with Seto giving him that ‘you’re stupid’ look.

“These are custom made Saint Laurent,” Seto says, lifting a leg when Jounouchi taps his thigh so he can get to work on unfasting his sock gathers. Really, he’s lucky to have such nice legs, Jounouchi wouldn’t put up with him otherwise. “Do you really think I’d put on cheap costume?”

Jounouchi drops the gathers on the bed and shuffles forward, sitting on his knees between Seto’s splayed legs. He’s propped on some pillows, hair spilled around, the careful slick back style he had for the party messed up. His lips are still a bit pinkish and tender, from Jounouchi kissing him earlier without taking the prosthetic teeth out. Jounochi leans forward, resting his hands at each side of his head, caging him in. Seto gives him an unamused look.

“You’re expensive as fuck costume was still bland shit,” Jounouchi says, and hooks his fingers on the waistband of equally expensive boxers brief. “Who were you supposed to be? Dracula’s pompous cousin?”

Jounouchi is way less gentle with the briefs than when the pants, making Seto yelp when he takes them off. He gives him a shit-eating grin, placing a hand high up on Seto’s thigh and brushing his cock with the tip of his fingers. Seto kicks him on the side, lightly, and Jounouchi wraps his hand loosely around him and starts stroking.

“I’m Dracula,” he says, sinking into the pillows when Jounouchi moves his hand faster. “I’m wearing customized archive Saint Laurent, it doesn’t get more in character than that.”

Jounouchi tightens his grip, Seto’s precum malik the slide easier. He leans forward and takes his bottom lip between his teeth, pulling on it and making sure Seto can feel the slight sting from the prosthetics.

“Still bland though,” he quips, chuckling when Seto tries to protest but it gets stuck in his throat because Jounouchi swipes his thumb over the head of his cock.

“And what were you supposed to be?” Seto asks, once he catches his breath. “The neighbors’ generic dog?”

“Excuse you?” Jounouchi pushes forward, spreads Seto’s legs wider. Seto moans in approval. “I’m a werewolf.”

“Still a dog, though.”

Jounouchi plans on keep arguing —there’s a big difference between a dog and werewolf, thank you very much— but then his fingers slip downward, brushing Seto’s rim, and they find something very interesting.

“Uh,” he whistles, a leering grin spreading around his face. He rubs his fingers around the base, and it doesn’t seem to be wider than two of his fingers together. “A little surprise for me?”

Seto huffs, but he can’t help his moan when Jounouchi pressed the plug deeper into him before pulling it out. He’s flushed, cheeks rosy and the tip of his ears red when Jounouchi lifts his head.

“Not for you,” he says, managing to make it sound scornful even when Jounouchi sinks a finger into him. He’s soft and wet inside, still tight, but it���s nothing that his fingers and cock won’t solve. “I didn’t go through all this work for someone who calls my clothes bland.”

He’s so petty, Jounouchi thinks, getting another finger in and letting Seto move his hips at the rhythm his wants. Of course his suit is not bland, Seto chose a maroon color that matches with Jounouchi torn-up and makes him look paler, blue eyes popping up. He looked gorgeous, when Jounouchi saw him before going to the party, but Jounochi won’t deny he wanted to see Seto in that tiny sailor skirt he has hidden in his closet.

(He told Seto about it, of course, and Seto just rolled his eyes and said he just wanted him to dress slutty. Which —yeah, it was true, but Jounochi didn’t wear a torn up shirt and a collar because just because he liked it. He did it because Seto asked)

But it doesn’t matter. Because yes, Seto is a bit of an asshole and he wore all those layers —suit, vest and a cape— but he also took his time, slicking himself up and putting on that plug. Jounouchi bites him lightly on his collarbone, letting the prosthetic teeth scrape him.

Seto slaps him on the arm.

“I’m supposed to be the vampire,” Seto wiggles on his fingers, and they slip out. Jounouchi takes the changes to pull out his cock and spit to slick himself up. Seto licks his lower lip. “Stop mauling me, or do I need to tighten up your collar, mutt?”

Jounochi grabs him by the hips, drags him down until his ass touches the tip of his cock. He presses the tip and grins. Seto rolls his eyes, but relaxed, wrapping his legs around his back.

Jounouchi’s smile widens.

“Please?”

[johnwickb1tsch]

Young!John Wick x Model!Reader Imagine

masterlist

deux

-Nearly a year goes by before you meet again in a club in London. You are celebrating Sebastiano’s sold-out Spring collection with some friends when he appears at your side by the railing overlooking the dance floor. You were wearing a crimson red slip dress by Yves Saint Laurent. He gets your attention by running his fingers ever so lightly down your bare spine. You’ve had a few drinks, and when you turn to see it’s him you are too overjoyed to play it cool. You mould yourself against him, and he happily folds you into his arms. Everyone else in the room melts away when your lips touch his. “I missed you.”

Your career did take off after that fateful week in Paris. Your face can be seen on ads for everything from makeup to clothing and sexy underthings. You’ve met so many people and gone so many places in this whirlwind of a year, but you never forgot about your tall dark stranger from Paris, and you never stopped longing for him.

“Likewise,” he tells you with a close-lipped smile that still brings a melting warmth to his dark eyes. You convince him to dance a little with you before you retreat to a dark booth in the corner to make out. You wish you could blame the drinks, but you know you are just absolutely drunk on him, his soft lips on your mouth and your skin. His hair has grown longer, and you love grabbing fistfuls of it as you kiss. It does not even occur to you to protest when his hand slides under your skirt, pushing your panties aside to slip his long fingers inside you, his thumb on your clit bringing you to paradise. You moan your pleasure into his mouth, and you feel his lips curve in a smile against yours.

