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spencerreidenjoyer · 7 months ago

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addicted to you | spencer reid x reader

Spencer isn’t inclined to be affectionate with you. He’s a socially awkward germaphobe, and you’re perfectly fine with it. However, being three months into your relationship, you can’t help but want more. Once Spencer gets a taste, he wants more too. A lot more.

part 1 | part 2 - insatiable

wc: 6.1k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: established relationship, first times, virgin!spencer, early seasons spencer, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering praise kink, morning wood, morning sex, sex in unconventional places (like, not in public but not the bed lol), cunnilingus, creampie, implied multiple orgasms

a/n: no excuse for this insane fic but i was strangely inspired by a post i saw on twitter that i wanted to put a lighthearted (and horny) spin on. i definitely felt crazy writing this and i feel crazy posting this now so i sure hope you enjoy this insanity! (p.s you can also find this fic on ao3!)

You don’t mind that Spencer isn’t touchy. You understand, with Spencer being a germaphobe and a little socially awkward, that he isn’t inclined to kisses on the cheek or holding your hand. You’ve only been dating for three months, and he’s already getting better at doing these things, which makes your heart sing.

Spencer is sweet, willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy. He used to shy away from your touch, but he’s gotten more comfortable with you. He lets you hold his hand when you’re out on a date, or he’ll kiss you chastely out in public. He lets you drape yourself over him when you’re sitting on the couch together watching a show, his arm around your waist to pull you in close.

While you can understand Spencer’s hesitance towards public displays of affection, due to his awkwardness and anxieties about germs, you’re surprised he hasn’t initiated anything more in the privacy of his apartment (or yours). You’re starting to itch for it, something more, your attraction to Spencer Reid simply too overwhelming for it to simply be sweet and innocent anymore. Your body craves him desperately, because he’s so lovely and so fucking handsome. You’ve caught yourself staring at his hands more than once.

Tonight, you decide you’ll get what you want. You’re going to fuck Spencer Reid.

With your head buried in his shoulder during movie night, your hand runs down his body, getting dangerously close to his crotch – he jumps up off the couch, almost comedic, and stares at you like your touch had burned him. He looks positively freaked out.

“Spencer,” you say, very confused that he’s not into this. What kind of man doesn’t like his girlfriend initiating sex? Hell, what kind of man doesn’t like sex?

“I just–” Spencer pauses, like he’s struggling to find the words. “I can’t. Not right now, I–”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You assure him. “We don’t have to. Ever, if that’s what you want.”

His eyes widen again. “No! I want to, just– It’s difficult, right now.”

You cock your head slightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Spencer frowns slightly, seeming to know that talking about it is the most rational thing to do, but it’s not like that makes him want to do it. “Well, I– I’ve never done it before.”

Your mouth falls open, just a little, and you look up at him. While you don’t mean to judge, it certainly isn’t surprising. Spencer was fourteen when he was starting university, and his general awkward demeanour and extreme nerdiness would likely rule out any sexual encounters for him during his time in college. Spencer’s line of work would clearly make it difficult for him to maintain a relationship – you definitely lucked out with getting to date him – and he’s too much of a softie for one night stands. So, Spencer Reid being a virgin at twenty-seven definitely checks out.

“That’s okay,” you say softly. “It’s totally normal.”

Spencer’s lips press into a thin line. “Well, you know it took me a while to get used to being affectionate with you, so I think–”

“Being intimate with someone else is going to be a hurdle you’ll need time to cross, too?”

Spencer looks up at you, eyes wet, looking at you like you’ve read him like an open book. He whispers, “Yeah.”

“That’s okay,” you repeat, even though you’re trying to come to terms with the fact that you’re not going to fuck Spencer Reid tonight. “I’ll– We’ll take it slow, if you want to try.”

“Yes, please.” He has a small smile on his lips as he looks up at you. “I– We could try doing something tonight, too. I just– I wasn’t expecting it earlier. I’m sorry for pushing you off like that.”

You shake your head, reassuring him that you aren’t offended by it by any means. Then, you ask, “You’re sure you want to try? Tonight?”

Spencer nods, as he reaches for your hand. He holds it gently, resting it on his thigh. “Yeah. I haven’t– It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone, but I want to, with you.”

You lean in to kiss his cheek gently. “I’m glad you trust me.”

His eyes are soft and syrupy when he meets your gaze. “Of course I trust you.”

You squeeze Spencer’s thigh before pressing your lips to his, the familiarity of kissing Spencer making you both ease up a little more. Your kiss is gentle, sweet, just like every other kiss you've shared, but you let your hand slide up his thigh as you kiss him, and you can feel Spencer tensing up under your touch. You squeeze his thigh to reassure him, and you feel Spencer wriggle underneath where you're leaning your body weight on him to loosen up.

Your hand skirts over his crotch, a hardness under your palm that makes you feel somewhat proud of yourself. Spencer’s breathing is heavy as he keeps kissing you, and keeps letting you touch him. You think he’s so cute. You just want to make him feel good.

You push the waistband of his sweats down, tugging him out of his pants. His cock is the same shade of red as his cheeks, his shyness turning you on extremely.

He doesn’t look down at himself, where you’re holding him – instead, his eyes are intently focused on your face. You don’t push him about it, instead leaning forward to kiss him as you start to stroke his cock.

This time, it feels desperate. Spencer kisses you with more fervour, like a fire’s been lit within him, the pleasure running through his veins almost like liquid courage as he kisses you deeply. You’re more than happy to be doing this, letting Spencer lick into your mouth while you jerk him off. You appreciate the weight of him in your hand, imagining him inside of you – but perhaps you’re getting ahead of yourself.

“You can touch me, Spence,” you say, in between Spencer kissing you fervently. His hands have been cupping your face, but otherwise he seems awkward with them. You pull back slightly, and while it’s adorable that he’s still holding your face sweetly, you drag his hands down to your chest, in the oversized t-shirt you’d stolen from Spencer’s drawer. “Like this.”

Spencer’s large hands cup your breasts through the shirt perfectly. He squeezes tentatively. You bite your lip as his palms brush over your nipples, as he manhandles you just a little. It’s more force than you’re used to from Spencer, kneading and squeezing and feeling you, and that makes your head spin.

Daringly, Spencer’s hands slip under your shirt, as he leans back in to kiss you. You feel his calloused hands on your skin as he feels you up, making you shudder. His touch isn’t demanding nor pushy, simply exploratory as he feels your soft skin under his fingertips.

Your arousal is pumping through your system, Spencer’s gentle submissiveness like a drug you can’t kick. The more you touch him, the more he reacts; touching you more, whimpering and gasping against your lips, into your neck.

“Come on, baby,” you coo in his ear, your hand speeding up on Spencer’s hardness. He’s leaking pathetically, wet in your palm, and he squirms underneath you.

“I’m– It’s too–” Spencer cuts himself off with a helpless whine, like he can’t control himself. His hands grip your waist tight. “Please–”

“Mm,” you hum sympathetically, while you thoroughly enjoy seeing Spencer like this. “Wanna cum like this, baby?”

Spencer’s breathing hard. He can’t get the words out, but he shakes his head. You slow your strokes, to an excruciating pressure on his length. “No? Then tell me, Spence.”

“Inside you,” He gasps, eyes squeezed shut.

You absolutely should not let Spencer fuck you for the first time on his couch, but he’s desperate and your resolve is steadily crumbling. “You– You’re sure?”

“Please,” Spencer gasps, his eyes pleading with you helplessly.

So, you pull your hand back and push your shorts off instead. Your panties come off in one fell swoop, and you sit back onto the couch with your legs spread. Spencer’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted as he looks at you, takes the sight of you in.

Then he’s like a baby deer, standing up and fumbling to get his sweatpants off. You can’t help but giggle at his awkward movements, in his excitement and eagerness to get to touch you, to get to fuck you. He’s quick to get between your legs, his hardness nudging at your entrance already.

“Mm, not yet, Spence,” you hum. You reach for his hand, taking his wrist as you guide his fingers to your clit. “You know what to do, right?”

He turns his wrist so his fingers – God, his fingers – are poised almost elegantly above your clit. He presses down and starts to circle his fingers against you. You gasp.

“Thought you didn’t– oh– Didn’t have much experience,” you gasp. You hold onto Spencer’s forearm tight, throwing your head back as Spencer pleasures you.

Spencer huffs out a laugh. “I might not be experienced, but I’m not a prude– I remember the… stuff I’ve seen. Eidetic memory and all.”

“Stuff,” you laugh. “I’m sure the porn you’ve watched must’ve helped, darling.”

He slips his fingers into your wetness with an unsurprising ease, considering how turned on you are by him. He hits spots inside you you’ve never thought were possible to reach, but they make electricity zip up your spine. You moan as he crooks his fingers into you, rocking them in and out with a wet squelch.

Spencer grins at you. “You were saying?”

“You’re a cocky bastard, you know that?” you huff, your tone teetering between awfully turned on and mildly annoyed.

“You like it,” Spencer says, assured of himself, and you smile, because you really do.

“My love,” you moan, as Spencer presses his fingers into you, back out. “You should try fucking me now.”

Spencer’s fingers are still inside of you, and his eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “You think so?”

You smile at him. “If you think you’re up for it.”

You mourn the loss of Spencer’s fingers, but as he’s mumbling to himself and lining his cock up with your entrance, you can only coo at how adorable you find all of this. And how turned on you are, but that’s more than obvious to the both of you by now.

He looks to you, like he’s looking for reassurance. You nod. Even in the silence, he’s gotten the confidence to push his cock into you, the thickness of his tip breaching your hole. You gasp as you stretch around him, your cunt making space for him as he slides in, excruciatingly slow. “Spencer–”

Spencer lets out a whine as your tight heat engulfs him, his length swallowed up by you as he sinks deeper into you. “Oh, my God–”

“Just like that, baby,” you moan, your leg hooking around Spencer’s leg to coax him forward, closer to you. “Fuck.”

“Do I– When should I–” Spencer gasps, unable to form a coherent sentence with the pleasure swimming through his bloodstream.

“You can start moving when you don’t feel like you’re going to blow your load if you breathe the wrong way,” you joke, but Spencer does seriously look like he’s going to finish any second. “Hey. Deep breaths, baby.”

Spencer’s brows are furrowed and his eyes are squeezed shut as he breathes in hard, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He’d told you to do that when he’d helped you through a panic attack one time, and while you feel bad that he feels so nervous about all this, it’s extremely amusing to you right now.

“Look at me,” you say, trying your best not to laugh. “You’re doing great, love.”

Spencer pulls his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes looking to you for validation.

“So good for me, darling,” you coo, your hand on his hip, while your thumb draws little circles into his skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer shudders, voice high-pitched and a little breathy. “I– You feel really good.”

“Yeah? It’ll feel even better when you start moving, sweetheart,” you hum. “You think you can do that for me? Slow, out then back in.”

Spencer whimpers, nodding, and he takes another deep breath in. His hands on your waist, he pulls out halfway before pressing back into you, and he moans so loudly your ears ring. “So– So tight, you–”

“That’s good, yeah? Feels good?” you coo. “Come on, baby. More.”

Spencer rests one of his arms on the back of the couch, holding himself steady and getting him that much closer to you. He starts to thrust in and out, starting off slow as he finds a rhythm.

His thrusts are erratic, but you’re so wildly turned on and it still feels amazing, because it’s Spencer.

Spencer is frantic, desperate, bracing himself against the couch as he fucks into you. Maybe pounding into you is a better phrase to use, because he’s fucking you like a madman, till the couch is squeaking under both your weight. You cry out, feeling Spencer drilling into you – and it feels so good.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whines. “You– It’s so good, oh–”

“Yeah, baby?” You rock your hips along with him, burying Spencer deeper into you. You clench so each thrust is a little tighter, and each time Spencer fucks into you, he moans a little louder.

Amidst Spencer’s whines and pretty noises, you watch his face morph with pleasure, feeling assured that he’s enjoying this as much as you are. In fact, he’s probably enjoying this more. As you’re lost in your train of thought, admiring Spencer’s gorgeous face, you’re startled when you feel Spencer’s load inside of you, hot and slick. His hips flush against your ass, Spencer shudders as he rides out his orgasm, body trembling from the force of his pleasure.

“Oh, Spence,” you giggle, a little dizzy from how turned on you are, from watching Spencer lose himself just like that. You reach up to cup his face, your thumb gentle on his cheek. “Was that good?”

“Oh,” Spencer mumbles, seemingly brought back to reality. He pulls back, taking the sight of you in. “I’m– I’m good, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” you say. “You’re so cute. It’s so hot.”

“I mean, you are too, but– But you haven’t–”

“You wanna make it up to me, then?” You smile, gentle and warm and Spencer nods like he’s eager to please you.

You kiss him while he pulls out, replacing the thickness of his cock with two fingers, which fit into you easily. Like before, Spencer presses his fingers into you, slick and wet and squelchy. Spencer curls them and fingerfucks you like a pro, like he’s done this a hundred times. With his face pressed into your shoulder and your arms slung around his neck, Spencer fucks you on his fingers until your toes are curling and you’re screaming his name. You cry out as you orgasm, shaking as Spencer fucks you through it.

You’re almost embarrassed when you finally come back to your senses, no longer reeling from the intensity of your orgasm. Spencer is kissing your jawline sweetly, his clean hand stroking your hair.

“Hey,” Spencer says softly, somehow knowing you needed to hear him. He parrots you from earlier, “Was– Was that good?”

“So good, my love,” you murmur into his shoulder. Then, after a quiet moment, “I thought you needed some time to get comfortable with being intimate.”

Spencer pauses for a moment, like he’s pondering it, before he says, “I know. But for you, I think I’d do anything.”

That’s all Spencer manages to get out before you kiss him again. It’s tender and sweet, the intensity behind your kiss no longer lustful but full of adoration and love. You feel like you could sob right now, but you manage to hold it back.

Spencer gets into the shower with you, which you’re surprised by, but his hands are soft on your body as he cleans you up. You shampoo his hair for him, even though he has to lean forward a little so you can reach.

You end up falling asleep in Spencer’s bed, curled up in his arms.

You don’t dream at night, but when you wake up with a hardness poking against your thigh and Spencer’s gentle snoring in your ear, you think you might be.

In your dreariness, you reach behind you, the angular sharpness of Spencer’s hip bone under your palm. He’s warm, cuddled up against you, and the tickling of his breath on your neck tells you that this isn’t a dream.

“Spence,” you whisper, shaking him slightly. You watch as he blinks himself awake, drowsy as he comes to focus on your face. “Hey.”

“Good morning,” Spencer says, his voice rough with disuse. “What’s up?”

“You are,” you smile, a little too pleased, as your hand snakes down toward his crotch.

He squeaks at the contact, your soft hand on his hardness, “Um, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” you laugh. “Had a good dream?”

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. “About you, yeah.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” you goad, wiggling your eyebrows.

Spencer’s cheeks somehow get even redder than they already were, but he shakes his head. “I want– I want to have sex, though.”

Your eyes widen. “Now?”

“Do you have the time for it?” He asks, sheepish. “I– I want to fuck you again.”

Your cheeks flush at Spencer’s sudden crudeness. You think about what Spencer could’ve possibly dreamt up, wonder how Spencer could possibly be confident enough to tell you straight up that he wants to fuck you. That phrase probably hadn’t been in Spencer’s lexicon until about twelve hours ago – while Spencer was smart – a literal genius – his innocence was completely understandable.

“We have time,” you exhale, looking back into his eyes after looking at the clock. “I only have to be at the office in a couple of hours.”

“Good,” Spencer says, leaning in to kiss down your neck. His hands are frisky already, slipping underneath your shirt. Spencer splays his hands over your stomach, before reaching up to cup your breasts in his hands.

“You like touching me like this, don’t you, baby?” you chuckle breathlessly, already feeling weak in the knees from the way Spencer holds you. “Mm, I’m surprised.”

