#inside my digital mind :D

[roblloxnerd]

blefgh sentient machines my beloved

(please get the reference)

[funkyfreshinthebuilding]

look at this TERRIBLE drawing i made3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also i hate jax and definitely have never drawn him

[chobunz]

cry for me.

pair: bf!sunghoon ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: smut, d/s dynamics, fingering, edging, dacryphilia, daddy kink

[ mdni !! ] currently suffering from severe brainrot thinking a little too much about being a needy n whiny mess for sunghoon’s fingers.. he gets off on hearing you whimpering and begging for him to let you come as he finger fucks you relentlessly, edging you until you’re on the verge of tears and just can’t physically take it anymore (◜﹏◝)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

you’re on top of sunghoon, straddling his lap while riding his fingers in his bed, whining loudly as you hastily grind your hips against him. his free hand finds purchase on the slope of your waist, eventually sliding upwards to grope your tits— pinching and rubbing at your taut nipples. “fuck, you look so hot..” he praised, loving how dumb and fucked out you looked already, mouth forming a gaping ‘o’ as he pumps his digits harder. he watches as your body tenses up above him, bringing your shaky hand to your throbbing clit for even more stimulation; rubbing in circles at a breakneck speed. sunghoon already had two fingers thrusting inside your tight, but you were feeling extra greedy for your man’s attention tonight.

“more..” you yelp, “wan’ more please !” it truly felt as though you could cry, begging to receive what you so desperately wanted. instead of listening, he chooses to play dumb with you, getting more enjoyment out of seeing how flustered you get. “more what ?” he asked in a sweet, yet condescending tone, “use your words, doll.” he knew exactly what he’s doing. this only caused you to whine even more, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks but you gained absolutely no sympathy from the man below you, not even an ounce.

“better hurry, or i won’t make you come at all.” he warns, showing very little to no empathy. it took everything in you to be able to speak, it was like you were keeping the only breath you had hostage. you take in a few inhales to catch your ragged breath before telling him what you crave, “your fingers daddy.. give me more please..” his lips crept into an accomplished smile and chuckles at how needy and pathetic you’ve become for him. “this what you wanted, baby?” without warning, a third finger plunges into your sopping cunt. your moans would only get louder, crying out as you hold onto sunghoon’s shoulder to stabilize yourself.

“so fucking tight, favorite fucking slut.” he groans, feeling his cock stiffen from the way you were clenching around his digits, you lost all sense of control at this point—shakily thrusting your hips to ride out your stampeding high. “gonna come for me my sweet?” his fingers still skillfully working in you, pushing you further and further to the edge. “yes daddy, coming— gonna come !” you were all worked up, sweaty, and dizzy from the ecstasy that shot through you but that pleasure was soon denied from you as sunghoon withdrew his fingers, watching your gushing arousal seep down to your thighs. your mouth went agape, crying and moaning out to him why he did that to you when you were so close. how could he be so cruel to you like that? ;( again, you were met with no remorse at all..

“awwe, crying again are we ?” he mocks you for the hundredth time in a row, “we’re just getting started.. ’m gonna edge this pretty little cunt for hours, ‘til you’re begging for me to stop. did i make myself clear enough, baby girl?” you nervously swallow, slowly nodding to show your obedience, “y-yes.. i heard you loud and clear daddy.” he was going to have his entire way with you for the whole night, watching you grow weak and over sensitive as he brings you to the peak of your orgasm thinking he’ll finally let you come but only for him to stop and do it again. you see your boyfriend’s methods of foreplay as softcore torture but he sees your cries as the most beautiful thing on earth, a cure that remedies his corrupt, perverted mind…

my b if this is bad LOL, i literally wrote this so quickly and i’m like half asleep bye-

[starkeyisthelastname]

can you plzzzz write more pornstar!rafe i love him !!

pornstar!rafe is a different breed of dirty 😿

Pornstar!Rafe who had no idea what he was doing at the door of your apartment a few weeks after the scene you had shot together. He had fucked a lot of women, on and off camera. Never did he once go back for seconds, he just wasn’t that type of man. Maybe it was perverted of him to pay your agent to give him your address, but nonetheless it worked for him as he knew it would. He kept thinking about you, and he didn’t know why. Sure he fucked a lot of pretty girls, but something about you made him want more.