“You are so beautiful, y/n.”

You hear that a lot. It’s kind of your job, after all. It’s never meant so much to you, as when he says it to you.

You reach for his belt, as though you aren’t in a public venue, desperate to touch him. But he catches your hands in his, dwarfing your little mitts in his calloused ones. “Where are you staying?” he asks.

“The Ritz.” You’ve moved up a bit in the world.

“Can I meet you there in an hour?”

For a moment you’re confused. “You want me to leave?”

He nods, looking around the room. There is something sharp in his gaze now. Something almost predatory. “You should.”

“Why?”

“Please? For me?”

“Okay…”

You do as he asks, because the thought of having him all to yourself in your ridiculously opulent hotel room is far more appealing than the crowded too-loud club. But in the back of your mind you know there’s something off.

There’s a knock on your door exactly at the hour. You pause for a long moment to look at him in the doorway, so tall and darkly handsome, his high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes that are filled with a smoldering warmth just for you. Greedily you pull him into the room, your trepidation forgotten. But there’s a speck of something red on the front of his stark white shirt. Before you can examine it further he literally sweeps you off your feet. “What would you say to a bubble bath?”

You think it’s a fine idea.

-Six months later you see John again in Rome, at a party with Sebastiano at the villa of an insanely rich Italian family. The D’Antonios, you think is their name? The elder sister, Gianna, loves Seb’s designs and buys a lot of his pieces. You’re not entirely sure how they made their money. Imports, is the party line. You are learning in this world of high-powered people that’s code for don’t ask. There’s no room to worry about such things in the fashion world. Seb makes clothes for People With Money, and he says it’s not his job to worry about how they got it. You are still naïve enough in all your youth that that is good enough for you.

A proud young man is trying to chat you up on the balcony overlooking a magnificent garden. He claims he’s the descendent of Italian nobility. This is vaguely interesting to you, but he melts away entirely when you spy a familiar set of broad black-clad shoulders making their way through the crowd.

John brings you a glass of Prosecco, fixing the young Conte with a hard look. This is a side of John you’ve never really seen before, the rules of the jungle at play, and it seems your erstwhile lover may sit at the top of the food chain. Your suitor scurries off with a frightened look and some mumbled excuses, leaving you alone with John. When he looks at you it’s as though a switch has flipped, a roguish heat filling his dark eyes.

He hasn’t even touched you, and already your panties are drenched.

This time you manage not to lose your cool at the sight of him. “Fancy seeing you here.” You’re almost not surprised. He pays you a smile, though there is a tension in the corners of his eyes you don’t entirely understand. It isn’t long before you slip away to a room upstairs, a high-ceilinged bedroom painted with pastel frescoes of chubby putti fluttering on the ceiling. You can’t help but feel like they’re watching you as John pushes your black lace skirt by Dolce and Gabbana up your thighs, and takes you to heaven with his wickedly clever tongue.

You manage not to say it aloud, somehow, but you know as you curl against his muscled chest in the quiet afterwards that you are in love with this man.

“What happened?” you ask as you trace a long scar over the ripples of his abdomen. You can tell it was a serious wound, and the thought of him hurt like that sends ice through your veins, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. It must have taken some time to heal. Did it hurt? Had he been all alone?

“I had an accident,” he sighs, bringing your hand to his lips.

“It looks like it was painful.”

“Yeah.”

You can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, so you let it go, pressing your lips to the top of the scar in a gesture meant to soothe yourself as much as him. It’s fine. He’s fine. He is warm, and solid flesh beneath your lips, and he always comes back to you. “Poor baby.” He moans as you make your way down, tracing the raised tissue with your tongue. His fingers slide into your hair as the velvety tip of his now erect manhood brushes your chin. You take him into your mouth, circling the swollen head with your tongue, and his big hands clench in your hair.

“Fuck, y/n.”

Maybe you’re no good at getting him to talk about his life, but at least in this area you can make him come completely undone for you. It makes you feel powerful, and even if you know it’s an illusion, it’s all you have.

Later you snuggle into the warm bend of his neck, brushing your nose against the soft scruff of his beard. He holds you close with strong arms, newly marked with fresh ink on his shoulder. You don’t quite get up the courage to ask what the cross means.

You don’t take him for a religious man.  

-Later you’re sitting with your friend by the pool, painting your toenails. “Where did you disappear to last night?” 

“I left with someone,” you answer vaguely. 

“I hope your hookup was better than mine. I would sacrifice a goat to find one man who knows where my fucking clitoris is.”

You press your lips, thinking about your scintillating evening with John, and the way he somehow took exactly what he wanted, but brought you to heights of pleasure you never knew existed before him. You shudder with the memory, lost in your own world for a few long seconds. Later you realize she is watching you. “Jesus, y/n. That good, huh?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. 

“Are you going to see him again?” she asks slyly. 

You shrug, because you want to, but don't know how. This is the third time you've trysted with this man, and you still have no way of contacting him. You wonder if this is the way it will always be…

-This goes on for years. In Paris and New York, Milan and Madrid, Oslo and LA he makes love to you before disappearing again. As usual, you are left with more questions than answers, but the tenderness in your kiss-swollen lips and the ache between your thighs keeps you from demanding to know where he goes in the agonizing interim between. In a way, in the very back dungeon of your mind, you already know. You take an accounting of his new scars with your lips and your tongue every time you see him. Always, they multiply, and you have watched as a certain hardness settles over his features, that only softens for you. You're not stupid, despite the stereo types about your profession. But that man... you would follow him to hell itself, if he offered you his hand. 