“Why is that?” His words are slightly muffled against your skin, too busy kissing you to make himself sound coherent. His hands are rough against the softness of your skin, and you moan from the way he’s handling you.

“Yesterday you couldn’t even tell me you wanted to fuck,” you croon, thoroughly pleased. “And now you’re touching me like you know what you’re doing. It’s so hot.”

“I– I just can’t get enough of you,” Spencer admits, his earnest words turning you on extremely.

“Now you’re just horny,” you laugh, feeling Spencer’s hand slide over your underwear.

“Mm, you’re so wet right now too,” Spencer murmurs in your ear, his warm breath and raspy voice sending a shiver down your spine. Where’d he learn to talk like that? You squeeze your thighs together, but that doesn’t stop Spencer from feeling the wetness between your legs, soaking through your panties.

“All for you, baby,” you gasp, as Spencer’s fingers slip past the band of your underwear, deftly stroking your clit. “Spencer–”

“Can I fuck you? Please?” He pleads, breathy, his hips already rutting forward against your ass.

His eagerness makes your head spin, his sudden confidence in the realm of sex surprising – maybe it’s cockiness, but you still find that stupidly attractive – but it is certainly welcomed.

“Yes, Spence, please,” you shudder, the word yes leaving your lips enough for Spencer to pull your underwear down, over the swell of your ass. He fumbles with his own boxers for a moment, but soon you feel his hard, leaking tip pressed to your butt. He rocks his hips back and forth, desperately seeking whatever friction he can get.

Lost in his own pleasure, Spencer is quick to slide his cock between your legs, the wetness from your cunt making it easy for him to rut into the tight, slick space. Like this, his length rubs up against you, the head of his cock nudging at your clit with every thrust of his hips. It feels primal, Spencer so far gone that he isn’t even fucking you proper, content with the slick, tight space between your thighs and your pussy. You wonder if you need to tell him, but Spencer’s groan in your ear is shaky as his tip catches on your hole.

His arms wrapped around you, both of you moan as Spencer finally sinks his cock into you. He slides in too easily, so easily you almost think he’d hadn’t meant to do it. Maybe he hadn’t, but you’d gotten there in the end, where you both need to be; Spencer buried inside of you.

It’s so different from yesterday, the angle when he presses into you from behind so exhilarating, so good. He’s just as desperate as last night, but there’s a sort of reckless confidence in his movements. His hands slide under your shirt to grab at your tits again, rocking his hips while he practically gropes you. It’s so hot your head spins. You feel like you’re going to explode.

“Spencer!” You cry out, your voice ripping its way out of your throat. Pleasure surges through you like electricity, Spencer’s thick cock hitting all the right spots from this angle. His eager desperation turns you on to no end, as you let him take you from behind. While you weren’t expecting lazy, morning sex at all, the intensity and desperation he fucks you with right now makes you think you could get used to this.

Spencer’s whine has your head spinning. His hips don’t slow, more rhythmic than yesterday but still as needy. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Yeah?” You coo breathlessly. You’re so fucking turned on, and every time Spencer drives his hips into you you can hear how wet you really are. “You’re doing so good for me, Spence, fucking me so good.”

“You like it? Is it good?” Spencer gasps, always so eager to please you.

“So good,” you moan. You’re still sore from last night, but the pleasure Spencer is giving you right now overrides all of that. You would love for him to wake you up like this every day. “I’m close, baby.”

“Oh,” Spencer says, like he’s surprised you’re already getting off on this, on him– “What do you need me to do?”

“Just keep going, Spence,” you gasp. “Keep fucking me just like this.”

Spencer’s hum is breathy, high-pitched. Somehow, his grip on you gets tighter, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The force he fucks you with is so wildly arousing. You’re so enamoured, and so turned on.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and steady as it bubbles up inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the dirty, rough way Spencer fucks you, and then you feel his soft lips on your neck again. He isn’t properly kissing you – more like slobbering all over your neck, but you cry out as he does so, thighs pressing together as you reach your orgasm. You’re shaking through it, clenching around Spencer as you come, and Spencer’s gasping as your tight pussy pushes Spencer over the edge too. You feel his come inside of you, cock twitching as his load spurts hot and heavy into your cunt. You sob, feeling Spencer slow his thrusts as he rides out his orgasm.

“Holy shit,” you say, your voice coming out ragged and hoarse. You feel like a different woman, being fucked ruthlessly by your boyfriend in his bed for the first time. You can’t get enough.

“I love you,” Spencer says quietly, earnest. It makes you shudder.

“You’re crazy,” you laugh, taken aback at how Spencer’s returned to his gentle, soft self. “I love you too, you madman.”

“I can’t resist you,” he murmurs in your ear, the vibrations of his raspy morning voice almost soothing.

You turn around to face him, Spencer still holding you in his arms. He smiles warmly at you, and you lean in to kiss him. “You’re so cute.”

“Wanna go again?” he asks, somewhat timid.

Your eyes widen. You try to hide your grin, but it doesn’t work. “Someone’s desperate, huh?”

Spencer flushes a gorgeous red. “Maybe a little?”

“I have to get ready for work,” you sigh, actually a little bummed that you can't spend all day fucking Spencer. “Maybe tonight?”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles. “Want me to drive you back to yours?”

You grin. “You’re the best!”

Work is relatively uneventful, numbers and Excel spreadsheets; and all you can think about is Spencer’s rapid change in demeanour over the last twelve hours, his innocence torn away by you, leaving behind a horny, insatiable man. You’re kind of proud of yourself for that.

So, you can’t blame yourself for being excited to get back to Spencer’s. Lately, you’ve been staying over more, your apartment simply a place to house your wardrobe. Maybe you’ll talk to Spencer about living together.

“Hey, Spence,” you say, pleased when Spencer kisses you as he greets you at the door.

Even with all the probable germs on you from being out all day, Spencer’s surprisingly clingy, hands on your waist as he stumbles in behind you, as you set the takeout you’d brought over on his dining table. Spencer leans in behind you, kissing your cheek then down your neck.

“Hey, what’s with you, baby?” you chuckle, very much enjoying the way Spencer’s hands slide down your waist to your hips, grabbing the meat of your thighs through your dress pants.

“Missed you,” Spencer answers simply, but even you can tell there’s something in his voice that implies he’s looking for something more.

“I’m sorry I had to leave you alone the whole day, my love. I’m sure you must’ve found something to busy yourself with, though?” You hum, teasing. You have a good idea of where this is going.

Spencer’s quiet for a moment, so you turn to look at him. His lips are pressed into a thin line, looking almost nervous, and his cheeks are flushed red. Spencer finally presses his body close to yours, and you feel it–

“Spence,” you grin, “Someone’s happy to see me.”

“Thought about it– Thought about you all day,” Spencer mumbles. “You promised.”

“What did I promise, baby?” you egg him on, eager to hear him say it, even though you definitely know what he’s going to ask.

“That we would do it again tonight,” he answers, but you shoot him a look. “You said we would have sex again tonight.”

“Twice in one day? I don’t know, baby,” you pretend to sound disinterested.

Spencer looks at you with wide eyes. Respectful as ever, he clears his throat. “Please? If you’re tired we don’t have to, but I really want to. Only if you want to, though. This involves both of us, I don’t want to impose–”

You giggle, reaching to hold his hands. “God, you’re perfect.”

“What–?” Spencer barely gets the word out before you’re kissing him. He’s happy to do so, holding your face gently, matching your energy perfectly. You feel his cock pressing against you.

“I turned you into a sex fiend,” you laugh, between kissing him, “And you’re still thinking about making sure I’m into it too.”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer’s brows furrow slightly, like he can’t comprehend how he could be into it if you weren’t too. “And I- I’m not a sex fiend, I just–”

Smiling, you whisper sultrily, “I think you should take me right here, baby.”

“Oh–” You cut Spencer off with another kiss, and he squeaks as you reach for his half-hard cock through his sweatpants. You’re positively delighted that Spencer’s like this, for you.

Spencer kisses you deeply, leaning forward until the small of your back hits the edge of the table. His hands coming up to your ass, he lifts you up, getting you to lay back on the table. You gasp, as Spencer kisses down the column of your neck, his hands making quick work of the buttons of your dress shirt. His lips are soft against your skin, at the swell of your breasts. Your shirt gets pushed off your shoulders. You feel him unhook your bra with a surprising ease, tossed aside, and then his hands are grabbing your tits like they were made for him. His thumbs brush over your nipples, a little forceful as he kneads at you, and your head is spinning.

“Spencer,” you moan, as he kisses down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants to reveal your soaked-through underwear. He smiles up at you, his messy mop of hair a lovely sight.

“Can I…?” Spencer’s big brown eyes dart down to where you’re soaked, then back up at you.

Your eyes widen. “Yes. If you want to.”

Spencer grins. “Of course I want to.”

His fingers are gentle on your hips as he pulls your panties off, wasting no time in spreading your legs so he can get between them. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, feeling kind of self-conscious over how eager he is to be doing this. Knelt between your thighs, he lifts one of your legs and swings them over his shoulder. You can feel his stubble on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his nose nudging against your clit. His tongue comes up, wet and hot, as he tastes you for the first time. “Spencer–”

He presses his face impossibly closer, more urgent in eating you out. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, his jaw flexing as his tongue works on you, and you’re trembling already. Spencer’s extremely good with his mouth, and you’re surprised at how good he’s making you feel, considering he likely hasn’t done this before. The sounds of his mouth are wet and squelchy and so obscene, and you would feel almost embarrassed, were it not for how into this Spencer seems to be too,

With your hands in his hair, you cry out when Spencer’s tongue circles your swollen clit, jolts of pleasure sent through your body. You can’t think straight when Spencer’s face is buried between your legs, eating you out like he was made for this. All you can think about is how gifted Spencer is with his tongue, and how you wish you could do this all night.

“Please, love,” you moan, “Need you to fuck me.”

Spencer hums in approval, the vibrations between your legs making you jump. He makes a little wet slurping noise before he comes back up, and you feel your cunt throb when he looks up at you with his lovely, wide brown eyes, and his chin wet and messy with your slick. Spencer wipes his face with the back of his hand, and you’re so turned on you might just explode.

“I love you,” you tell him earnestly. “I think this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I love you.”

“What is? Having sex on my dinner table?” Spencer quips, as he sets your legs down and stands back up. He has a cocky grin plastered on his face.

You roll your eyes playfully. “First time for everything, right?”

Spencer nods, smiling, before he leans forward to kiss you sweetly. You watch as he pulls his sweatpants down, his cock bobbing up, red and angry and rock hard. You feel yourself salivating at the sight, but decide that he needs to fuck you right now.

“Spencer,” you mewl, feeling breathless as you watch him wrap a hand around himself, stroking his length. Concentration is written all over his face and it makes you want to kiss him.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” Spencer says, pressing his cock forward until he’s lined up with your entrance. It’s so tantalising, the way the blunt head of his cock threatens to slip into you. You’re so wet and so loose for him, and you need him inside of you now.

You gasp when he finally pushes in, his thick cock splitting you in half as he slides into you. The pressure is so perfect, the slow draw of his hips as he takes care not to rush, wanting to take care of you. Even with all this still being new for Spencer, he still focuses on you, puts you first. You’re not sure if you’re swooning over him, or the way his cock fits inside you perfectly.

You don’t need to encourage him to start moving. He rocks his hips slowly, somehow already familiar with your body, and makes you feel like you could explode with pleasure.

He leans forward, pressing his body to yours as he kisses you. Like this, Spencer presses into you deeper, fucks you slow and deep and loving. The edge of the table is absolutely digging into your back, but you don’t care when every sense of yours is filled with Spencer, getting to taste and touch and hear him. You taste yourself on his tongue, hear the sloppy way he thrusts into you, your skin burning wherever he’s pressed up against you.

Burying his face in your neck, Spencer pants in your ear, hot and heavy as he fucks you, giving you everything you need. Your head is swimming with arousal, as Spencer presses you against the table and fucks you like his life depends on it. “You feel so good, fuck, so good–”

“I’m so close, baby,” you cry out, the pace absolutely ruthless as Spencer fucks you. You didn’t think his stamina would be this good, considering your boyfriend’s lanky stature and abhorrence towards exercise. You certainly wouldn’t mind doing this kind of cardio with him more often. “Please, Spence–”

“Let go, I– I’m here for you,” Spencer stumbles over his words, but he’s so sweet that you’re losing yourself, your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave. You scream as you reach your peak, your toes curling while Spencer fucks you through it, shaking as pleasure and arousal zips through your body. Spencer’s hips stutter as the tightness of your pussy has him reeling, too close too quickly.

While his hips keep a steady pace, you’re feeling loopy as Spencer continues to fuck you. You hold his head close to you, kissing his forehead as you murmur, “You’re so hot, Spence. Made me come so quickly, and you held out for me? So good for me, baby. Are you close?”

Spencer whines, a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. “Please, I’m so close, need you–”

“I’m right here, baby,” you coo, stroking his sweat-matted hair sweetly. You’re so enamoured with him. “Gonna cum inside me, Spence? Fill me up with your–”

You don’t even get to finish your dirty talk before Spencer is moaning, coming inside of you. It feels like he’s released so much inside of you, hot and messy as he fucks you through his own high. His chest heaves as he pants, trembling as he reels from the intensity of his orgasm. Spencer’s hips slow to a stop, and he mouths at your neck mindlessly until he seems to get his bearings back. You imagine you must look a mess, sweat and spit all over you, your makeup from a long day of work likely running by now.

Spencer gets up off of you, so both of you have space to catch your breaths. You feel Spencer slip out of you with a slick ‘pop’, and feel his release trickle out of you just moments after. You stifle a quiet moan, but when you look up at Spencer, his eyes couldn’t possibly leave the sight between your legs. His lips are parted slightly, pupils blown wide, as he watches you drip with his release. You feel Spencer’s cock, resting against your inner thigh, twitch slightly.

“Woah there, cowboy,” you chuckle, out of breath. “Give me a minute to recover.”

His eyes practically twinkle when they dart up to look at you. He’s like an excited puppy as he asks, “Again?”

You shake your head, laughing, and sit up to kiss Spencer again. “Maybe we could try something new?”

Spencer grins, nodding eagerly. It definitely seems like he’s down for whatever, as long as it’s with you.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencerreidenjoyer writes

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epresley · 2 years ago

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mines bossa nova baby!

mostly because the song is literally just describing me (She said, "Go, bossa nova baby keep on dancing, I'm about to have myself a fit"/She said, "Drink, drink, drink oh, fiddle-de-dink, I can dance with a drink in my hand"/She said, "Hey bossa nova baby, keep on working for this ain't no time to drink"/She said, "Go bossa nova baby, keep on dancing, cause I ain't got time to think"/She said, "Hey bossa nova baby, keep on working for I ain't got time for that"/She said, "Go bossa nova baby, keep on dancing or I'll find myself another cat"(yes i know that's like the whole song shhh)) so i just feel really close to it

but also just cause it's super bouncy and i know i can always put it on if i need to get my mood/energy up!

another one, and probably more obscure one, is whole lotta shakin' goin' on, for much the same reasons as bossa nova baby, and i actually bought a vintage, original vinyl of his elvis country album, simply for that song (sidenote; the mixing on that album is atrocious lol)

do you have one of these? I was thinking about it but not sure what it is for me, I love too many! https://twitter.com/velvetchapel/status/1665505438710878208

yes! i follow her, i saw this tweet! <3 i love her follow-up reasoning too, she's so right:

this is me with true love travels on a gravel road. THAT IS MY SONG, he sang it for me especially. cosmically. in 1969! but i don't care, that was for me! i've rambled about it before, but it's just so much of what i love about his voice, and the captivating way he weaves himself and his personality into a melody (also as sally said, you can hear him breathe, there's such life in his music), the way he sings it is so warm and rich and beautiful and feels like he's holding you in it. i have a vivid memory of hearing it for the first time and stopping in the tracks of what i was doing (which was moving holiday decorations! that added a magical element too, it's like whenever i hear that song i'm surrounded by sparkling lights and everything smells like cinnamon), and feeling this overwhelming sense of solace and compassion that i can't explain, so much of the essence of him. it sounds silly tbh, but it was such a loving moment, and i sat cross-legged on the floor and instantly played it again. and we'll stay together no matter how strong the wind blows...

that's my weird very strong love/obsession to a random song (it will, without doubt, be my most played song of the year). it just does something to my heart. then slightly less obscure ones are bridge over troubled water and if i can dream, for obvious reasons. i also feel this way about any day now (gosh i could talk about his voice and the arrangement of any day now forever) and kentucky rain and i just can't help believin' and i've got a thing about you baby and i'm coming home and in my way and just pretend, among others...okay it's undeniable, i also love too many! true love travels on a gravel road though, that one's mine somehow. 💘💘💘

i want to know what other people's are, tell me if any of you have one too! (my mom's even got one of these, it's memories! 🥺)

#not technically an elvis song but also the bossa nova baby and backstreets back remix cause #come on! thats music baby #there's probably some of his slower songs id also listen to on repeat but i really can't think of any rn #long tall sally is another one i really like #im a country girl through and through (and a rock n' roll girlie second)#of course #if something is too dangerous to say; sing

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yieldtotemptation · 2 months ago

Text

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.”