You looked up in surprise when you heard a late-night knock on the door, wondering who could be visiting at such an hour. Due to your line of work, you didn't have many friends or family, so unexpected visitors were a rarity. Slowly getting up, you made your way to the door and looked out the peephole. “Rafe?” You whispered to yourself, feeling your stomach drop. How did he know where you lived? What was he doing here? It made you nervous but in such a curious way.

As you opened your door, you immediately noticed his towering figure. His piercing blue eyes met yours, drawing you in. It had slipped your mind just how imposing his height was, even when dressed casually. A baseball cap concealed his messy blonde mullet, while a simple t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans accentuated his broad physique. You saw the familiar smirk come to his face, making your pussy flutter and forget any concerns you had on why he was there in the first place.

“Keep your fuckin legs up.” Rafe spat, a head full of dirty blonde hair in between your spread thighs as he ate your pussy like a starved dirty man.

It had been all of 15 minutes and this man already had you on the brink of an orgasm by just his tongue. The way his head moved back and forth, smearing your sweet and sticky juices across his thick mustache, had you gasping while you tried to hold your legs back. Your body was becoming limp though, his pert nose rubbing against your swollen clit as his tongue rapidly licked through your soaked folds.

One hand that was hooked on the underside of your thigh, fell as your stomach tightened and eyes started rolling back. You felt two thick digits slide into your creamy hole, pushing themselves to hit your G-spot. “O-oh fuck…Rafe.” You mumbled, eyebrows squeezing together as your eyes came back to watch him.

“Greedy fuckin hole likes gettin' finger fucked, huh?” His words were dirty, only making you clench around them as he shot you that cocky smirk.

You nodded, mouth falling open as he drilled them in and out of your leaking cunt with brutal force. You wondered if he would be just as nasty off camera, but never thought you'd see him again unless you filmed another scene together. (At least you were hoping you two would.) He was proving to you that his porn acting was who he was as a person, and he was just as filthy as he was on camera.

That smirk faded as you refused to answer him, his blue eyes darkening into something a little more sinister. Abruptly pulling his fingers out, he shoved them inside your open mouth, pushing them deep until you gagged. His other hand came to your poor pussy, slapping it roughly as you squealed around his digits at the hard smack. It wasn't until he shoved three fingers in without warning that you realized he was not playing.

“Not a big fan of repeating myself. Yeah, slut? So I suggest you answer my fuckin question.” His voice low as he stood up to lean over you. He removed his fingers from your mouth, wrapping a hand around your throat to squeeze.

His left hand moved inside you at a rapid pace, repeatedly bruising your sweet spot as he choked a reply out of you. This man was on a whole other type of level, and you knew you couldn’t hold back any longer. “Please… k-keep fingering me. D-don’t stop. Gonna cum so hard.” Your voice strained as he applied pressure against your neck.

You could feel your eyes rolling back again, head spinning and cunt pulsing as one more push of his fingers did your climax hit. In the porn industry, you weren’t known for being a squirter. There you were though, letting a fountain of clear liquid spray both of your bodies as you completely let go.

You barely had time to recover, before you were flipped over with ease, thick cock cramming itself in your sopping cunt as he yanked your hair back. “You better fuckin start listening to me. I don’t ever fuck a girl twice, even on camera. Feel lucky I wanna make you my own personal whore.” He rasped in your ear, the butterflies hitting your tummy at the thought of having this deranged man in your guts over and over again.