-Luckily you have plenty to keep you busy. You’ve started taking photos more than being on the other side of the lens, and your work is well-received. You know that your initial fame and the public’s fascination with you helps that along, but hey. That’s just the game, and you’ve learned to play it well.

-Then, an entire year goes by without seeing hide nor hair of John. In the early days of your acquaintance you can’t say you were exactly celibate, but over the years you lost interest in any one’s arms but his. Not seeing him for so long hurts like a blade twisting between your ribs.

It’s always been up to him when you meet up, but this time you decide to take things into your own hands...

---------------------------

&lt;<PART 1 PART 3>>

[winmance]

Big Brother Breakdown

Auguste is not homophobic.

He knows that having to say that probably indicates the contrary, but he is not. He was raised in a very open-minded family and he always had friends with sexualities that were different from his own.

The fact that he may be homophobic didn’t cross his mind until Laurent’s coming out.

Laurent is sixteen when he comes to see him and tells him that he’s gay. Auguste doesn’t make a big deal out of it because it’s not. It doesn’t change his feelings about his brother, or the way he sees him. Yet, he can’t help how his stomach clenches and his heart misses a beat when the words leave Laurent’s mouth. Because Auguste knows men. He knows how they will play with one feeling without a care in the world and he knows that they will hurt his brother. And so he takes Laurent in his arms and holds him close to his chest, before making him promise to be careful.

Laurent does, and after that life goes on and it’s five years of quietness before Auguste’s fears become real.

Laurent is twenty-one when he tells him he has a boyfriend. Auguste is in the kitchen, cooking them his famous lasagna when Laurent walks in and sits on the counter next to him. He immediately knows something is wrong but before he can say anything, Laurent talks.

“I have a boyfriend,” he says. “I, uh, it’s pretty serious. I want you to meet him.”

The béchamel starts to burn but Auguste doesn’t even notice.

“What?”

“I invited him to Jord’s party next Friday. One of his friends also knows Jord and will be here so it won’t be weird.”

“What?”

Laurent rolls his eyes and gets down the counter. He removes the pan from the hob and throws the burned béchamel away. Auguste takes the time to look at him and he thinks he’s going to see a difference, but he doesn’t. Laurent still looks like the baby Auguste held for the first time twenty-one years ago. Yes, he’s taller and has more muscles but Auguste barely notices it. He thinks that Laurent looks so young because so far, his heart has not been broken. He has never dated anyone before, not once, he had told him so himself six months ago, when he mentioned going out with some friends to try and ‘meet someone”. Auguste had laughed. Laurent hates going out as much as he hates meeting new people, so he didn’t ask him any questions the days after.

“How long have you been dating?”

His brother stops his movement and bites his lips. A long time, then.

“We met six months ago so I… I guess we’ve been dating for almost that long.”

What does it mean? Does it mean they’ve kissed on the first date? Did they hold hands? Or does exchanging numbers count as dating? Auguste wants to ask but the thought of Laurent kissing someone makes him weirdly uncomfortable.

“I’ll order some pizza,” Laurent mumbles. “You should go refresh yourself. You look like you’re going to throw up.”

They don’t talk about it, yet Auguste wakes up every morning thinking about Laurent and that mysterious man. He didn’t think of asking for anything, not even a name, and now it seems too late to do so. Laurent has been acting cold with him, but Auguste is so caught up in his mind that he doesn’t feel like confronting him. He tries to think of every time Laurent has been going out those last six months, and he realizes that it’s a lot, compared to before. Laurent also seems more distracted, but he’s also been smiling more, especially when looking down at his phone. Auguste hadn’t thought of it, simply happy to see his brother so relaxed. He feels stupid. All the signs were there, but he pretended not to see them. Hell, there were even some nights when Laurent didn’t come home, pretending to sleep at a friend’s house, which mean s…

“Are you alright?”

Nikandros’ voice takes him back to reality. He’s in the open space and his colleague is looking at him weirdly. They’ve been coworkers for shy of one year and they do get along, but Auguste wouldn’t call them friends either. They share lunch, most of the time in silence, and they’ve exchanged a couple of texts here and here. They went out for a drink two times, and it was during one of those that Nikandros mentioned his friend being with a man.

“You have a gay friend, don’t you?”

It’s not the right thing to say. Nikandros’ face does a weird thing, like he’s about to insult Auguste which , yes, fair enough.

“My brother is gay,” he tries to defend himself. “I don’t - I had gay friends but we never talked about sex or that kind of stuff. Not because they’re gay, just becaus e… I don’t know. It’s not the kind of conversation I have with my friends.”

“Uh. Ok?”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Talk about sex with your friend.”

Nikandros looks at him like he’s gone crazy which may be the case. But it’s already Thursday, which means that tomorrow, he will be meeting that stranger who pretends to be good enough for his baby. He needs to get himself ready, no matter how uncomfortable it is.

“I do, yes.”

“What does he say? What is gay sex like?”

“Well, first of all, my best mate Damen, he’s bi, not gay. He told m e… Well, according to him, sex with men is really different. They’re like , more rough and stuff.”

“Rough?” Auguste repeats, his breathing becoming more agitated.

“Yeah. And they do more kinky stuff. Well, he didn’t say that but we all know that.”

“But does it - does it hurt?”

Nikandros looks around them and once he’s sure no one is there, he gets closer to Auguste and starts whispering.