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?” Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

#kpop smut #somi smut #male reader

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envy-of-the-apple · 4 months ago

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Fun Sized

Dark!Fairy!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You save a tiny fairy. Gojo Satoru decides that you and him belong together, regardless of how little he is and how little you think of him.

(Warnings: Yandere, not many warnings in this one ngl)

The fae are a dangerous bunch. You've heard more than enough stories to be spooked. Sirens will sing beautiful songs before dragging you into the depths. Dragons will burn you to a crisp before a second's thought. Nagas would make sure you were alive until the very end as they feast on your organs. Centaurs would use their powerful legs to stomp yours to mere twigs. Driders would suck your blood until there's nothing left but a husk of your body.

You've never heard anything about fairies. They didn't live in your region. Their lands were high in the mountains, where humans rarely traveled. Also, they were so tiny, according to the books. The biggest seemed to be barely the size of your hand. They were harmless, you concluded. Harmless to humans. Harmless to you.

He had been harmless. At first, you thought it was a cluster of leaves in the stream, but as the current drew it closer, you noticed tiny arms and a tiny face. He was unconscious; you didn't even know if the poor thing was alive.

The Fae are a dangerous bunch, but saving one tiny fairy couldn't hurt, right?

Your guest quickly proved to be a bigger hassle than you initially thought.

When you brought him to your cottage, he laid in a basket of warm linen, asleep for hours near the warm fireplace. The blueberry pie was still hot when you turned around and caught him staring at you.

It was silent for a while, and then you said:

"Do you like sweets?"

That's how your tentative friendship with the other kind started. Gojo Satoru (you later learned his name) was a boisterous thing. He did in fact like sweets, which helped bribe his friendship. You're surprised that he ate so much despite his stature. Did all faires have black holes for stomachs?

He healed up rather quickly. At first, you were afraid that his wings had crumbled due to the prolonged exposure to water. But after stuffing himself full of the blueberry syrup, he smiled widely before flitting out your window.

You thought that would be the end of it, but then he just came coming back.

Apparently, your baking skills left an impact on the small creature. He didn't visit often, but when he did, you would always make sure you had something. Whether it be cookies, brownies, or that blueberry pie he was so fond of. Anything was good enough for Gojo's taste palette.

"In the fae lands," Gojo said when you prodded, "sweets are too sweet. Yours is just enough." You weren't too sure what he meant by that, but you took it as a compliment. You were sure the fae wasn't something who'd give praises so easily.

It's not like you were upset at providing food for your tiny friend. Quite the contrary. You loved it when Gojo visited. You found him fascinating, the way he could fly miles and miles above your head. How tiny he was. The amount of times you had to hold yourself back from squishing him between your fingers because of how cute he was scared you.

And you hoped you were fascinating enough to entertain Gojo. You had to be; you don't know why else he'd keep coming back. Even after gobbling down your cooking, he'd lounge around your home, entertaining you with his stories. You learned of the other magical creatures he was in contact with, the students he taught, and how fond he was of them. You don't know why he was so open about sharing his personal life with you, in the stories fae hated humanity, but you would never complain.

It doesn't click as to why Gojo's so invested in you until he comes out and says it himself.

"Instead of me coming back and forth like this, why don't you just come live with me?" He says, "I would cut down my flying time by a lot."

You stare at him in amusement, sure he's joking. "I'm not sure how I'd fit in your house." You tease. "I'd probably crush all your furniture."

"I can make my house bigger." He announces. "Don't worry 'bout it, just say yes."

You stare at him, slowly realizing that he isn't as amused. He's still smiling, but there's no joke.

"No," you finally say, "I'm not doing that."

He cocks his head surprised as though he's never had someone reject him before.

"What?" He asks, "Why not?"

"Well." You clear your throat. "For one, I'm human, and you're a fairie. I don't think Fae would appreciate a human wandering around in their lands."

"Who cares about all that?" Gojo waves his hands around. "You'll be with me, anyways. It'd be fine."

"I don't get why you're so fixated on the human realm." His mouth turns into a sneer. "It's all so boring. Nothing ever happens. And our magic is much more advanced than yours." It's true. You can't disagree with that. Satoru didn't wear clothes made out of leaves or vines, unlike the common fairy stereotype. His clothing looked much more advanced compared to your loose cotton dresses. A black shirt with intricate buttons and long sleeves. Along with black trousers. You wonder what material could make his suit so shiny.

You laugh at his disgust. At that time, you saw Gojo as a tiny child clutching their mother's skirts, a cute puppy. You hadn't yet taken Gojo Satoru as the threat he was.

"It's because I am human." You say, not offended by his remarks. "So I like being near other humans."

He groans as though your logic makes no sense. "Yuji and the others ask about you all the time, though. They've been dying to meet you."

"You talk to your students about the giant that cooks for you? I'm flattered."

"You're dodging," he warns. You roll your eyes.

"Satoru, I'm not coming to live with you. It'd be too much of a hassle." You finally say. "Besides, you're not my type."

"I'm everyone's type." He argues.

"Not mine." You smile, and then you make your first blunder.

"I like my men a little taller."

He stiffens, and you know you said the wrong thing. Your smile fades as does the cheery energy in your cottage. He says nothing, but he's zipping out your window before you can apologize.

He doesn't return for the longest time. You count the weeks. Guilt weighs on your shoulders, heavy and burdensome. Every day you bake something even tastier than the day before. Not even that is enough to coax him back.

You think you've lost him forever, when he returns on one sweltering summer evening.

"Hi." You blink. He's watching you, sitting idly on the window, kicking his tiny feet.

"Hi." He smiles.

You're happy enough to grab him with one fist and hugging him to your chest, but as always, you stop yourself. Instead, a shy smile rests on your face.

"I'm sorry," you say, "I really am...will you accept an apology pie?"

He grins wider, and you relax.

He eats, and you're grateful. Something you once cherished in your life has finally come back to you. You might not return Gojo's feelings, but you still care for him. You'd rather die than ever hurt him again.

"No, you're right." Gojo surprisingly concedes when you apologize for the third time. "We're too different. It'd never work out. Not as the way you are, right now."

You nod, grateful he's so understanding. "Exactly."

He's finishing up when he announces he brought you a gift.

"I've been working on it for the past few weeks," he cheerily says. "It took a while, but it's finally safe for human consumption."

He takes out a tiny glass bottle filled with something swirling and blue. When he asks you to bring a glass of water, you acquiesce. To your astonishment, when the elixer is poured, the entire water becomes a swirling mass of a color comparable to none other than galaxies. You're so mesmerized by the color, it's enough to stump your voice.

"For you!" He declares. "You've always been cooking for me; thought I might return the favor, just this once."

"What is it?" You ask, amazed by the color. You admire the glance, unaware of the glint in Gojo's eye.

"It's kinda like the wine you have in the mortal realms, but a little less poignant." He gives when you glance at him. "Go on, tell me what you think?"

You're too trusting, and so you make your second blunder.

Once you start, you can't seem to stop. The taste is otherworldly, addicting. You drink and drink, not wasting a single drop. You're breathing heavily once the cup detaches from your lips.

"Amazing." You say before looking at him. His eyes are too wide, but you're too distracted by the taste still on your tongue. "Seriously, what was that? Can I make it here?"

He scratches the back of his head. "Not really, the ingredients are pretty hard to find." He shrugs. "Besides, it's supposed to be a one-time use."

Your eyebrows twist, and then the world sinks.

You're falling. You think you are. You don't really know. Everything feels like it's stretching. The walls of your tiny little cottage get higher and higher and higher. The floor gets more and more warped. You're sinking, sinking through the air. When you scream, nothing comes out. You feel like you're choking because you can't breathe, and then your vision grows black.

The next time you open your eyes. It's still dark, and to your horror, you realize you're buried underneath something.

You panic, clawing and tearing your way out. The material gives away easily. It's fabric. Cotton. But there was so much, an undying ocean of fabric. You lift yourself up from the pile and that's when you realize you're completely naked.

The mountain of cotton you just climbed to the top of was your old dress.

Everything was gigantic—the table, the chairs. The windows seemed endless. The ceiling looked miles above you, and you know what happened, but your brain can't formulate it because it can't be—it just can't be.

There's a flutter of wings. You always thought he was so quiet before. Now, he's all you can hear. Immediately, you wrap your body with the cloth. It's hard to keep still; your body is buzzing with nerves and you still can't understand. You have to force yourself to look at him.

You don't know why you expected shock, guilt, something other than the pure manic glee on his face. Satoru towers above you, head tilted. He bends down, cupping your trembling face in his hand because he's big enough to do that now.

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more adorable." He coos.

You can see him now. His skin isn't pale, it's borderline translucent. His canines are sharp and pointy. And his eyes. Oh God you've never seen eyes so terrifying before—an endless mass of blue, threatening to swallow you whole.

He wasn't a cute little fairy. He was anything but that.

"Gojo..." You start, heart squeezing. "What did you do.."

You know. He knows. That's why he ignores your question entirely.

"I'm surprised it worked." He says, mainly talking to himself. "Shoko said it might be a dud, and she was so sure of it, that I mostly believed her."

"But now look at you!" He roughly pinches your cheek. "You're the perfect size now."

"Stop." You blubber, pushing his hand off of you. "Don't touch me. Change me back. Change me back."

He frowns. "Why would I do that? You being human-sized was always such a hassle. Lumbering around. Way too loud. Don't get me wrong, I adore you either way." He proclaims like it's something benevolent. "But this has its charm."

He leans forward, and you scuddle backward in fear. His grin widens.

"So, am I tall enough for you, now?"

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #dark content #yandere gojo satoru #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere scenarios #short king gojo #he doesnt take that too well tho

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sheep-from-rad · 2 months ago

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breathes, I need to make a masterlist for DC. Writing Batfam is becoming too fun

*I don't own DC also reader is gender neutral. this could be applied to yandere batfam as well, i think*

Bruce, Batfam and baby! Reader would be fun to watch. This man raised children but apparently having a baby in the house made him realize that he still has a lot to learn. Reader arrives at the estate as a baby after their mom (ex fling) decides that it will be better if they will be with Bruce instead.

If this man’s sleep schedule was bad before, now it's abysmal. It was so bad that Batfam had to step in. Baby! Reader cries at 3 a.m. and before Bruce can even stand up he sees Jason at the dark corner of the room telling him to go back to sleep because Dick already has it handled. I love the idea of baby reader’s crib being in Bruce’s room because it will be easier to reach the crying baby reader at night that way.

There’s no such thing as too much clothes. Batfam sees something cute or a baby clothing, they are buying it. Damian is partial towards stuffed animals and he will deny it but Bruce had seen him bonding with by reading animal related baby books. I also see Damian as a possessive brother in the sense that once they have their hands on baby! reader, they will never let anyone else hold them. Not even Bruce.

Batfamily had to now pack another shirt whenever they go outside with baby!reader or else they’ll be coming home wet with baby drool. Every Batsibling has their alarm clocks and they’ll always fight each other on who gets to feed the baby reader. Alfred wins most of the time because the siblings get too caught up in the fighting; they just forget about feeding the baby.

Jason will nonstop troll Bruce for sure. Bruce will be entering the dining hall all tired with baby reader in his arms and Jason will be singing, ‘A single mom who works two jobs’ meme until Bruce glares at him or tells him to stop. Coffee supply on the estate doubles because Tim is not the only one addicted now, Bruce too.

Superhero themed onesies are banned inside the house because it became a mini competition between the batfam but don’t let anyone know that Bruce kept a Batman bib. Every bedroom is baby proofed because each sibling just loves to monopolize baby readers.

Galas are now fun. The batfam who previously avoids galas like it’s a plague now from time to time pops in to say that Bruce is gonna be late because either baby reader got into a teeny tiny accident and needed to be changed or baby reader got into Stephanie’s make up kit and needed to be wiped clean.

The idea of a baby!reader learning how to crawl and walk is funny too. Bruce just constantly stressed out because his little baby just disappears and then comes back in the arms of a sibling who told him that they crawled to their room. Baby reader sees older siblings training and they’ll be trying to replicate it (with the siblings making sure it won’t be dangerous of course). Just imagine Dick’s social media with a picture of him stretching and baby reader (face covered for privacy) next to him replicating it.

Batfam was overprotective before and it became more protective now. Tim will always be quick to cover baby!reader’s face when the siblings are out in public say for ice cream or a little shopping trip. Securities are doubled too. If one sibling is taking baby reader out, another one will be following behind and the others are on the roof. No baby photos because let’s face it, one quick photo can land on a random newspaper and some villains might get their hands on a copy.

Damian will always be quick to pull away baby!reader on galas especially when Bruce is surrounded by women who try flirting with him using their ‘maternal’ skills. Passing baby!reader around the gala are not allowed unless Bruce himself lets the person hold the baby!reader.

Imagine one day Batman goes to a Justice League meeting with the baby! Reader strapped on their chest because apparently the batfam is busy and Alfred is on vacation. If Bruce only knew that the batfam lied because the JL wants to meet the baby reader. Did Justice League got overboard with the Christmas gifts the next year? Shhh… we don’t talk about that, the impromptu storage room is still full.

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vanteguccir · 5 months ago

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── ୨୧ !　SAFEWORD

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Matt comes home angry after a stressful day and takes it out on Y/N, making her use her safeword.

WARNING: SMUT ‼️ explicit language, p in v, Mean!Matt, rough sex, slight dumbification/degradation, pet names, hair pulling, use of safeword, crying.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Matt- please, I can't-" Y/N's body trembled under Matt's relentless touch, her breath hitching in her throat as waves of pleasure and pain intertwined in a cruel dance that had been going on for hours.

Matt had been different tonight; more intense, more demanding, more relentless. But beneath the surface, Y/N could sense the weight of something darker, something that had driven him to this edge.

He had returned from his day full of meetings with tension radiating from every pore, his usual warmth replaced with an icy determination that made Y/N’s heart race with equal parts fear and excitement.

She couldn't lie and say that she didn't loved how he pushed her, how he could make her body sing in ways no one else ever had, but tonight, he was pushing her beyond her limits. His hands were rougher, his words sharper, filled with a biting edge of degradation that made her cheeks flush with shame and arousal.

"Fuck, you’re such a dirty little slut." Matt growled, his voice rough, almost feral as he pressed her face into the mattress, his grip on her hips tight enough to bruise. "Look at you, so fucking needy. Is this all you’re good for? Spreading your legs and taking my cock?"

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, the sting of his words cutting deep. They had always enjoyed playing on the edge of roughness, pushing each other to the brink, but at that moment there was an edge to Matt’s tone that was darker, more vicious, and it scared her as much as it turned her on.

"Matt-" She gasped loudly, feeling his tip brushing against her most sensitive spot.

"Yeah, baby? You like being used like this, don’t you?" Matt continued, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "Such a fucking whore, taking everything I give you, begging for more."

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes, her body barely keeping up with the intensity of his thrusts, each one sending shockwaves through her body, pushing her further and further into a headspace where all she could feel was him; his roughness, his anger, his need.

Her mind was a chaotic mess of conflicting emotions. She adored the way Matt had the power to dominate her, the way he could take control and make her feel small, vulnerable, but safe.

But now, there was no safety net, no gentle undertone to his words, no soft looks, or tender touches to remind her that this was just play. It felt real - too real - and it terrified her. She was on the verge of tears, her body betraying her as it responded to his cruel words and rough touch with mindless, desperate arousal.

"Answer me." Matt snarled, his hand fisting in her hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that made her stomach twist with a mixture of fear and need. "Tell me what you are. Tell me how much you fucking love this."

"I-I love it." Y/N stammered, her voice shaky, barely audible as she tried to keep up with the relentless pace he had set, shuddering. "I love being your s-slut, Matt. Please..."

"Please, what?" He demanded, interrupting her, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he watched her struggle beneath him. "Please fuck you harder? Is this not enough?"

Her mind was spinning, her thoughts tangled in the web of humiliation and desire he had woven around her. She had always trusted Matt, trusted that he knew her limits. But in that moment, she could see no sign of the man who held her after, who whispered sweet words of love and reassurance.

"You’re so fucking pathetic, doll." Matt muttered in a mockery tone, his hand traveling around her stomach, feeling a small bulge below his palm. A smirk stretched acros his lips before he pressed his hand down on her lower abdomen, making her gasp as the sensation of his cock filling her completely overwhelmed her. "Look at that, dove. You’re so fucking full of me, you can see it, yeah?"

Y/N couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks, a whimper escaping from her throat and her body trembling with a mixture of pleasure and pain, her mind reeling from the intensity of it all. She could feel herself breaking, her mind teetering on the edge of something dark and terrifying. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

Her lower body tried to react for itself, moving relentlessly while trying to move away from his hands, away from his touch. But Matt didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He was lost in his own world, driven by something darker than either of them had ever encountered in their time together.

"Hmm, making me feel s'good, 'were only made for that... you’re not even good for anything else, are you? Just a tight little cunt for me to fuck until I’m so satisfied and-"

"Red." She gasped out, interrupting his sentence abruptly, her voice breaking as the safe word slipped past her lips. "Red, Matt. Please... stop. Please-"

As Y/N's shout registered inside his mind, Matt’s entire world ground to a halt. The haze of anger and lust that had clouded his mind evaporated in an instant, leaving him feeling cold and hollow. He stilled immediately, his breath catching in his throat as he processed what she had just said. The safeword; the one word they had agreed upon to stop everything if it ever became too much. And she had used it.

A wave of dread washed over him as he realized what he had done. He had pushed her too far, been too rough, and now she was lying beneath him, trembling, with tears streaming down her angel face. The guilt was immediate and overwhelming, threatening to choke him as he remained still inside her, his body frozen in place.

"Fuck." Matt whispered, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and remorse.

He wanted to pull out immediately, to give her the space she needed, but he knew that would only cause her more pain. Instead, he took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him, and began to gently caress her body, his hands trembling as they moved over her tense and sore muscles.

"Shh, baby, I’m here." He murmured, his voice cracking as he started to stroke her back and shoulders, feeling the tight knots of tension beneath his fingertips.

He could see how red and irritated her skin was, the marks left by his rough hands and relentless pace, and it made him feel like the worst kind of monster. He wanted to cry, the weight of what he had done crushing him, but he held it together for her. She needed him to be strong now, to take care of her, and that was the least he could do after everything.

"I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N." Matt whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he continued to gently rub her sides, his hands gliding over her warm, tender skin. He pressed soft, apologetic kisses to her shoulder, feeling the salt of her sweat mingling with his lips. "I didn’t mean to hurt you, dove. I never wanted to push you this far. Please forgive me. I’m so, so sorry."

Y/N’s body was still trembling, her breath coming in shaky gasps as she tried to come down from the intense high he had forced her into. The feel of his hands on her, so gentle now, so careful, was a stark contrast to the brutal pace he had set before, and it was both soothing and heartbreaking at the same time. She could hear the pain in his voice, the guilt that was eating away at him, and despite everything, she wanted to reassure him that she was okay, that they were okay.

Matt’s hands continued their slow, tender exploration of her body, trying to soothe the aches and pains he had caused. He traced the lines of her muscles, feeling the tension slowly start to ebb away as she relaxed under his touch, though her body still quivered with the aftershocks. His heart ached as he observed her state, and he couldn’t stop the endless stream of apologies that flowed from his lips nonstop.

"I’m gonna slip out now, okay?" He whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed another soft kiss to her temple. He waited for her response, needing her to give him the okay before he made a move.

When she finally nodded, her eyes still closed, he took a deep breath and began to withdraw from her, moving as slowly and gently as possible. Despite his care, Y/N hissed in pain as he pulled out, her body still too sensitive, too raw from the hours of overstimulation. The sound made his heart shatter all over again, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt crash over him, his stomach twisting with self-loathing.

"Shit, I know, I know... I’m sorry, dove." He choked out, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally freed himself from her body, feeling the absence of her warmth immediately. "I’m so fucking sorry."

"It's alright. Just... Can you hold me? Please?" Her voice sounded so vulnerable, so small.

"Of course! Of course, sweetheart." Matt rushed his answer, laying by her side. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms and holding her close, his heart breaking at the way she winced as she shifted against him.

Y/N nestled into his chest, her body still trembling but beginning to calm as she felt his arms around her, his strong embrace a comfort after the storm. She could hear his heartbeat, fast and erratic beneath her ear, and she knew he was just as shaken as she was. Her own tears had slowed, though her eyes still burned with the remnants of the emotions he had dragged out of her.

"It’s okay." She whispered, her voice hoarse from the intensity of their session. "It’s okay, Matt."

But it wasn’t okay, not for Matt. He didn't know how she could say that when he, himself, couldn’t forgive himself for pushing her to the point where she had to use their safe word, where he had hurt her so badly that she had to stop him. The guilt gnawed at him, and he held her even tighter, as if he could somehow make up for the damage he had done by never letting go.

"I don't deserve you." He whispered again, his voice breaking as he buried his face in her hair, his body shaking with the force of his feelings. "I never wanted to hurt you, baby. Please, please, can you forgive me, angel?"

Y/N could feel the weight of his guilt pressing down on him, the way his body trembled with the effort to hold back his own tears, and it broke her heart. She knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her, knew that he had lost control in the heat of the moment, but she also knew that she needed to help him understand that she didn’t hate him for it; that she still loved him, and that they could get through this together.

"I forgive you." She whispered, her voice soft but firm as she lifted her head to look at him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek as if he was her most precious thing. "I know you didn’t mean it, Matt. We are okay. I’m okay. I promise."

Matt looked down at her, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, and he could see the truth in her gaze. She wasn’t angry with him, wasn’t pulling away from him. She was still here, still in his arms, and that was enough to start mending the cracks that had formed in his heart.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice full of gratitude and love as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, his hands stroking her hair, her back, anything he could touch to reassure himself that she was still with him. "I love you so fucking much, Y/N. I’ll never let it get like that again, I promise."

"I know you won’t." Y/N whispered back, her voice full of conviction as she curled into him, seeking the comfort and safety of his embrace. "I trust you, Matt. With my life."

He held her like that for what felt like hours, the two of them wrapped up in each other as the intensity of the night slowly began to fade, leaving only the love they shared.

Matt continued to murmur soft apologies and words of love, his hands never stopping their soothing motions as he tried to make up for the pain he had caused. And gradually, as the night wore on and the exhaustion of their emotional and physical ordeal set in, Y/N’s eyes began to drift closed, her body finally relaxing completely in his arms.

Matt felt her breathing even out, her body going limp against him as sleep claimed her, and only then did he allow himself to relax, the tension he had been holding onto finally slipping away. He pressed a final, tender kiss to her forehead, his heart swelling with love for the woman in his arms, and whispered one last apology before he too succumbed to the pull of sleep, his arms wrapped protectively around her as they drifted off together.

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melon-fodder · 3 months ago

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-> KINKTOBER MASTERLIST <-

♡ WARNINGS: NON-CON! mind control, forced orgasms, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, creampies, aphrodisiac quirk

♡ WORD COUNT: 1.6k

♡ NOTE: y’all, for real, this is straight up non-con. There is nothing “dubious” about this. It’s dark and dirty.

As soon as the cloud of pink hits him, Shinsou knows that something is wrong. It tickles his nose, coats his throat, makes his mouth taste like too-sweet candy. He coughs, but it only makes the pressure in his head grow. Vision blurring, blood burning, Shinsou can only watch as the small-time villain turns and runs away. The condescending laugh that rings out behind her is almost as dense as the pollen settling over his uniform.

Dropping to his knees, Shinsou clutches his stomach, groans as arousal threatens to boil his insides. Fucking aphrodisiac quirks. He’s been warned about them, but he’s never experienced one.

Within seconds, he’s rock hard, leaking into his pants, pre dripping out of his dick with every god damn beat of his heart. He has to cum. Immediately.

There’s an alleyway a few yards away, dark and secluded and out of plain view. He can make it that far. He can–

“Hey, are you okay?”

The voice of a goddess–a siren singing the most seductive song. Shinsou looks up to find the source to be you, a civilian, frowning down at him in concern. His senses were already heightened from adrenaline, but something about the quirk is overloading them. He can see every color in your worried eyes, hear every one of your breaths, smell your perfume and shampoo, sweat and…

“Can you hear me?”

Shinsou nods, tells you in a strained voice, “I’ll be… fine,” then without making the conscious decision, activates his own quirk. Your pretty face goes slack, gaze blank, and just like that, Shinsou has himself a little puppet.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He really hadn’t meant to do it. But he’s not thinking straight. He can’t think straight. Not when the fabric of his hero suit feels like it’s rubbing his dick raw. “Help me to the alley,” he commands, and you obey without a word.

That’s all. He’s just going to get to a hidden place, release his quirk, apologize and thank you for your assistance. It’s the dead of night, anyway. You should be getting home and out of harm’s way. You definitely shouldn’t be in this dirty fucking alley, least of all with Shinsou while he’s in this state.

Because even as his back hits the wall, all he can do is stare at you. Stare at you and pant, lick his lips while imagining what yours would feel like around his cock.

It’s disgusting. You’re a stranger. A civilian. Absolutely helpless. And Shinsou is a pro-hero with so much fucking power over you. He could make you do anything–could make you kneel, lick his boots, walk right into traffic, strip off every single piece of clothing.

“Stay still,” he tells you, and you do.

You know you’re in danger. Fear tickles the edge of your mind, but it dissipates before fully forming into anything useful. It’s like a whispered voice telling you to run, but even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t be able. You can’t do anything unless he tells you to.

You’ve seen him before, the hero patrolling the streets in the middle of the night. He wears all black except for the scarf haphazardly looped around his neck. Purple hair hangs down around his face in thick tresses, unkempt and rugged. If you were actually cognizant, you would think he was hot, but currently all you feel when you look at him is a strange, contradictory mixture of calm and unease.

You’re still, just as he told you to be, but not stiff. Your body moves according to his touch, shoulders shrugging when he pushes your coat off. You feel the cool air against your skin, should shiver but can’t as if something has shut off your higher-level thinking as well as your base instincts. All you can do is breathe and feel.

“Against the wall,” he says.

Your feet are heavy as you take the few steps toward the bricks, facing them with your back to him. He doesn’t tell you to turn around, so you can’t see him when he undoes his utility pants, just hear the rustle of fabric and the low groan that leaves his throat.

“M’sorry about this,” he huffs, “I really am. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

Your heart is pounding too fast in your chest, but you’re only vaguely aware of it, just like you’re only vaguely aware of what’s about to happen to you.

“Pull your pants down.”

You do, hands moving without your permission as you pop the button on your jeans and push them down to your thighs.

“Panties, too.”

It’s cold, and you’re very exposed, but your head feels so empty. Or maybe it’s too full. Stuffed with tangled string or rough wool while something that resembles actual human intellect tries to wiggle out of the depths.

You don’t know. You don’t know anything except there are fingers probing your entrance–clumsy and desperate, and the man behind you swears when he realizes you aren’t prepared in any sense of the word.

“Can’t just shove in dry,” Shinsou mumbles, taking a shaky breath before stealing yours when he orders, “cum.”

Your eyes don’t roll. You don’t moan or cry or buckle at the knees. But you do feel the heat form and explode in your gut all at the same time, feel your pussy spasm and clench and coat your insides with slick arousal just in time for the hero to stuff your hole with his cock.

“Oh, fuck, fuck.”

His forehead is clammy against your shoulder, fingers gripping your hips as he impales you over and over. It’s fast, and rough as your body stretches around his unfamiliar length. He’s huge and hot inside of you, fat mushroom head dragging against gummy walls.

Shinsou loses it as he buries himself inside of you, hips snapping back and forth with no real rhythm. He just wants to cum, needs to, and he’s already so close. You feel so fucking good around him, pussy fluttering helplessly as he shoves you harder and harder against the grimy building.

He doesn’t bother pulling out, just groans deep in his throat when he shoots his load inside of you. It feels good, relief flooding his system for about three seconds before his cock starts twitching with need again.

“God dammit. God dammit.”

He thrusts in harder, panting an apology when he fists a hand in your hair and shoves your face into the wall. It’s absentminded and disingenuous. Truly, Shinsou doesn’t care about anything now, only focused on getting rid of the pressure in his balls. He wanted to be nice and gentle, but he feels like he might be going crazy.

The scent of your arousal hits his nose, and Shinsou lowers his face to your shoulder, licks up your neck and leaves a trail of spit on your skin. His eyes are rolling in his head, sweat is dripping down his back, and something is leaking out of his cock– a steady stream of semen dribbling out of his tip to keep from fucking aspirating it.

“Cum,” he commands, not thinking when he says it again and again.

You convulse in his grip, cunt clamping down on him as you’re hit with multiple orgasms back to back. He should feel bad, but he can’t–not when you’re milking his cock, not when he’s filling your pussy with more of his spend, so much that it starts flowing down your thighs.

“Fuck, sorry–feel so good, though.”

Shinsou keeps moving, keeps fucking you even as you go limp against him. His teeth find purchase on your throat, and he whines like a dog as he drools all over you while rutting into your abused pussy. One hand grips your hip while his other arm is across your body, securing you against him as he squeezes one of your tits.

He still isn’t done. Even after he fucks a third… a fourth… a fifth load of cum into you, it isn’t over. Shinsou doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from this. Maybe this is who he is now–a villain, taking girls off the street and assaulting them in alleyways.

Because that’s exactly what he’s doing. You didn’t give him permission to do this. You didn’t willingly let him put his hands on you. No, there’s a word for what he’s doing right now, one he never thought would apply to him, but he’s too lost right now for it to sink in. He may have taken away your ability to think, but Shinsou is definitely the one who’s lost his mind.

“Cum again,” he growls,” and when you don’t he realizes you’re unconscious.

A rough hand grips your chin, jostles your head until you wake up. There is a split second of clarity, seeing the dark brick in front of you, feeling the cold air against you, the way your sore body is being stretched and handled.

“Wha–oh my go–”

“Ah, ah… shh…”

Just like that, he’s in control again, and you’re a little doll for him to play with as he pleases. You feel achy and full and messy. Viscous fluid leaks out of you, slithering down your legs and staining your pants.