“ Once I was with a girl and she put a finger in my ass. It hurt like hell, so can you imagine a dick? It’s lik e… It’s like taking a shit but reversed! I bet there’s blood sometimes.”

“Blood,” Auguste repeats again, his vision going white.

He can’t let Laurent do that. He can’t let him hurt himself like that! And Laurent has always suffered from constipation. Is anal sex really a good idea? He doesn’t think so. It’s dangerous. So dangerous.

“And I tell you, my friend Damen? I’m sorry for every woman and man who slept with him because his dick is huge .”

Auguste hopes to never cross paths with that man. He hopes Laurent never crosses paths with him.

“You’ll see him at Jord’s party tomorrow. I invited him.”

“Great,” Auguste says, not an ounce of truth behind his words. “Is he single?”

“You want him to meet your brother?”

“I rather die. With all due respect, of course. And my brother already has a boyfriend.”

“Damen does too! But I’ll tell you, I would like it better if he was dating your brother. His new boyfriend is such a bitch. I haven’t met him yet, but Damen is over the moon with him when the guy still hasn’t agreed to meet us! They’ve been dating for months but Damen hasn’t even done so much as show me a picture. Yet the dude has no issue leaving his stuff at his place, ordering food from his phone, asking him to come home before a certain hour, and all that shit. I’m telling you, he sounds toxic as hell.”

“He sounds like a nightmare! You think it’s serious between them?”

“Hell yeah. I was at Damen’s place last week and I saw a paper that I was not supposed to see.”

“Oh?”

“He got tested for sexual shit. This means they’ve been doing it raw and let me tell you that Damen doesn’t usually do that. I bet his boyfriend has a breeding kink or something like that.”

“A breeding king?”

“Yeah, you know like , he likes Damen to… uh… Split inside of him? And that’s not all! I accidentally opened one of Damen’s bedroom drawer-”

“Accidentally?”

Nikandros makes an angry noise with his mouth and waves his hand.

“Anyway, he has four or five different dildos? Which is insane and I know they weren’t here before! I’m telling you, his new boyfriend holds him by the balls.”

“Shit. That’s crazy dude . My Laurent isn’t like that. I don’t even think he’s being intimate. O r… Well, maybe, but not like that. He’s very vanilla stuff.”

“I hope so. One of those dildos was so -”

“Auguste, Nikandros, I would appreciate it if you keep your… private conversation for after work, please.”

Their boss is standing in front of them, her arms crossed around her chest and Auguste can see a few of their colleagues trying not to laugh . Right .

“Sorry boss .”

He goes back to his work but can’t focus, not when he has so much new information to digest. He keeps thinking about Laurent and about how much he’s willing to sacrifice for a man that he barely knows. Auguste wishes he could take away all his pain and give it to himself instead, but he can’t. So, when he thinks no one is looking, he goes online and starts doing his research.

“How to make anal sex less painful?”

“What is the best lube for anal sex?”

“How do you prepare yourself for anal sex?”

“Can you die from anal sex?”

“Gay sex without penetration”

“How to tell your brother that he should stay a virgin”

“Am I homophobic if I don’t want my brother to have a boyfriend?”

Auguste is late to Jord’s party and it’s all because of Laurent. His brother texted him during the day that he would go directly to Jord’s party with his boyfriend, given that he had spent the night over, and Auguste couldn’t think of anything else all day long . So he makes mistakes at work, which means he has to stay later , and then he accidentally spits his coffee over his pants. Nikandros and he had planned to go to the party together but they have to change their plans and it’s almost eight when Auguste finally arrives at the bar.

There are a lot of people, which is surprising because Jord isn’t one to party hard, but not surprising when he learns Ancel has been the one organizing the whole thing.

It’s not difficult to spot Laurent through the crow , his golden hair always giving him away. But tonight is different because his eyes land first on Nikandros.

The first thing he notices is that Nikandros won’t meet his eyes.

The second thing is that Damen, Nikandros’ friend that he recognized because he saw his picture, is sitting next to him, his tongue deep into Laurent’s mouth, while his hand is resting on his thigh. They have not seen him yet and Auguste feels like his blood is boiling in his veins.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, after way too long.

It’s like breaking a magic charm: one moment they’re all but eating each other’s mouths, and the next not an inch of their bodies is touching anymore.

“Auguste. Laurent’s big brother,” he introduces himself, even if it’s not necessary.

When he gets up, Damen knocks a few drinks over and almost hits his head on the ceiling lamp. Saying that Damen is tall would be a euphemism, and suddenly Nikandros’ words come back to him. Instinctively, Auguste looks down at Damen’s pants.

“Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Damen has extended his hand for him to shake, but Auguste stays frozen. That same hand had been on his baby brother just a few seconds ago when Mister Big Dick was devouring him alive.

“Sorry about that,” Damen says after a moment. “We… Laurent was telling me that he passed his year and we got carried away.”

“You didn’t tell me you had your results.”

His tone is way more accusatory than he wanted it to be. Damen sits back down. If they were in a cartoon, there would be smoke coming out of Laurent’s ears with the way he’s looking at Auguste like he wants to kill him.

“I just got them today, Auguste. I wanted to wait and tell you in person. By the way, this is Damen. Even if you didn’t ask for his name.”

“I know his name,” he says, before pointing to Nikandros. “He’s my coworker. He told me lots and lots of things about him.”

Damen makes an awkward laugh and looks anxiously in Nikandros’ direction.

“Good things I hope?”

“Let’s drink, shall we?” Auguste says instead of answering the question.