You don’t know how long this will last, don’t know how many times he’ll empty himself inside of you, how many more times he’ll force you to cum. You just hope that once it’s all over, he’ll give you one last command:

Forget.

#shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha smut #shinsou smut #tw.noncon #tw dark content

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alastorss · 11 months ago

Note

Hi! I hope you're having a good day! I've been thinking, how would Alastor react to the reader casually saying stuff like "I like your laugh, it's nice," and "You voice is really soothing," out of the blue.

a/n: oh i loooooved writing this ^ ^ he would 100% be the type to try and hide that he actually likes the compliments but fail miserably. thank you and i hope you like this!

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You'd like to say you know everything about Alastor, but that's far from the truth.

You know his mother's jambalaya recipe, sure, and that he takes his coffee black. You've memorized the intro of his morning broadcast, and learned the feeling of his chin propped on your shoulder.

There are pieces of Alastor you know like the back of your hand, but somehow you've never even scratched the surface of deciphering him. He was just like that, you suppose—an enigma wrapped in another mystery that would take a lifetime to unravel.

The only thing he liked more than his secrets was keeping them, after all.

And he especially enjoyed toying with you—dangling little tidbits of trivia about him in front of your face and snatching it away when you inevitably took the bait. He'd laugh about it, too, saying you were so adorable for trying.

For some time you had hypothesized that his ears were a good way of gauging his real thoughts about matters, but he was irritatingly good at controlling those as well. Not even the slightest twitch to give away his inner monologue.

"You are so annoying, you know that?" You once told him while brushing your teeth, words coming out muffled from your toothbrush. Minty foam gathered at your mouth while you glared at him through the reflection in the mirror.

He only laughed, as he always did, and propped his chin on your shoulder.

"How rude!" He chastised you playfully.

You leaned down to rinse your mouth. "I'm just saying," you muttered after standing tall again, "I wish I knew what was going through that head of yours sometimes."

Unsurprisingly, Alastor's expression was unreadable.

He opted to bite your cheek and walk away from the conversation after that, not bothering to enlighten you even slightly.

You watched him from across the bathroom, eyeing the way his shadow danced around him with a mind of its own before it disappeared into the darkness.

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His downfall began with a comment you made after you ended up falling asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He had been reading the latest article about the Vees to you out loud, practically singing his amusement with how terrible this column had painted out Vox to be. With fame came criticism, of course, and Alastor would happily sit there and criticize Vox all day if he could.

Your head hit his shoulder quick and he sighed, ears perking at the familiar sound of your slowing breaths. (He didn't bother waking you. It's not like he had much else to do at the time.)

"Your voice is so soothing," you shrugged when you finally awoke. "The static is like... comforting white noise for me, or something."

'Or something?' he wanted to ask.

He didn't, because he didn't really care for an explanation further than that. (He definitely didn't avoid prying because he felt something warm in his chest knowing you thought that way about him.)

It kept happening after that, as much as he wishes it didn't.

Little comments you slid into conversation so casually—tiny compliments and teases that drove him up the wall. They were softening him up, flattering him in dangerous ways.

The demon felt his sanity wearing thin with each passing day, making tremendous efforts to hide the way your slips made him warm.

He's sure he is about to crack. At any moment, his ears will flick or his cheeks will cherub with genuine joy because you can't keep your words to yourself. But he's done well for himself thus far, pat on the back, for not gratifying you.

He mentally groans when you join him at the bar, eyeing his drink. "It's the middle of the day," you point out.

"And you've come to scold me?" He tuts.

"I've come to join you, actually."

Alastor chuckles, voice missing it's usual static filter. He reaches over to pour you a glass when you smile at him.

"You have a nice laugh."

He nearly shatters the glass in his hands.

You snicker quietly, leaning over the bar to creep under his face which is scrunched up in concentration.

"What's wrong? I like your laugh, you should do it more!"

Taking a deep breath, the Radio Demon reaches over to pinch your nose. You yelp and jerk away from him, glaring.

"Flattery will get you nowhere~" he sings.

Your head tilts to the side in confusion. There's a smugness to your gaze that makes him feel like a trapped animal, and he realizes that you've known all along what you've done to him.

"Oh, but I think it does," you laugh, nodding to his shadow burned into the floor.

Its smile is uncharacteristically soft, missing all semblance of its usual fangs and sharp edges. Howling in embarrassment, the shadow dives away, abandoning its owner to confront you alone.

All this time, his shadow had been the one betraying him. Through all the times he had forced his ears to stay rigid, with all the effort to maintain his mask of indifference, you'd seen where he had overlooked.

His jaw clenches so hard he can feel his teeth grinding into each other. "You are perceptive, my dear."

"No," you giggle. "You're just bad at hiding how you feel. I think it's cute."

Alastor glowers at you, but his ears flop back and forth atop his head at your praise anyway.

taglist (i totally forgot i'm sorry!!): @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 (send and ask to be added!)

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin x reader #alastor fanfic #alastor fanfiction #alastor fic #alastor headcanons #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfic #faye's thoughts — ☁

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primofate · 4 months ago

Text

Quick Kinich Brainrot.

Kinich sings the Ode of Resurrection a little louder and with a little more earnest when you're involved.

He doesn't notice it, but Mualani sure does. Kachina is none the wiser, she thinks Kinich treats everyone equally.

"Excited?" Mualani prods the said man on his side, grin as wide as ever, while waiting for the Ressurection to start.

"Huh?" Kinich asks.

Turns out he was none the wiser too. He thought he treated everyone equally.

"For Y/N to come back!" Mualani tries to hide the exasperation in her voice.

"...Isn't everyone?" Kinich simply says. Ajaw is surprisingly quiet.

Mualani has a retort at the tip of her tongue, but the ceremony starts. The eulogy is recited and the humming commences.

The ceremony is the same as it always is, and as the Pyro archon disappears into the Sacred Flame, people start to cheer and shout.

Kinich stays quiet. Eyes tacked on to the flame, shoulders tense, searching for the first sign of the Pyro Archon and you.

His mind doesn't quite register it when the Pyro Archon emerges from the flame carrying you in her arms.

The cheers continue, but when people start to notice that you're unconscious and asleep, the noise dwindles down.

Kinich masterfully swings himself over to meet the Pyro Archon, peering over at your face. "Is Y/N okay?"

"What's wrong with 'em? Psh. And here I thought they weren't one of the puny ones! Well at least it ain't a bag of bones!" Ajaw cackles, but constantly tries to circle around to catch a glimpse of your face.

"Trouble in the Night Kingdom," the archon replies. "They're fine, they just need a bit more rest to stabilize the Abyssal energy in them,"

Kinich steps back with a sigh.

The wave of panic that hit him settling down to ripples. Something similar had happened to Kachina before, in fact that time had been worse. Kinich hated to admit it, but he didn't feel half as scared back then than he did now.

What did that tell him?

He puts his hands forward "I'll take Y/N, archon. I'll take care of them," urgency and desperation mixed together in his voice.

The pyro archon had no doubt that he would, but shakes her head. "They'll have to stay here until the abyssal energy stabilizes, it could be dangerous to you as well,"

"But--" His response was automatic, and he had to stop himself from protesting.

Just take Y/N home. Don't let anyone else take them.

Repeated in his mind, over and over again. Home. You'll be safe there. He'll make sure of it. But he relents, and drops his arms to his sides. "...Okay,"

The pyro archon promises you'll be fine.

Kinich was a competent fighter. He was an ancient name bearer. He had fought so many battles and looked for many more.

But in this one simple and single moment, suddenly he wasn't so strong anymore.

His fear was bigger than his whole existence.

#genshin kinich #kinich #kinich x reader #genshin #genshin impact fluff #kinich angst #kinich fluff

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florencemtrash · 5 months ago

Text

Bedsides and Breakfasts

Summary: After Azriel comes home battered and bruised, he refuses to eat the meal you've made him... Why?

Warnings: Angst, character injury, fluff

Author's note: For context, Y/n is Helion's bastard daughter. In an earlier draft of my other (very long) fic, The Shadowsinger and The Inkbird, this was going to be a scene that takes place after Azriel gets hurt during the Battle on the Lake where Y/n figures out Azriel is her mate. I wanted to finish it up and get it out there because I don't want to say goodbye to that story just yet and I wanted to get back into writing so.... here ya go!

The Townhouse sang quietly as it worked. Its melodies lay in the shifting curtains that shook off dust into the wind. Its lyrics in the whistling teakettle. You liked these sounds as you moved about the kitchen, preparing your tea and a crust of bread slathered with butter and jam.

When the Townhouse was empty, you didn’t need to fear your power — there was no one around for you to touch and steal memories from. Mor had tried to drag you out to Rita’s that evening — “Rhys says you’ve learned to keep your Clairvoyance at bay! Come dancing with us!” — but you couldn’t muster the courage or the energy.

Besides, you were awaiting a certain Shadowsinger’s arrival.

“Won’t you come back and make me your home? You who’ve stolen my heart as simple as a whisper, calm as a storm,” You hummed to yourself. You swore the Townhouse sighed in contentment. “Do you like my silly little songs then?” You mused.

The lights shone a little brighter, crackling the air with a flicker of energy.

You were singing about Azriel — of course you were — and blushing all the while. He’d been the first to truly speak to you — the first to notice you — and the embrace you’d shared in Rhysand’s office had left you breathless for days. You could still feel the ghost of his breath against your neck as you’d buried your face in the hollow of his throat. The cracked leather beneath your fingers and the short hairs at the base of his skull you’d caressed as lovingly as any flower. It was the first time you’d ever been touched like that. Like you were something worth holding onto.

When he was gone, the Townhouse felt too empty. You felt too empty. Even now, the edges of your patience frayed like a worn shirt without him.

You spent the evening’s hours combing through every book you’d managed to lug over from the Library. It was quick, but taxing work as every touch against the weathered binding allowed you to absorb its knowledge without you ever having to lay an eye on the page.

When the candle flickered dangerously close to your books and the dull throbbing behind your eyes had gone on for too long, you blew out the light and could do no more than curl up on the sofa before falling fast asleep.

The whispers of shadows woke you. You couldn’t understand the words hidden within their overlapping voices, but their panic and relief were heavy in the air. You could almost taste their meaning on your tongue.

“Y/n,” Azriel moaned. He leaned heavily against the open door, forcing it open against the drag of the carpet. His sword clattered to the ground before his knees. “Y/n,” he called out again, more urgently this time. He prayed to the gods you were home. He’d flown through the night, tattered wings struggling to keep him aloft, to make sure he’d see you again… just in case.

Blood and iron burned your nose and your sleep-swollen eyelids split open. “Az—” Your knee slammed against the coffee table in your struggle to escape the blankets. “AZ!”

Azriel was always greedy for the sight of you, and that familiar tug in his chest tightened as you rounded the corner and sprinted towards him. You tripped where the hardwood ended and the carpet began, throwing his arm around your shoulder.

He smiled softly at you. Three months ago, you’d been too afraid to touch anyone. Now here you were half-supporting his weight as he staggered to his feet. He stole a few precious seconds to lean his head into the crook of your neck and breathe in your scent. For a moment, he believed it would be enough to heal him.

“How bad is it?”

“Three arrows in the right wing, two in the left. Fae bane.”

“Anywhere else?” You both stumbled down the hallway back from where you’d come.

“I may have been stabbed a few times.” He offered the piece of information casually, like he was complaining about the price of eggs.

“What’s a few?” Your eyes were wide as the moon. Searching, searching, searching for wounds.

“Ten?”

Your growl tore through the quiet of the night.

Your hands were slippery with blood, and Azriel almost slid out of your fingertips as you deposited him against the table. You flung your arms out over the hardwood tabletop sending bottles of ink, pens, and sheafs of papers clattering to the floor before rolling Azriel onto the top and forcing him to lay down.

Under the chandelier, Azriel looked ghastly. The warmth was drained from his skin and the hollows of his eyes and the fullness of his lips were tinged purple from cold. His eyes drifted apart from one another.

“I need you to stay awake.”

“I will.” His words were slippery as soap on porcelain, syllables sliding into one another as he promised you he would be alright and that he had suffered worse before.

“Stay awake!” You commanded him and his eyes sharpened ever so slightly on your figure as you tore through the cabinets in the corner.

Where is it? Where is it? Glass bottles clinked and tottered on rounded bottoms. There!

You snatched one of the pale green bottles lining the back wall and bit off the cork top with a grimace, spitting it out onto the floor. You could taste the medicine inside coat your teeth with an acrid film.

“Hey, hey, hey.” You slapped Azriel’s cheeks to keep him awake. “Drink this.”

Azriel’s lips parted immediately and he accepted every bitter drop you forced down his throat. It wasn’t a cure, but it would help stabilize him long enough for help to arrive. In the time it took for you to call out to Rhys and light the candle that would wake Madja and call her to the Townhouse, Azriel’s cheeks had flushed with some more color.

The sight did little to ease your worries as you worked on unbuckling the straps of his armor. Piece by piece they fell away with a wet thud on the ground.

He grabbed your wrist before you could run in search of something to cut off the clothes clinging to him like a second skin. Elain had left gardening shears on the back porch. Perhaps the kitchen had scissors?

“Stay.” He begged. “Please stay.”

“Rhys and Madja will be here soon. I just need to get something to help you.”

“Then stay.” His grip turned desperate, short nails digging into your forearm. “Stay and help me. Don’t leave me.”

Azriel might have smiled if he wasn’t in so much pain. His hand slid up the curve of your arm to hold your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“I wanted to see you just in case.” His chest rattled with the effort, “Gods, I missed you.”

He’d been gone weeks on the Continent, scrounging after every whisper of Koschei’s name as far as the eastern mountains. He’d scavenged and raged. Killed and tortured. And he’d missed you all the while. It was what had possessed him to fly all the way to Velaris, when he would have been better off breaking into the Day Court and throwing himself at the mercy of Helion — your father.

You felt the tears prick at your eyes, angry and hot. “If you say another fucking word like you’re about to die, I will kill you myself.” You were not prone to violence, and Azriel felt some pride that he could elicit such an emotion from you.

Luckily for you both, Azriel didn’t get a chance to say anything else, and you didn’t get a chance to murder him before Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, and Madja were bursting through the front door and following the blood-red trail to the dining room.

Azriel squeezed your hand once more. “Stay with me.”

“Where else would I go, Az?” You whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of his hand before the others crowded close.

You stayed at the head of the table, one hand always holding onto Azriel’s. He swallowed his pain, the faintest groans slipping from his lips as arrows were pulled out inch by bloody inch. It was no easy thing to endure, not even for Azriel. Wicked barbs lined the arrow shaft and caught onto the delicate membrane of his wings no matter how Madja twisted, pushed, and pulled.

One particularly harsh wrench had Azriel crying out, his nails digging into your arm and drawing blood.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, feeling your skin break beneath his nails. His skin was tinged green now. A sickly sheen covered his face and fell over his eyes.

“It’s ok. It’s ok. Just look at me.” You grasped the sides of his face. “Look at me.”

Once again, Azriel was ready to listen to your commands. His eyes never left yours, not once, until the last of the faebane-tipped arrows dropped onto the table with a menacing ring of metal on wood.

Feyre closed his wounds as best she could, but the flesh inside would take longer to heal. For now all they could do was carefully wipe the blood from his body and carry him up to his bedroom.

You lingered by Azriel’s side long after he fell asleep, fingers twitching with nerves as you counted every slow and steady breath of his.

“Y/n.” Feyre gently touched your arm. “He’ll be alright.”

You nodded, still watching Azriel sleep. Then, to your mortification, you burst into tears. Your clothes were drying stiff with sweat and blood — none of it yours — and the red handprints Azriel had left along your arms were turning to copper rust.

She shushed you, softly tugging at your arms.