Auguste doesn’t talk to Damen, but Damen does talk to him. He tells him he’s twenty-six (five years older than Laurent), that he has his own car (which Laurent doesn’t, which means that either Damen has been picking him up, or he’s making his brother take the bus to get to his place. The thought alone makes Auguste even angrier), and that he’s working for his father as a salesman in his insurance company (which means he’s a good liar). Damen talks, but Auguste observes him, too. He sees that Damen drinks easily , already being on his second beer when Auguste has barely touched his own. He also sees that Damen is tactile, always touching Laurent here and here, and even strangely, Laurent seems to like it, leaning into the touch whenever he can.

He can see his brother is happy, and that’s almost enough to make him forgive Damen for , well, existing. That’s it before one of Jord’s and Damen’s friends sits down next to him. He’s clearly drunk, enough to be a dick but not enough to be incoherent.

“So this is the new guy you were telling us about! Hell dude , he’s even sexier than you said!”

The man , that Auguste didn’t even bother remembering the name, winks grossly at Damen. To his credit, Damen does seem embarrassed, though not as much as Laurent who looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and never comes out.

This is what you chose? Auguste wants to ask him. This is who you think is worthy of you?

“I didn’t say sexy,” Damen tries to defend himself.

“So I’m not sexy?”

“Yes, yes, you are. But I didn’t use that word. I would never.”

The man spits the beer he was drinking all over his shirt.

“Since when?”

‘Since I love and respect Laurent? And I never used that word for anyone. Stop being a dick.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe. Sorry. It’s just, it’s so new! I mean, six months? That gotta be a new record! You never keep them around for so long!”

“We were not meant for each other. Not the way Laurent and I are. We’re soulmates.”

He’s holding Laurent’s hand in his , doing little circles with his thumb on the back of it. He must have noticed how uncomfortable Laurent was and now he’s trying to calm him down which is - it’s nice. It is.

The man finally leaves and Ancel takes his spot. Because they haven’t seen each other in what seems like forever, they have a lot of catchup and Auguste can almost pretend not to see Damen kissing Laurent’s neck, or the way Laurent pushes his head back against him when Damen tries to stop. His brother has been drinking, far less than any of them of course, but still enough that he doesn’t mind being so intimate in front of everyone. It’s like discovering a new Laurent , one that Auguste didn’t even know existed.

“Why do you look at him like that?” Ancel asks.

“Uh? Who?”

“Damen.”

“I wasn’t looking. What do you mean like that ?”

“Like you want to take his head off. He’s making Laurent happy. Shouldn’t you be happy too?”

He should, yes. And he is. It’s just that this is all so new and Damen is jus t… Big and scary. Auguste has been wondering all night if he could take Damen down if they were to physically fight , and the fact that he can’t answer for sure doesn’t sit right with him.

“ Oh you’re like one of those moms, aren’t you?”

“What? What moms?”

“The ones that think no one is good enough for their perfect little boy and who lowkey want to date their sons.”

“I don’t want to date Laurent!”

“No, but you don’t want Laurent to love another man as much as you. It’s ok. Weird but ok. You’re an overprotective mom, that’s all.”

And that’s… Well, that’s true. Auguste has never thought of it, but outside of his brother’s pain, there’s been his own pain. Laurent had never been close to their parents, and so Auguste had taken both of their roles, loving him with every inch of his soul and body. Laurent has always looked up to him, as if Auguste was that kind of superhero, and their love for each other has always been so pure and so deep, that Auguste is scared that it will disappear now. That Laurent has found another man capable of giving him the stars and yet looking at him like he’s the whole sun.

He can see Damen loves him, with the way his eyes shine when he looks at Laurent. And he can see Laurent loves Damen, too.

“Oh, so your brother is better than me?” Damen says.

Auguste frowns and focuses on the discussion in front of him.

“Of course he is. Auguste makes the best hot chocolate ever. Yours is good, too, but not as good as his.”

And then Damen laughs, throwing his head back while he slides his arm around Laurent’s shoulders before kissing him on the forehead. Laurent’s face turns to a dark shade of red but he’s smiling, and Auguste feels that soft feeling in his chest again.

“I’ll teach you,” he says to Damen. “So you can do it right.”

“It’s not necessary,” Laurent says. He’s looking at Auguste now, his blue eyes staring directly at Auguste’s own. “You’ll always be here to make them for me, won’t you?”

“Always and forever.”

The rest of the night goes better. Auguste successfully exchanges more than two words with Damen, more for Laurent’s sake than anything else , and when it’s time to leave, he even mumbles something about having Damen over for dinner. Laurent, as expressive as ever, only smiles before kissing Damen on the cheek.

Because he has some self-preservation, Auguste goes outside and waits in the car for Laurent to finish his goodbye. When his brother comes back , his cheeks are red, his lips are swollen , and his eyes are shining with happiness.

“Do you like him, then?”

“We will see. He’s no t… Unpleasant. But Laurent, you need to be careful, alright? The stories I heard about him…”

“And about me?” Laurent challenges him. “I’m sure Nikandros had a lot to say about Damen’s new boyfriend, didn’t he?”

Auguste doesn’t answer but he gets Laurent’s point of view. Perhaps he shouldn’t take everything Nikandros tells him as the truth. When he sees that it won’t do him any good to try and talk Laurent out of this relationship, he starts the car and turns the music down.

“Oh no,” Laurent says.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re going to give me the talk, are you not?”

Laurent has always been too clever. He reads Auguste so easily that it’s hard to remember they’re not sharing the same brain sometimes.