“He-He asked me to stay,” you said between gulps of air.

“He’d want you to be clean and well-rested, Y/n. Don’t let him wake up feeling guilty.”

If it weren’t for Feyre, you would have remained glued to the floor of Azriel’s room until you became one of the faces trapped in the wooden floors. You let her lead you across the hall to your own room where she filled the tub with warm water and soap.

“Shit,” you mumbled. Your fingers shook so much you couldn’t undo the buttons of your dress. Shadows, loose and long as stalks of grass, wound around your back, plucking the buttons undone without a word.

“He’ll be alright.” Feyre repeated this phrase many times as you scrubbed off the night’s events and turned the water copper brown. The magic of the Townhouse whisked away the grime almost as quickly as it appeared until you sat in a sudsy bath, milky and clean.

“What happened to him, Fey?”

“From what Rhys and I can tell, Koschei had over a dozen archers lying in wait for when he returned to Prythian. We’ve already warned Helion.”

You nodded. Your head felt heavy on your neck, like a doll with a snapped neck.

“He nearly died.” Once the words were out in the open, fragile and pure, you broke down again, knees drawn up to your chest in the tub.

“But he didn’t.” Feyre smoothed back your dripping hair. “It will take more than arrows and faebane for Death to steal him from us, Y/n.”

Gods you hoped that was true, or else your heart might give out every time Azriel walked out the door.

You returned to his side the moment you were clothed, hair still dripping onto his gray bed sheets as you leaned forward from your chair and held his hand. He slept on his stomach, wings flared out and peppered with white gauze like a patchwork quilt. Beneath the drape of his blankets you knew more gauze covered his chest and stomach, dotted with blood like blooming roses.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you awoke to a deep ache in your back and a faint choir of voices in the air.

Shadows.

They kissed your cheeks, cool and soft, urging your eyelids open. Azriel was already awake and sitting up in bed with a grimace. One hand clutched his side and a leg hung over the edge of the bed, like he intended to stand. When he saw you, his hazel eyes widened. First in alarm. Then in guilt.

“Az?” Your voice felt crusted with smoke and sleep and you did what you could to straighten the crook in your neck and your spine from the odd position you’d fallen asleep in. ““You’re not supposed to be sitting up.” Your bones cracked obnoxiously as you moved for the first time in hours, and the guilt in his gaze deepened.

You pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the gauze scratch your skin, but he did not budge.

“Az, you need to lay down. What were you even doing up?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered off to the side. “I was… I was trying to move you to the bed.”

You swallowed your yawn and blinked in disbelief. “Azriel, you’ve just been shot and stabbed. You need to lay back down.”

He grabbed your wrists, tugging you forward until you almost collapsed against his chest. “There’s space on the bed. I want you to be comfortable.”

“The chair is fine, and you are hurt. Now, please—” He did not move. No matter how you reasoned with him. No matter how you tried to shove him back beneath the covers.

“I will lay back down under one condition.”

You frowned. He was much more stubborn when he was injured. “What condition?”

“Sleep on the bed. There’s plenty of room.”

“Az—”

“Please.” His hands slipped into yours, fingers pressing against the pulse of your wrists. “Y/n, I will be comforted with you beside me.” He held up his finger before you could sleep. “And not in that gods-awful chair. You’ll wake up crooked.”

“I’m not a stalk in a storm,” you grumbled, because it only seemed appropriate that you should fight him on this. Otherwise, you’d have to admit that the thought of melting into his bed set off fireworks in your stomach, exciting and terrifying at the same time. You’d also have to admit the scent of mountain air embedded in every inch of his room brought you comfort. You could lay your head on his pillows and sleep for an eternity.

I shouldn’t be here. But you let him tug you closer to him. You slid your legs over his waist, calves catching on the waistband of his pants and dragging in a way that had your heart leaping into your stomach until you were safely on the other side of him.

Azriel’s bed was massive — over 12 feet across to better accommodate the span of his wings. You moved as far away from him as you could without eliciting offense and stared at the window.

Your muscles clenched as he shifted closer to you, wings rustling against the silk sheets and whispering as he got comfortable. Every time he so much as shifted, your back prickled, as though you had eyes there that shifted to soak up every inch of him.

He’s hurt and I’m taking up space and—

He reached out his arm and his fingertips brushed against the curve of your back. You stiffened like you’d been struck by lightning. If Azriel were awake, he would have apologized and wrenched back his hand as if burned. But he was fast asleep and the touch was a natural movement he made in his dreams where he was imagining that you were closer to him. So close that he could breathe down your neck and feel you melt beneath his touch.

You didn’t sleep, as much as the lull of his breathing threatened to sink you into sweet and comforting dreams. The sky was but a lighter shade of black when you were slipping out of bed with barely a whisper. Miraculously, Azriel did not awaken, and his shadows ghosted over the floors drowsily.

You were no stranger to dawn as you padded down to the kitchens. You hummed to yourself, cracking eggs over a well-greased skillet with onions, tomatoes, and peppers tossed in. They bobbed up and down in a sea of yellow like ducks on water. Potatoes browned to your right, their skins crackling and spitting grease as bacon popped and sizzled beside them.

You ate as you went, plating the final meal for Azriel, who—if you knew anything about him—would be waking shortly after the first rays of sunlight split his shadows in two.

You slipped back into his room as quietly as you’d left, and then nearly leapt out of your skin to find a dark mass of shadow covering the bed.

“You’re awake,” you said blankly.

Azriel propped himself up onto his elbows, back rippling as he forced his stiff and swollen wounds to stretch until he could sit up in bed.

“Where did you go?” There was but a faint slur to his words. “You weren’t here when I woke up.”

“I was making breakfast.” You dragged over the ottoman from the foot of his bed as a makeshift table. “Did you brush your teeth already?” Not that it mattered. A sour mouth wouldn’t keep him from a meal if he was hungry.

The flash of fear in his eyes was so subtle, so brief, that you missed it.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well that doesn’t really matter. Madja said you should eat first thing. Oh!” You plucked a purple glass bottle from his bedside table. “And she said to drink this with a meal.” You pushed it into his hands, reluctant as they were to take the stoppered bottle from you.

“I can’t imagine eating right now.” He said, shaking his head. His cheeks puffed out and he swallowed hard. “The smell… it’s… I can’t stomach it.”

You frowned at that. He liked your cooking. It was only due to circumstance that you hadn’t been able to cook for him in months.

“Can you please try?” you begged. “Just a bite.”

His skin turned pallid and the dark marks beneath his eyes stood out. He picked up a fork with a trembling hand, stuck it into a potato, then dropped it as if it burned. Suddenly, he regretted asking you to stay the night. Guilt ate away at his stomach, twisting it like spaghetti on a fork.

You sighed in dejection. “I’ll bring it back downstairs.” You said. You began collecting the silverware from where you’d left them by his side.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, catching your wrist in his hand.

You smiled softly. “Try and get some rest.”

“Will you be back?” His words caught you by the door.

“You won’t even realize I was gone.”

He doubted that very much. Still, he settled back in bed, rolling onto his stomach to keep its rumbling at bay. He was quite hungry.

You closed the door behind you, carrying the untouched plate of eggs and potatoes. Cassian stopped his whistling as he made his way down the hall, a teasing smile playing at his lips until he caught sight of your dejected expression.

“What’s got our resident Librarian frowning? Did someone misplace a book in the House?”

You didn’t rise to Cassian’s jests. You cast a sullen glance back at Azriel’s door like it was personally responsible for everything, and shrugged. “He hasn’t eaten since he’s been back and I’m starting to get worried. I read up on Illyrian anatomy weeks ago and he should be fine enough to eat by now.”

Cassian leaned down, taking a careful sniff of the plate before grabbing hold of a butter and rosemary roasted potato and plucking it in his mouth. It was cold and the butter had hardened into a greasy slick, but it was still good. He told you as much as he walked with you back to the kitchens, stealing slivers of potato as he went.

“It’s nice to know my cooking’s not at fault.”

Cassian jerked back in surprise and sudden understanding. “You made him that?”

“Yes. I know the House has its own will, but I like to cook. And it still feels strange having food just appear out of nowhere.”

Cassian fought with all his might to keep the cheeky grin from his face.

Poor Azriel, forced to go hungry because he was still too much of a sheepish fool to tell you about the mating bond let alone accept it.

He clicked his tongue. He loved his brother to the grave and back, but Azriel had a horrible habit of getting trapped in his own mind. Cassian had hoped you would help with that, given you suffered similarly.

“I wouldn’t take it too personally. Azriel’s a picky eater. Always has been.”

That was a complete and utter lie. Growing up in the Illyrian war camps meant you either starved or ate whatever gray-brown mush you could get your hands on. Rhysand and Azriel had been quicker to move on from the rugged Illyrian lifestyle, and Rhysand especially had used his High Lord privileges to cultivate a refined and expensive taste, but if they were hungry and limited they didn’t give two shits what went in their mouths.

“I didn’t realize you could afford to be picky in a war camp,” You grumbled. You dropped the plate’s contents onto a skillet, patiently waiting for the House to light a toasty fire. There was no need to let good food go to waste.

You thought over it, some minor irritation settling in that the Shadowinger had rejected the food you’d worked to make. It really didn’t make sense that Azriel would be so particular about food. Or anything for that matter. He’d always struck you as the practical, bare-bones sort, and you knew him well enough now to know that was true. His very job required it of him. But then again you couldn’t remember the last time he’d accepted any food that you’d offer-

You froze. Oh. Oh.

The first night he’d visited your apartment in the Day Court, he’d refused your tea and cakes before leaving abruptly. You’d agonized over that night for months, trying to figure out what you might have done to scare him off. But he’d been so kind and shy afterwards and then the whole matter of Koschei had arose and you’d never given it much thought because he just seemed so familiar and... Oh. OH-

“BASTARD!” You spat out in shock. The skillet dropped to the stove with a sharp cry that had Cassian blinking. He’d never seen you like this. So…agitated.

Had you always been this dull? A year ago you might have been able to blame it on your naïveté, but you weren’t so socially misinformed now and yet this was a bit much. And… oh you couldn’t wrap your head around your own stupidity to even begin to think about a mating bond with…

A mating bond with Azriel. You… you were his mate. He was yours. And you were his. And suddenly the pieces of it were falling into place so quickly you thought you might be crushed beneath the weight.

Mate.

Even the thought of the word crashed around your mind incessantly, like an anxious dog trying to settle down to sleep. Yet it all made such perfect sense. The way Azriel always found you when you were in danger or grieving. The awful days when Azriel had been away and you’d felt like a piece of your body had been severed. The way that the world felt right when he was beside you. Maybe it was the bond, maybe it was just something born out of love, or maybe they were one and the same. It was impossible to tell but it didn’t change anything.

Mate.

Cassian glanced sideways at you and said cautiously, “We’re both bastards, Y/n. I don’t think that’s much of an insult coming from your mouth.”

Your eyes snapped to his, suddenly remembering that he was in the kitchen with you. You brandished a fork in your hand like a weapon, pointing the pronged end up at him like he was a piece of meat to be skewered. You were shorter than him, but the sharpness in your eyes made him pause.

“You.” Such a simple word, yet it sounded so threatening. “You knew didn’t you?”

Was he sweating? The room felt warm.

“I don’t know what-“ You snatched his wrist and with your magic, you stole the information from him that you needed. It was as easy as plucking a flower from a field.

Fuck. Cassian groaned at the same time you did. You knew now. Not that you really needed confirmation from Cassian. Still. It was rather embarrassing to learn you were the last of… well everyone to know, even if it was your fault for not noticing the signs. In your defense you had been preoccupied with other matters…

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” You muttered, heating up the remaining food with a great deal of force before setting down a fresh tray, plate, utensils, and mug of tea on the countertop.

You keep muttering to yourself, your joy disguised by your embarrassment and no small amount of shock. Cassian watched nervously as you prepped the plate.

You’d no sooner growled, “Move,” before Cassian leapt to the side and you set off out the door and down the hallway back to Azriel’s room.

She knows. One shadow whispered in his ear. Azriel felt his heart skyrocket and his stomach plunge to the cradle of his hip bones.

She seems… upset.

Upset was a mild word. You were alight with every emotion possible — fury, fear, anxiety, excitement, love — and Azriel struggled to tease them apart. It was like he’d been hit in the chest by a tangle of snakes, each a writhing, living, ever-changing thing. One moment you seemed nervous, the next angry.

“You.” Your knuckles were pale as they gripped the tray. Sunlight molded to your form like a crown, and it became all the more apparent that you were Helion’s daughter — his bastard daughter, but daughter nevertheless.

He scrambled into a seated position just in time for you to drop the tray in his lap with a clatter that sent fork and knife skittering over the dish.

You looked down at the tray, then up at his eyes, wide and molten as amber. “You didn’t tell me.” You didn’t need to elaborate any further.

“I didn’t think—”

“You’re right. You didn’t.” You blinked, suddenly shy. “Did I not make it clear enough that I liked you? That I loved—love you? Or perhaps you don’t… perhaps you don’t want me.” That was a possibility you hadn’t thought of in your excitement to see him again.

Oh gods, you hadn’t thought of that possibility had you? You’d just aggressively thrown food at him, expecting that he would—

Azriel gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him again. Your cheeks were warm and painted with color.

“I always worried I was reading into actions that meant nothing to you. But, never think for a moment that I don’t want you.” He smiled then, a shy, secret smile reserved for you. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Now your cheeks were burning, but Azriel did not mind feeling this kind of heat on his hands. He let go of your chin, twirling a fork with his fingers like it was a knife. It was one of his few nervous ticks whose knowledge was reserved for the people he trusted. For the people he loved.

“Being with me will put you in more danger than you know.”

“But I expect it will bring me more happiness than I could have ever imagined.” You raised a hand up to his face, twisting away a stubborn curl of hair that fell over his forehead. “And you forget who my father is,” you reminded him. “Maybe it is I who will put you in danger.”

“Maybe,” Azriel whispered. His breath fanned over your cheeks, soft and sweet.

You picked up the fork, lifting it up in between you.

“Eat.” You commanded him.

Azriel smiled, plucking it from your fingers and stabbing a potato. He sighed. “I never could deny you anything, and I would never want to,” he said, before chewing carefully. Cautiously.

You blinked in surprise, instinctively taking a step away when you felt something new and warm begin to burn in your chest, like someone had taken a drop of the molten hazel in Azriel’s eyes and dropped it into your heart.

“Oh.” You breathed.

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “An unusual feeling, I know.” He placed the tray beside him and he’d no sooner opened his arms before you’d buried your face in the crook of his neck. You wanted more of that warmth in your chest. You wanted to slip into Azriel's skin as close as possible to his beating heart. To feel the mating bond wrap around you both like a curtain to block out the rest of the world.

Azriel groaned in pain, but would not let you leave his embrace. No pain had ever been worth so much.

You forced him to finish eating, even though all he wanted was the taste of you on his lips. “Later,” you promised him. When he was healed and whole there would be more breathless kisses and urgent touches, but for now he had to content himself with eating his meal and drinking his draught. But he would not be denied the press of your skin against his as you slipped beneath the covers and curled up beside him. This time, you fell asleep quickly and your dreams came over you like water.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader angst #the shadowsinger and the inkbird

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pretty-little-mind33 · 6 months ago

Text

James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm) + hurt and comfort

Warnings: sex while under an 'aphrodisiac' of some kind, unprotected sex, penetration, cock warming, quickie, public (not seen by anyone), riding, insecurities, porn with plot ✨

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Someone is gonna see us," you whisper, feeling James Potter's hand in yours, his thumb occasionally soothing circles over your palm as you stumble in the dark corridors under his invisibility cloak.

"That's the point of the cloak, love," James answers, holding in a laugh as he guides you towards the entrance to the library and he mutters the spell for the lock as you hold your breath.

"Hear us then," you counter, unconsciously squeezing his hand for reassurance.