“Is Damen your first… U h… First?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Laurent!”

“Oh my God, yes, he is. But it’s none of your business!”

“Alright, alright. I’m not gonna give you the talk , I jus t… I did some research that I would like to share with you.”

“Research?”

“So, lube: when is it too much? Never. You should use one whole bottle each time you have sex.”

“ Auguste shut the fuck up or I’m jumping from the car.”

“I locked the doors. I bought different brands, all water-based. It’s really important , Laurent stop trying to open the windows, you must use one that is good for your body.”

“I’ll not have sex with Damen if you stop talking.”

That, of course, shut Auguste down immediately. When he looks at Laurent, he’s looking back at him, a smile on his face.

“You’re happy for me, then?”

“Of course I am.”

He can see the tension leaving Laurent’s body and the way he finally seems to relax.

“Good. I thought you were homophobic for a moment. Got me really worried.”

"I'm not homophobic!"

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Like One Of Your

Laurent LeClaire x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 7: Thigh Riding

Summary: Laurent wants to paint, but he gets distracted so easily.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

I'm just gonna gesture vaguely at this.

Warnings: kissing, thigh riding, Laurent being a little shit, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1202

 “A little to the left.” The smile in his voice is undeniable. 

“Laurent.” You turn your head back to face him, scowling, and he just chuckles.

“To the left.” He says, sweet as can be as he lightly touches your jaw and tilts your head back and to the side in the angle he requires. 

“This is ridiculous.” You repeat.

His laugh shakes you slightly from your position. 

“I need the light,” he repeats his pitiful excuse, “this spot is perfect.”

“And why do I have to be sitting on your lap while you paint?” 

“It’s not my lap, my love, it’s just one leg.” He tenses the muscle for emphasis.

“Laurent…”

He grins, leaning close and pressing his face to your neck and breathing deeply. “You only ever use my name when you’re annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” You huff. 

“Hmm,” his voice rumbles in his chest pleasantly. “I like it, the tone it gives you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Of course you do.” 

When he sits back, he’s beaming wickedly, “I need to be close so that I don’t strain my poor eyes.” He gestures to himself with the end of his dry paintbrush. He hasn’t even put his canvas on his easel yet. 

“You expect me to believe that?” 

“The truth?” He bats his large brown eyes at you, the image of innocence. 

You tut. “When have you ever told the truth?” 

“All the time?” He mock gasps, one hand to his chest. “You think when I profess my love to you I’m lying?”

“I think-”

“That when I tell you I would gouge out my own eyes if I couldn’t look upon your face ever again?” 

You can't help but laugh. “I think you’re dramatic. And,” he opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can speak. “And that you have a silver tongue,” You tap the tip of his nose lightly, “that you use to get your own way.”

He smirks. “Silver tongue is it?” 

You watch him as his smile grows, trying to work out what wickedness he has in store.

“How about I show you and you can see?” He pokes out his tongue quickly and dives for you, wrapping one arm around your waist so that you can’t completely escape.

You burst into a fit of giggles, pressing one hand against his chest, the other to his forehead to stop him from licking you. “Laurent!” 

“Alright, alright,” His grin doesn’t fade, but he moves back, settling into his seat. “I’ll behave, here look,” he picks up his canvas from the floor, still keeping one arm wrapped around you, and puts it on his easel. “I’m painting.” 

You slowly lower your hands. “Of course you are.” 

He smiles as he prepares his paints, making a bit of a show of it. After a few seconds you relax a little and move back into the position he’d asked of you, with your face turned towards the window. 

The quiet grows comfortable as he begins to paint, the minutes ticking by. Every so often he lets you know with a soft word that you can move and you stretch and wiggle, taking a sip of water from the glass next to you before you get back into position. 

You readjust yourself, rolling your shoulders ever so slightly as you sit, and Laurent lets out the smallest breath. 

The sound is a little above nothing, and perhaps you would have ignored it if his fingers on your hip hadn’t tightened, if he hadn’t pushed then pulled you closer a fraction. 

“Laurent-”

“Being this close to you is painful, you know that?” He mutters, his breath thick as he stares at the canvas. He’s pretending to paint, his brush not touching the surface. 

“Why?” You ask softly, recognising the slight flush of his cheeks, the thickness to his voice. 

“Because it is.” He bites his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to…”

You stay quiet, giving him space to voice his desires. 

“I want to…” he swallows as he puts his paintbrush down and fully takes hold of your waist with both hands. He tilts your hips gently, making you arch toward him before he pushes you back an inch on his leg. 

You gasp, biting back a moan as the thick material of his trousers and warmth of his thigh run along your core. 

Laurent groans, watching your face in awe. “That’s it, that’s what I want.” 

He pulls you closer, angling you even more so that your clit fully rubs along him. 

You whimper, grabbing hold of his shoulders, “Laurent,” your voice comes out so weak and desperate. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he pushes you again, swallowing hard. “Move with me, my love, move with me, please.” 

You do as he asks, your body following his wishes on autopilot as you rock and rub against the strong muscle of his thigh. 

Pleasure sparks up your spine as your wetness seeps into your underwear making the drag against him all the more vivid.

You press your lips together, shuddering as he urges you to rock particularly slowly and firmly. 

He tuts, taking his hand away from you so that he can press his thumb against your mouth. “Ah, none of that,” he breathes hard, sounding almost as wanton as you. “Let me hear you.”

He leans close, practically breathing in your air, rolling his hips in time with you as he gets caught up in your pleasure. 

“You’re meant to be painting.” You pant.

“You’re meant to be coming.” He moans against your lips. “Want to see you, want to paint you in the throws of ecstasy.” 

You want to bite back at him with a sharp comment, but your mind has turned to mush. All your possible thoughts are consumed with how his body feels against yours.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, screwing up the fabric as you grind.

Your breathing comes out in short gasps, your legs shaking as your stomach muscles clench the closer you're pushed to the edge.

“Please,” falls from your lips in a whimper and Laurent groans desperately. 

“Please what, my love? Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give you everything your heart desires.” 

You gasp, close to sobbing as he helps you to move faster, bliss so close that it colours the edge of your vision. 

“Oh, god,” Laurent groans, his voice deep and strained, “I could, could come like this, watching you, feeling how warm you are against my skin.” 

You whine, your back arching as his words push you over the edge. Pleasure runs through you as you ride out the wave.

You gasp out his name, collapsing into his waiting embrace, breathing heavily. 

He kisses your temple, holding you close as you recover from the strength of your orgasm. 

You can feel his erection straining against his trousers.

As you sit up, mouth open about to speak, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your mouth and groaning when you reciprocate.

When you break away for air he grins, “I think we should see what other things this silver tongue of mine can do?”

Thank you for reading!

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[deadgirlsnoring]

THE ONLY ONE FOR ME | DR. SPENCER REID

Summary; When Spencer ‘accidentally’ flirted with another girl, you weren’t exactly thrilled.

Contents; P in V, humiliation, no protection used, begging, slight crying, black reader, reader has female anatomy, little bit mean reader, sub!spence, reader uses she/her pronouns, tiny blood kink, overstimulation.

“I didn’t even know! I- I was just talking back. You know, making conversation?” She crossed her arms, annoyance laced in her face.

“No, Spencer. I don’t know.” He pouted, staring up at her. The boy was sitting down on the edge of their shared bed, while Y/n stood over him.

“Do you really not know what she was doing? She rubbed your arm Spence! Why would she do that in a friendly matter?”

He tried to make words come out but it really was no use, her mind was already set.

“You want her don’t you? I saw the way your cheeks blushed, the way your eyes lit up. Leave.” Pointing towards the door.

“No! No.” He stood up quickly but shortly sat down due to the stare Y/n give him.

Spencer was a good boy. He waited til she was done talking to let his words through, even though he really wanted to interrupt her. Knowing it made her upset, also made him upset and he really wanted to prevent that.

“70% of people associated feelings of embarrassment or discomfort with receiving a compliment. S-So I couldn’t help but blush, you know I always get flustered, I’m not used to compliments Y/n.” She huffed, that she knew.

He kept on rambling, following her around the room with his eyes while she walked in circles. Y/n was removing her clothing, well; except her heels.

They were white Saint LAURENT Opyum heels. She liked designer, and if she could afford it, what’s the issue?

Spencer liked when she kept her heels on, and even though he was still taller than her, Y/n made him feel small.

“Wha- What are you doing?” Clicking her tongue, she shook her head, “I don’t know, you’re the profiler. You tell me Doctor Spencer Reid.”

The way she said his name made him shiver. “Stop. Please?” He sounded so cute, made her heart beat 10 times faster.

She got off her two piece, left in her white bra, along with the matching panties. A shaky breath left his mouth, he liked white. Y/n was teasing him, it’s like she planned for him to be flustered by a random girl.

Just to get him where they are now.

“I like when you beg, but how can I stop when I haven’t even touched you?”

Her hands fell on either side of his thighs, their noses almost touching. She could hear his heartbeat, made her giggle.

“What’s f-funny?” She licked her lips, “Oh nothing, just how hard you are under those jeans. You wanna feel some relief, yeah?”

Nodding his head frantically, he bit down on his lip, hard enough she knows it’ll leave a mark.

“But you just told me to stop.” Faking sadness with a pout, she brushed her nose against the tip of his. A whine slipped from his lips, so she connected their lips.

They moved together in sync, until she massaged her freshly manicured nails against his bulge. Y/n was going too slow, and even though his hips rutted against her hands, it just wasn’t enough.

“Please.” He mumbled against her lips. Hoping that since she smiled into the kiss, she would go easy on him.

So she waited, and waited. Until he realized that she wasn’t gonna go easy on him at all.

Slowly removing his left hand from the bed, he held the hand that was against his bulge and controlled her speed. Y/n was shocked, Reid wasn’t into being control at all, he really was needy for release.

Pulling away for air, she giggled loudly when he tried to chase her lips. “Slow your roll little guy, why are you in a rush?”

Y/n pulled her hand away a little as a tease, her brows raising when he kept her hand in place, applying slight pleasure to his covered cock.

“Please don’t go.” Tilting her head to the side she tangled her fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp. When he moaned quietly, she stopped. A pout left plastered on his face.

“If you want something, I want you to say it straight up. No shortcuts Spence.” The man unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down so they flooded around his feet.

He looked up at her hoping it was enough, it’s like he couldn’t say stuff like that. Came out too nerdy and scientific.

Bending down into a squat, she brought both her hands up to massage his thighs, nowhere near where he wanted. “You want me to make you cum?” She cooed, looking up at him with her big brown eyes.

“Yes! Mhm, please?” Y/n nodded, tugging his boxers down, he helped too. Lifting up his hips so it was easier.

So needy, he was.

When his dick hit his pale chest and was met with the cold air, he felt a shiver go through his whole body.

Neck hairs stood up in anticipation, she always made him guess what she was gonna do next. Always turning out to be better than what he imagined.