James doesn't hesitate to return the squeeze and he smiles when the lock opens with a click. He opens the door and you both squeeze inside.

Once the door shuts behind you, James drops the cloak and you let out a shaky exhale, adjusting your hair. The room is dark and it smells like dust. You hold in a cough as James mutters, "Lumos," and then grins like he'd gone mad.

"Told ya we'd be fine," he sing-songs and kicks your shoe in a playful manner as he walks by you to look at all the restricted books.

You groan and take out your wand, walking along the shelves as you pick up dust with your index. "Are you looking for something in particular?" you ask, your voice low as you read the names of books, realizing just how dangerous this could become.

James nods. "Yeah, I bet Sirius I could find "Moste Potente Potions" so we could make some Polyjuice potion," he says casually.

"And you needed me, why?!" you turn to glare at your best friend.

James looks at you with a smile. "Didn't really. I'just like your company."

You bite the inside of your cheek and go back to looking at the books. "Polyjuice is dangerous, James. Are you sure you want to meddle with that?"

James nods again and he hums, "I'm top of the class in Potions, I'm sure I can handle some Polyjuice." He sounds smug and you roll your eyes at his behavior.

James is reckless and impulsive and honestly, you're worried about him making that potion with his friends. You don't dare bring it up, because who are you to tell James what to do? You aren't his girlfriend or anything—

"Woah," James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he walks over to you. You turn, standing in front of him as he flips the pages of some old dusty book. "These spells are ancient—and completely forbidden—" he mutters, his eyes round with excitement.

You tilt your head and read the title; "Antiqua Cantus." Ancient Spells.

"Bloody Hell, there's a pleasure-enhancing spell–like a sexual thing—" James exclaims and holds the book open to you so you can see. You walk over and stand next to him, looking over his shoulder at the spell. James begins to recite the spell and you read along, entranced by the words on the worn-out parchment.

By moonlight's glow and stars above,

Ignite the flames of lustful love.

Let passion's heat our bodies bind,

In ecstasy, our souls combined.

Whisper soft this sacred plea,

Unleash our wildest fantasy.

Once he's finished, you glance around the page and frown. "Shit." You grab the book from James and then look up at him with wide eyes, "James, this is a wandless spell!" you whisper and his eyes widen like yours did as he realizes what happened.

He grabs the book from you and reads the instructions. His shoulders relax and he points to the small print— "It says the participants must have already existing feelings for this to work," he mumbles and looks up at you, smiling reassuringly and unsure all the same. "So—"

"Yeah—" you whisper, stepping away from him.

"I feel fine," James starts.

"I do too," you say, feeling completely normal.

James shuts the book with a slam and his smile returns. "Thing is probably too old to work, anyways," he says confidently. You nod, less confident than he is but you push those worries down.

He doesn't like you like that—so why would it work?

Once James finally finds the book he's looking for, you both cram under the cloak and you make your way back to the dorm. You ignore the feeling, but your head feels fuzzier than it should. Every brush on James's arm against yours sends shivers up your spine. You're extra aware of how he smells and it's intoxicating. You bite your lip, hoping the pain will distract you from the pleasure building.

The spell.

James looks normal. He's even humming the Hogwarts song under his breath, his eyes trained forward as you make it to the Common Room. It feels so unfair—that he's fine and your stomach twists with butterflies as your nipples harden painfully against your bra.

It isn't fair.

As soon as you have the chance, you pull away from James and sit on the couch, pressing your thighs together. You glance up at the stairs to the girl's dorms, wondering if you should run up and take a cold shower to quench the ache.

"Hey, you okay?" James asks, folding up the cloak as he looks you over.

Bloody fuck, his voice.

"Mhmm," you nod, focusing your attention on anything but how turned on you are or how hot James sounds and looks. How much you want his lips on yours.

You clench your thighs again, nervously pressing your hands in between them and your breath hitches when James sits next to you, his hand flat on your thigh. You inhale.

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at you behind his glasses with a look that makes you want to pounce on him. This is so humiliating. You move your thigh so his hand slips onto the couch and James's frown deepens. "Hey," he whispers again, "What's happened?"

You feel like your entire body is on fire. You need to touch yourself or throw yourself out a window—you can't make up your mind.

"The stupid spell—" you say, your voice soft as you avoid his gaze and stare at your knees, feeling your hands shake. "it's working and I- I can't handle it, James,"

He doesn't answer for a moment until you hear a familiar laugh. "Oh, darling," he says, his hand finding your chin as he turns your head around, grinning. "Look at me."

You do so but he shakes his head, his eyes shimmering. "No. Look at me," he whispers, his voice husky and deep and your eyes widen when you understand what he means. Your gaze falls from his eyes to the painful-looking bulge tenting his trousers and you inhale sharply, the sight causing your mind to haze over. How had you missed this!?

"Look at what it's done to me, love," James finishes as his thumb strokes your cheek. "We really messed up this time, didn't we?" he hums.

"You messed up," you whisper, leaning into his touch. Thank Merlin no one is in the Common Room at this hour because your desperation is embarrassing.

"I messed up," James says with a strained smirk and he twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "Can I make it up to you, darling? Can I make the ache go away?"

James knows this is wrong. You're both under some kind of sexually enhancing spell—this is so many shades of messed up. Still, his heart and dick yearn for you. Somehow, he's managed to hide it well, most likely because he'd had experience in that department—James was constantly turned on to some level when he was around you. He can't help himself.

"H-how?" you ask, the idea of giving in to the desires not even crossing your mind.

James smirks, looking at you as his glasses fall down his nose. He pats his thigh. You look down, your eyes widening. You shouldn't. This is wrong. Still, your body responds to him without your brain's permission as you lift yourself to straddle his lap. Your skirt bunches up your thighs as your arms wrap around James's shoulder. You gasp for air at how sensitive you are and you can't look him in the eye.

You can feel him hard and needy against you and you swallow.

"Look at me," James whispers once more, his voice husky and deep as his hands grip your hips and he moves you up and down his trousers. You whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your skin clammy and flushed from need.

Suddenly the movements stop and your grip tightens around his shoulders.

"Look at me," he says again, lips pressed to your ear as he sounds as desperate as you are. "O-or I'll stop," he threatens, not sounding convincing considering the spell is starting to hit him hard and he's about ready to come in his trousers.

You pull away, looking at him as your mind buzzes and you search his eyes for some hint that you both need to stop this. You see none so you say, your voice strained, "James. Fucking need you, please."

You lift your hips, finding his zipper and fumbling with his trousers as you push aside your panties. It's rushed and sweaty and not at all romantic like you'd planned—not to mention public. You pray everyone else is asleep and won't walk in on you sitting on your best friend's cock.

With a moan, you press down and he slides in easily. "Shit, you're so wet," James mumbles as he kisses your neck, holding you close as his cock twitches inside you. You both don't even think of the fact he's not wearing a condom or anything. You're too lost in the pleasure for any rational thoughts.

"Fuck," you groan, keeping him inside you without movement for a while. You hold him as close as possible, needing him. Needing his warmth.

James groans, his eyes shut in pleasure as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly. He's going to explode at any moment if he doesn't feel you move. "Y/n," he warns, his hands tightening even more on your poor hips.

You take that as an invitation and you move, your movements slow and languid in the beginning, feeling every pull and stretch and you can't tell if James's cock just feels so much better than any others you've been with, or if the spell is messing with you.

Perhaps it's a little of both.

"Bloody hell," James grunts, losing control, as he moves you with him, his hips snapping up into you. You gasp, falling onto his shoulder as you hold him even closer, the pleasure almost unbearable.

You don't know if it's been hours or mere minutes but once James spills himself into you, his hands around your back as he continues to move your body to his liking, you can't hold it in and your mouth opens, a silent moan catching you by surprise as you finish around him. You feel weak and fuzzy almost instantly as if the string master that kept you aware suddenly cut you loose.

James's hand soothingly runs in your hair as he pants, his eyes shut. The only sound you can hear is your and James' ragged breaths and all you can smell is the burnt-out firewood and sex. You feel much calmer now as your brain tries to catch up with the events that just transpired, and when it does your blood runs cold.

You sit up, looking down at your best friend. He's looking at you, not daring to speak. You'd just fucked him with such want and need and yet all you can think about when you look at him is how you did all that without knowing the feeling of his lips on yours.

Shame burns your skin and you scramble off him, the feeling of his cock leaving from inside you makes you wince as you hold in all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you.

"Hey," James whispers, his hand reaching for yours as he stops you from running away, standing up in the process so he's looking at you. He drops your hand and, clearly embarrassed, tucks himself back inside his trousers. You stare at him, feeling dirty from an experience you'd wished had been amazing.

And it was more than amazing if you were honest with yourself. You'd never been more satisfied in your life, but it also wasn't what you'd really wanted. Was it too cliché to want roses and candles? A steamy kiss and some swoon-worthy romantic confession?

Instead, you'd gotten love bites and finger dents.

"What's going on in your head?" James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he moves closer.

"Hmm?"

"Darling, come on, please talk to me," he insists, wanting to know exactly what you're feeling so he can understand his own feelings.

You cover your face with your hands, head dipping down as your body finally calms down from the surplus of hormones you've experienced.

"We shouldn't have done that, James—I–it was wrong," your voice fades as his hands find your wrists and he pulls them down. He looks hurt, sad, and guilty all in one emotion painted on his handsome face.

"Do you regret it?" he asks, his voice wavering.

You open your mouth to say yes but hold yourself back. It's more complicated than that. "I don't know– I just didn't think it would happen like this and—we didn't even kiss," you ramble, avoiding looking at him. You should have been looking because then you could have seen his next move coming.

James gently takes your cheeks in his hands, pulling you into him so he can kiss your lips. For something surprising, it isn't forceful at all. He doesn't kiss you longer than a few seconds and he doesn't use his tongue. He's delicate with you, making sure he isn't crossing any boundaries.

When he moves away, your eyes are open and you're silent for a moment. Then, you grab his collar and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his. You kiss him like he's your last meal on earth--like you've been starved of him. He feels so good pressed against you, his hands in your hair and then your cheeks again, and then your waist. You feel dizzy and you pull away. Your lips feel swollen and love-bitten and you're a flustered mess.

James continues to hold you close as he presses his forehead to yours, his thumb rubbing your waist. "You're amazing," he speaks so softly as a faint smile graces his lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't tell you enough, do I?" James smiles and tilts his head. He leans in and kisses your neck. "You're amazing—so wonderful," he inhales your scent but doesn't comment on it and a shiver runs up your spine.

"I– we–" You want to bring up the fact you had sex with him but James puts his finger on your lips, his thumb rubbing under your chin and he shakes his head.

"Stop worrying so much, lovely. It's okay. I promise it's okay. I didn't hurt you did I?"

You shake your head and James's smile turns into a grin.

"Good. So we're okay, hm?" he looks at you expectantly. "You're still my best friend."

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. Best friends. "Y-yeah, you're still my best friend, Jamie," you say, your voice strained as you smile reluctantly.

You want to be so much more than best friends.

James can sense your hesitation and he takes a breath. "W-would you want to try to be more than just friends, Y/n?" he pauses, and then his voice picks up, "and I'm not saying that because we just fucked. No. I'm saying this because I'm hopelessly in love with you and I think you love me too. You kissed me like you love me. I want to try to make this work."

You feel like the world is crashing around you. Your skin feels clammy and your head is dizzy. Still, an unfamiliar warmth spreads all around you. You feel blissful and you reach for James's hand, needing to hold him. He lets you hold his hand and he intertwines his fingers into yours. He looks nervous like he's expecting a rejection.

"I do love you, James. So much. I want to try this too," you whisper, looking at him with a shy smile.

James's grin widens and he picks you up, spinning you around as he keeps you close when your feet touch the ground again. "I'll do right by you, my love," he whispers in your ear and you hold your hands behind his neck.

"So no more late-night trips to the restricted sections and trying old, dangerous, spells?" you tease.

James nips at your ear. "I kinda liked this one."

You laugh and swat his pec, your hand trailing down his chest as you fist his shirt and look up at him with a mockingly stern look. "Don't be a smartass, you wanker."

James returns your laugh and kisses behind your ear. "No more trips to the restricted section and trying old dangerous spells. Pink swear."

You pull away and hold out your pinky, which he takes and you grin.

"We can still have sex though, hm. We don't need a spell to do that, right?" he teases but the question almost sounds serious.

You roll your eyes. "James."

"I'm just making sure!"

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citysuk · 5 months ago

Text

a baby?! | logan howlett

pairing: xmen!logan howlett x pregnant!reader

summary: some headcanons of logan with a pregnant partner.

notes: logan is so husband (not actually married) material 😭😭😭 i needed to write this for my man.

warnings: pregnancy kajsksa (it scares me to death), so much fluffy fluff. no proofread. no use of y/n but no oc neither.

Logan's protective nature would go into overdrive when you are pregnant. He'd be extra vigilant, watching your every move and refusing to let you out of his sight. "You ain't goin' nowhere, darlin'," he'd growl.

Logan would be constantly fussing over you, making sure you're eating right and taking care of yourself. He'd become a regular at the grocery store, stocking up on the necessary supplies for your pregnancy. "Can't have my baby going hungry," he'd say, tossing another loaf of bread into the cart.

Logan would be a pro at soothing you through the uncomfortable parts of pregnancy. He'd rub your back when you had cramps, hold your hair when you were sick, and provide as much comfort as he could. "It's gonna be okay," he'd murmur. "Just a few more months."

Logan would be eager to feel the baby kick and move inside your belly. He would place his hand on your stomach, feeling every little movement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Hey there, little one," he'd whisper.

Logan would take you for late night walks in the gardens, his arm protectively around your waist, your steps slow and measured. He'd breathe in the night air, a rare peacefulness settling over him. "Can't wait to meet our kid," he'd say quietly, squeezing your hand.

Logan might be a bit nervous about being a father, but he would never let it show. He'd put on a brave front, masking his fears with his usual gruff exterior, but would secretly be reading every parenting book he can find.

As the due date got closer, Logan would become increasingly anxious. He'd be extra cautious, carrying you up and down the stairs and insisting that you rest as much as possible. "Can't have anything happen to you or the baby," he'd say, his eyes filled with worry.

Despite his tough exterior, Logan would be secretly excited about decorating the nursery. He'd take you to every baby shop in town, helping you pick out the perfect crib and the perfect color for the walls (he's the one putting everything together).

When the baby is finally born, Logan would be there, holding your hand, coaching you through the delivery. He'd whisper words of encouragement, trying to hide the tears that threatened to fall. "You're doing great, darlin'."

As soon as he lays eyes on his child, Logan's heart would instantly fill with love. He'd be torn between staring at the baby and checking on you, a range of emotions playing on his face.

Logan would be the ultimate doting father. He'd change diapers, give baths, and rock the baby to sleep. He'd sing lullabies and tell bedtime stories, his voice gruff but his words soft.

Logan would have a love/hate relationship with the baby's first word. When they said "Dada" for the first time, he'd puff up with pride, but then be secretly disappointed that it wasn't "Mama."

He would have a collection of silly nicknames for the baby, ranging from "Cub" to "Little One". He'd sometimes slip into Wolven mode and playfully growl at the baby, making them giggle.

Logan would be incredibly overprotective of the baby. Anytime someone tried to hold them, he'd hesitate and watch hawkishly. He wouldn't let anyone but his partner and the X-Men near the child, always on high alert for any potential threat. "Ain't nobody touchin' my kid, bub," he'd growl, eyes narrowed.

Logan would be the one to handle the late-night feedings and soothe the baby back to sleep. "Can't let your mama get too exhausted," he'd mutter as he rocked the baby in his arms.

Logan would be careful when the baby started walking and crawling, especially around the danger-prone X- Mansion. He'd constantly be on edge every time the baby would try to grab something sharp or crawl towards a dangerous area. "Watch yourself there, squirt," he'd say, scooping them up before they could get into trouble.

Logan would also be a very hands-on father. He'd want to teach the child everything he knows, from fighting to the wilderness. He'd take them camping and teach them how to survive in the wild. "Gotta be tough like your old man," he'd say.

Even though Logan would claim he wasn't the type to get attached to kids (LIAR), he'd secretly have a soft spot for the one you had created together.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett headcanon #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine #wolverine x you #wolverine xmen #xmen #xmen wolverine #xmen logan #james logan howlett #james howlett #headcanon #headcanons #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x you

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hearts4johnwick · 6 months ago

Text

— CASUAL.

SUMMARY. you’re mad at tyler after an argument, he decides to win you over by bringing in your favorite food and taking you to a rodeo, when you think that his charm was working, an EF-4 tornado strikes.

WARNINGS. angst (happy ending though), tornado attack.

WORD COUNT. 1.2k

you were lying down in your bed, attempting to go to sleep or at least take a nap given that it was 8:21 p.m. you found yourself staring at the ceiling, listening to the music and people singing outside.

you can’t help but toss and turn around as you overthink about the argument you had with tyler. tyler was your best friend, childhood neighbor, situationship, you don’t even know at this point. and although tyler and you were always risk takers, some risks are too hard for you to handle, but boone and tyler are a dangerous duo.

when you graduated high school you went straight to college and studied meteorology, you didn’t waste another second of your life and did everything that it took to where you are now. but, tyler and you were separated for college, you were halfway across the country while he stayed in his hometown. but when you graduated college, you went back home.

the both of you caught up on everything each other missed, and next thing you know, you ended up joining tyler’s storm-chasing team, the thing is, by something that happened to you in the past, you always rode alongside Dexter and Dani, there were moments where you rode with tyler, but you were always harnassed up even if you weren’t inside the tornado yet.

your train of thoughts were so rudely interrupted by the knock at your door. you sit up and take a breath before walking over to the door. before opening it, you were thinking to yourself that maybe it was going to be your mother, or your sister, not tyler owens. he sees the expression on your face and smiles, attempting to cheer you up.

“hey…” your nose flares, he notices and chuckles. “i brought your favorite… Tina Mae’s chocolate pie…” he hands it over to you and you take it. “maybe if you let me in we can sha—“ his words were cut off by the door slamming on his face. his eyebrows raised and he froze.

you put the pie on the desk next to your bed and open the bag, and it is indeed your favorite chocolate pie. you smile to yourself and head back to the door, as expected, tyler was still there.

“if you think you’re always gonna take me back with my favorite food, you’re wrong.” i inhale sharply and tap on the door.

“well, i wanted to do it another way if you’d let me show you…” you raise your eyebrows and cringe. “no—no, not like that, well…” he cocks an eyebrow and glances at you, you were about to close the door again but he stops it. “no, hey, i’m serious. get changed i want to take you somewhere.” he smiles. you hum and close the door gently so you can get changed.

“you can’t be serious. do you want me to forgive you or hate you more, tyler owens?” you say as you take your seats in the rodeo’s benches.

“bit of both.” he smiles, and you chuckle whilst shaking your head. “look, y/n, i’m sorry.”

“you’re apologizing here? rea—“ tyler touches your knee softly, cutting you off.

“i’m sorry, sorry for what i said earlier. i shouldn’t have said those things. you’ve been through so many things i can’t even begin to imagine, and it wasn’t my place to say anything about that. you know i would never do anything to hurt you, i am sorry.” the soft glow in his eye made you feel the truth he was saying. you nod and smile.

“and why would you ever think i wouldn’t forgive you?” tyler smiles at your words and so do you. “i think i should be the one apologizing, i tried to stop you from doing something you gave years of experience, and that was out of place and overprotective and unnecessary.”

“no, no, it’s okay. you of all people know about these stupid risks i take, i was a bull rider for God’s sake! I know you hated that.” you laugh.

“yeah, i think i hated that more than storm chasing.” he chuckles and glances at you, there was a small silence until you broke it. “i just… i don’t want to lose you, ty.”

“you’re never going to lose me.” you look over at him, your eyes stinging as you feel some tears coming. he wraps an arm around you and holds you. “you won’t.” he reassures you nod and after a while, let go.

“you and that stupid face…” you look away, trying to hide a smile.

“wait what?”

“every time i was cleaning blood off of you, whenever you got knocked off your bull, you would always make that stupid face, or like look at me some way like you were trying to get me to kiss you.” he raises an eyebrow and you look at him again.

“oh, you mean my charm? i already come with it, it’s not something i do on command.” you roll your eyes and click your tongue.

“well, “your charm” has never worked on me. never has, never will.” the two of you share a soft smile, all while maintaining that potent eye contact.

you don’t know if it was the tension, but you had sudden goosebumps and started getting chilly. although your hair was in a ponytail, your bangs were getting in the way, you never took your eyes off of tyler’s but you could see his hair starting to get messy too.

“well, i don’t know about you but, i think it’s working pretty well now.” he moves the strands of hair out of your face and tucks it gently behind your ear before cupping your cheeks.

“about time.” you manage to let out seconds before his lips are on yours. your heart was racing the whole time, but you felt it could come out of your chest any second now.

the kiss started slow and gentle, but the moment you smiled into it, tyler deepened the kiss, you placed your hand behind his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, which made you notice how much his hair was moving around, as much as it pained you doing it, you pulled away and saw people walking away from the stands. you look around and pick up a leaf from the ground.

tyler notices and the two of you exchange a look. you both stand up and head for shelter, you feel the winds get stronger and that’s when you start to run, helping some people who have tripped along the way, but not wasting more than a second.

tyler and you managed to find a motel and in that motel an empty pool, where you sought shelter until the tornado passed over you. at that moment tyler had to help a man that had twisted his ankle, and a vending machine was blocking his way, due to the man panicking, he was gone.

tyler hid with you and another family of a mother and her daughter. the grip you had on tyler and that he had on you was like no other. you felt tyler plant kisses on your head to calm you down as you felt the tornado right above you, you held onto some pipes and his arms tightly, fearing for your life at that very moment.

when the tornado passed, you didn’t even want to let go of tyler, you hugged him and stayed with his arm wrapped around you the whole night, even when you shared your bed with him.

❛i know, “baby, no attachment.” but we’re… ❜

#tyler owens #glen powell #twisters #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x reader #tyler owens fanfiction #glen powell fanfic #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader

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tetzoro · 7 months ago

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LOVERS ROCK — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. zoro roronoa !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : zoro has a new outfit for your excursion to egghead island and it fits him a little too well . . .

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader. thigh riding, dry humping, multiple orgasms, praise, zoro calls you pretty, — WC : 1.9k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : i figured posting this on hump day was fitting. enjoy ! dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

zoro’s musk wraps around you as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. steel, sweat, blood, and the salt of the sea all wrapped into one. the scent of something dangerous that should leave you repulsed only draws you in more.

because you know better, you know what every inch of his body tastes like, how addicting it is when it melts on the tip of your tongue. can he blame you when you press your lips against the skin of his neck, humming approvingly as you steal another taste?

he lets out a groan that reverberates against your lips, one that has your kiss turning into something more vicious as you suck against the spot, leaving your mark for all the world to see.

“easy.” zoro’s voice is low, his fingers tightening against your hips. the heated make out session was quickly becoming more as your lips latched near the column of his throat, feeling his pulse quicken under your tender care.

“can’t. it’s this suit.” you reluctantly ease up, warm breath fanning over the agitated spot you proudly left behind. “looks so good on you, zo.”

“yeah?” zoro couldn’t help but feel a little smug at your reaction to it. “why didn’t you just say so?”

“was me rubbing up against you not a big enough hint that i found it hot?” you pull back, giving him a pointed look.

“how should i know?” his face heats up, singeing pink as he makes eye contact with you. “you act like this no matter what i do!”

“shut up.” you huff, looking away as your own cheeks become warm. “i do not.”

“yeah you do.” zoro’s hand found your chin, bringing your attention back to him. the blush that softly blooms upon his face dances along his cheeks as it spreads to his ears. “its cute.”

you open your mouth to retaliate once again but he beats you to it, using the opportunity to slot his greedy lips against yours as he pulls you in for another heated kiss. one that stole the breath from your lungs and replaced it with desire, a deep longing for his touch even though he was sitting right beneath you. you needed more.

decidedly, you easily maneuver yourself from his lap to his thigh, the thick muscle sturdy as you straddle it. biting back a moan, you let out a soft strangled noise that slips into zoro’s awaiting mouth. electricity coursed through you both, a shift in the air that wraps around your shoulder, weighing you down to sink your core further against his toned thigh.

“couldn’t even wait for me to get out of the suit, huh?” zoro whispers against your kiss bitten lips, hands gripping your sides as he holds you in place. if he wasn’t so damned strong you’d have moved by now, given into your lecherous thoughts that heat up your core with unadulterated need.

zoro flexes his muscle, testing you and gauging your reaction. even though you were separated by the almost comically skin tight clothing, the pressure sent your eyes reeling to the back of your head. with a short chuckle, he unflexes and the intensity simmers, leaving you full of want.

“zoro,” you mewl out in frustration, the sound dangerously close to a whine. your fingers grip into the plushness of his coat, more than ready to use it as leverage as soon as you can move your hips. “what are you waiting for?”

slowly, zoro begins to rock your hips against him, a steady pace that feels different from normal — it was alarmingly easier. the fabric of the suit was so slick on its own that you could slide along it with no problem, no hiccups.

“just gonna ease you —“ zoro starts before you smack his hands away. enough was enough and he was going far too slow for your liking. he lets go, his smirk resting on his face as he holds his hands up in false surrender before moving them to rest on your thighs. “impatient, huh?”

ignoring his comment, you start moving your hips and just like you thought – you could gain a lot of speed. with a steady hold on his jacket, your hips behind to move on their own accord, not an ounce of hesitation as your clit deliciously runs along his flexed muscle.

“z-zoro,” you breathe out, head lolling back as you keep up the pace. zoro could feel how wet you were, your own suit didn’t leave much to the imagination either and the wet spot forming on his covered thigh was steadily growing.

“feel good?” he asked, beginning to continuously flex and unflex his thigh, the ridges catching along your clit and only making you spiral more.

“mhm.” you nod, already feeling the coil within you ready to snap. “so, so good zo.”

“filthy girl.” zoro kisses along your jaw, moving down your neck as your pace stutters. you could always tell your praise affected him, stirring something deep inside of him as the ghost of the smile seeping into your skin while he brushes his lips along your jugular. “if you keep this up, i’m gonna have to get a whole new suit.”

“can’t stop—“ you gasp out, breathy pants leaving your lips as you get closer to your high.

“then don’t.”

two words that had an unintentional ripple effect, your body moving without any forethought, driven by instinct and lust for the man smugly sitting under you, expertly watching you with lust-blown eyes as you take what you need.

each delicious drag along his thigh was sending electricity up your spine, the pleasure invading your brain and turning it into nothing more than a dull static, desperately chasing the high that you’re sure will bring you clarity once again.

distantly, you hear zoro muttering sinful praises, running his mouth in encouragement as you ascend to new heights. your center of gravity was dependent on him and the mind-numbingly corded muscles that make up his thigh. one wrong move and everything would tilt on its axis — you’re not sure if the thought excited you or not.

“shit, i’m gonna —!” you yelp out, your voice finally able to break through the steady moans and whimpers that were flowing out of your mouth like water.

“let go f’me, c’mon.” zoro gives your upper thigh a harsh squeeze and your body locks up under the searing touch. it was earth shattering, so much so that the lower half of your body stuttered against the slippery fabric, cries of his name tumbling from your lips. “atta girl.”

the praise messed with your mind even more, melting it into a puddle that zoro was destined to lap up like a dog on a rainy day. you squeeze your eyes shut as the after effects still course through your body, gripping onto his shoulders like the world depended on it.

after struggling to catch your breath for a moment, you slump against him a bit, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. his palm soothingly runs along your back, easing you down and back to him, right where you belong.

“you good?” his low, gruff voice seeps into your skin and you only want to burrow deeper into the comfort of it. you make a small sound and reluctantly pull back, the look in his eye darkening. it was clear how much he wanted you.

“mhm.” you whisper, your palms running along the skin tight suit, agonizingly taking your time. your core still felt so gooey, like burning lava that was hot to the touch. each motion you take was lazy and uncoordinated until your fingers trailed along his covered abs that ripple in anticipation, making sure to outline each divot. “gonna take it off now?”

“takes too long to take the whole thing off. besides,” zoro’s breathing gets a bit heavier as your hand keeps moving lower to where he’s pulsing with need. there's a short pause before he roughly grabs you by your backside and lifts you up toward him, “can’t wait.”

moving over his covered length, the fabric was so thin you could feel him throb with need, each beat making your head spin more and more. zoro groans as you nestle in place, head tossing back at the sudden pressure. his hips jolt up to chase the thread of friction you tease him with, growing more impatient with every glide you take.

“cmon.” zoro grunts out, not wasting any more time as he takes control, moving your hips over him. you gasp as he thrusts against you, needily chasing his own high. “do what you did earlier.”

“now look at who the impatient one is. hmm?” you tease, grabbing onto his coat once again for leverage. but the need he felt transferred to you as soon as he let out another groan. mercifully, you give into his desire as you quickly match his pace, your arousal igniting throughout your body.

“shut up.” he barks with no bite. “you’re gonna make me cum in this thing.”

“isn’t that the point?” you tease, your tongue poking out along the shell of his ear, before your nose nudges along his earrings. “i want you to come for me, zoro.”

“fuck.” he gasps out, fingers harshly gripping your backside as he moves you quicker, the friction burning you both up, ready to consume you whole. with a curt slap to your ass, he gives his order. “keep going.”

and you do. moving along him as if you were really riding his cock just the way he likes, gliding over him as your clit throbs against his cock, the combined heat suffocating you both.

zoro tried to remain intact, but you could see him tearing at the seams, strings of his self control spiraling out of control as you do a number on him. pretty saliva covered lips parted with grunts steadily pouring out, face rosey and scrunched up in pleasure.

you move your hands to weave themselves in his hair, tugging harshly that forced a choked groan from him. through half lidded eyes, he looks back up at you with stars shining in his iris, twinkling with his love for you; a supernova waiting to explode.

“close for me?” you coo, watching as his mind goes blank, his grip tightening. “wanna watch you cum.”

“fuck—“ he head tosses back for a minute, steeling himself to outlast you as long as possible, but it was a lost cause. his next words grit through his teeth, his self restraint being heavily tested. “yeah, yeah i am. too fuckin’ pretty.”

“zo-.” you gasp, your second orgasm pooling in your core, ready to erupt as his compliment rushes down your body, tightening it up as it works its way down.

forever fated to be together, your pleasure merges into one — both of you hurdling over the edge. zoro cums with a grunt of your name before biting his lip so hard he almost draws blood.

there’s an inexplicable warmth that blooms between your thighs, a mix of your mess swirling with the warm cum that steadily flows out of his cock. the fabric that separates you is fully drenched with both of your arousal and the thought only drags out your pleasure.

“mmm.” you fully slump on him this time, curling into his body as yours turns boneless — nothing more than a heap of limbs with a heartbeat that beats to his name.

“happy now?” zoro breathes out, his chest still rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

“mhm, so happy.” you purr, shutting your eyes.

“good because my suit is ruined.” zoro grumbles. as if he really cares. you let out a chuckle, your hand wandering along his biceps.

“that’s too bad.” you grip his puffy coat once again, pressing your lips to his ear, his earrings clinking together as you brush past them. “guess you’ll just have to take it off.”

thank you so much for reading ! ᰔ

#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#zoro x reader #zoro roronoa smut #zoro smut #one piece smut #one piece x reader #op x reader #op smut #x reader

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