She licked a long stripe from the base of his cock towards the tip, bringing it into her mouth for a long suck.

“Mmf- I’m sorry, so s-sorry.” She let go out of it with a pop sound, licking her lips, “Sorry for what pumpkin?”

“Tal- Talking to her; responding, actually.” Y/n held the base with her right hand, clicking her tongue.

“Why you bringing her up, you want her do to this for you or something?” He shook his head fast, making her smile softly.

“Not at all, I- I want you only. You’re the only one for me Y/n, I won’t do it again. I’ll be good for you, promise.” Even during intimate times he always has to get it across to her that’s she’s the only one.

“I know baby, your dicks standing tall. Just for me, right?” Squeezing her hand, he thrusted up into it, a bright blush coating his face.

“Mhm momma, please just make it better. I’ll do anything.” Her brow rose, he didn’t know what he got himself into.

While her hand was squeezed around his base, the other was moving up and down. Almost too fast for Spencer.

He wasn’t gonna last that was for sure. He was always able to cum whenever unless told otherwise, and Y/n didn’t say anything.

She knew exactly when he was getting close, his chest grew heavier, and the boy would start to mumble words nobody could decipher.

So when that familiar knot in his stomach grew until it was about to unfold, he was gonna let loose. That was until she took her hands away.

“P- Please? Can I cum? Can you let me? I’ll be so good.” Standing up, she ordered him to get up higher on the bed, and that he did.

The look on his face was almost pornographic, the boy looked a mess. Messed up hair, flushed cheeks, and pink bruised lips.

“You want some help with that Doctor?” She touched his tip with her pointer finger, playing with his pre cum.

He couldn’t help but bite on his tongue, nodding so hard you would think his head would fall off.

“No please? Don’t be pathetic now. Where are your manners?” He shook his head, taking him outside his daze. His hair falling in front of his face.

“Please, can you help me? Need you so bad. I could cum right now.” Frowning, she sighed deeply, “I didn’t say you could though. You don’t listen to rules either?”

“I-I’ll listen to you! Wont cum, just.. please momma?”

Smirking, she seductively took off her panties, only added to the need he had to cum. Crawling up in between his legs like a man eater, she straddled him, ignoring his whines of annoyance.

Her wet folds went back and forth over his member, eliciting a shaky breath from Y/n. As she lifted up, his eyes fell down to the slick she left on him.

Y/n’s hands were on his shoulders, as the girl above him teased his tip. She would take him in, a choked moan escaping him, only to turn into a whimper when she lifted herself back up.

She wanted to build his tolerance, he was known for coming too quick.

Needed to train her boy.

“Oh please, am I not good? I deserve this, you. It hurts when you do that Y/n.” Holding his chin up with her right hand, “Why do you think that concerns me Spence, now shh. Can you do that?”

The grip on his chin was too harsh, he couldn’t talk. So he went for nodding instead. While he sunk down on his length, she leaned in for a kiss. His lips were plump, soft.

She bit down on his bottom lip, not letting go even when he whined and whimpered.

Not letting go until she tasted it, that tiniest bit of blood. Not only did Y/n taste that, she felt him. Felt him twitch inside her. The boy was so worried about the pain he didn’t even realize she bottomed out.

Pulling away with his blood on her lips she slowly licked them off, waiting for his reaction. His eyes were closed and when he opened them, they were glazed over.

“Pumpkin?” He hummed, his puppy eyes trailing up to hers.

“Whatcha think, yes or no?” Spencer smiled softly, his hands trailing to either side of her hips before nodding.

“Can you d-do it again?”

“Hmm, where?”

One of his hands lifted to point to his neck, before going back to its original place.

So she listened, slowly moving herself up and down on him while kissing and sucking on his neck. She didn’t wanna bite him again just yet.

Tangling her hands in this hair she lifted his head up to look at her, “You wanna cum?” He mumbled a yes, licking over where Y/n bit.

“M’close, so close. Please?” She smiled when she saw a tear, the way his voice sounded like he was holding back a buttload of tears.

“Doctor Reid wants to let loose huh? Bet it hurts so bad don’t it?” Pulling harshly on his hair he let out a sob, accompanied by a bunch of soft pleads.

“Hurts so bad momma, gonn—I’m begging you, can I? Please?” She made herself look like she was thinking about it, then clenched around him, throwing her head back.

“Close, I’m t-there. P-Please?” Shaking her head, a bright smile on her face, “Don’t you wanna be good for me?”

His eyes lit up, nodding. He was about to say something until she cut him off, “Then no cumming, shh.”

Her left hand scratched his pale chest, a line of red following. Y/n started nipping on his neck, before looking down at him.

“Cum whenever pumpkin.” Her teeth sinking into his skin. The boys eyes rolled back, his mouth wide open but no sound coming out.

He’d never waited this long for a nut, but the way it made him feel, he could wait longer next time.

She let his neck go, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, placing wet kisses along his jaw and chest.

When Spencer finished and came back to, Y/n was laid next to him. Her cunt filled with his mess.

The boy knew she didn’t cum, and he wanted to make it up to her; for what happened and the party.

Even though he was tired, he was never tired enough to eat her out. So he crawled towards her cunt, his hair messy and pink gloss kisses all over his face and body.

It was like he was in a dream, the way he snuggled in between her thighs, spreading them open just a little bit for more access.

Moaning at the taste of both of them combined, he whined into her when Y/n’s hands tangled Into his hair, tugging softly.

“You’re such a good boy.”

xoxo, liah