[osachiyo]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 by anonymous user ꒱. . . hello ! I really like your works, could I please request an insecure!reader with chuuya? and him fucking some sense into her? don't feel pressured to do this btw and feel free to ignore :D

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 note ꒱. . . here u go, nonnie ! I really liked this idea and sorry for taking so long on this request 😭 anyway, hope you enjoy ~~

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 c/w ꒱. . . (18+) n/sfw content, mentions of insecurities, body worshipper chuuya, praise, lowercase intended, hints of dumbfication, overstimulation, fingering, mirror sex, cunnilingus, chuuya eats it from the back !! 🗣️🗣️& more + not proofread

summary. . . you've been feeling insecure about your body and started to wonder if you were really good enough for someone like chuuya? but no worries, your lover doesn't mind reminding you how much he loves your body and more importantly, you.

you sighed, staring at your reflection in the fancy full-body mirror in front of you; god, you looked horrendous. you didn't know how chuuya, one of, if not the most beautiful man you've ever met, love someone like.. you.

what you also didn't know, though, was that your beloved chuuya had been standing in the doorway the entire time, slender figure leaning against the doorframe as a dull pain throbbed in his heart while he watched, heard you pick apart your body like it was the ugliest thing you had ever seen. he watched as you ran your fingers up and down the parts you hated the most, a frown tugging at your lips as you muttered something about "not being pretty enough". he didn't understand why you'd say such things about your body− all of those beautiful parts of yours that he cherished wholeheartedly.

you whipped your head around hearing the sound of the once slightly ajar bedroom door shut, your boyfriend entering the room. "hey doll, what're you up to?" chuuya's voice was heavy, laced with something you couldn't exactly put a finger on.

"hey, chuu," you smiled, though the action didn't meet your eyes. and chuuya could tell.

his eyes narrowed, gloved hands found their way around your waist, tugging you closer to him− your back flush against his chest. when did he walk all the way across the room?

"y'know, I heard everything right?" he muttered into your neck, strong arms tightening around your figure as you gulped nervously. "chuuya I−" "you're fuckin' beautiful. so don't say hurtful shit about yourself 'cause it for sure ain't true," he cut you off, now pressing soft kisses on the back of your neck to your shoulders, gloved hands reaching up your shirt to knead and gently caress your soft skin.

a whimper caught in your throat as chuuya's hands found your breasts− pushing your bra up to grope them under your shirt. "i love all parts of your body. fuck, you're so pretty. i'll fuckin' prove it to you if i have to."

"you see that, baby? see the way this pussy sucks my fingers in?" chuuya mused, now bare fingers plunging in and out of your sopping cunt as he had you spread in front of the giant mirror. "mm-! fuck, chuu−!" you were cut off by your own moans, beads of sweat forming on your forehead, making the little strands of your baby hair stick to your skin. "shh, baby. just focus on the way i finger fuck this pretty cunt, yeah?" your lover's voice was muffled by the soft kisses he was busy pressing all over your nape and shoulders, moving your hair out of the way to make it easier.

you could see everything in the mirror, from the way chuuya's slim fingers disappeared inside of your pussy to how much of a mess you've already become− glossy lips parted as loud moans and whines escape from your throat, the way your tits bounce and jiggle with each thrust of his digits. and hell, was it embarrassing. you jolted up when the tips of his appendages rubbed against that one spongey spot inside of your gooey walls− your jaw slacking as your eyes shut. only to receive a gentle but firm slap on your face from chuuya, "nuh-uh, baby. you're gonna watch how I please this beautiful body of yours," he growled lowly in your ear, fingers speeding up their pace as you twitch and whine in response. your vision was blurry− but you could still make out the way your face contorts to one of pure bliss in your reflection.

"yeaah− cum on these fingers, sweetheart," the ginger groaned as you soaked his fingers− your slick running down his wrist and staining the bed sheets underneath, soft curses and his name spewing out of your mouth as his fingers slowed down, aiding you to ride out your orgasm.

you gasped when he abruptly pulled them out of your still sensitive cunt− only to pop them in his mouth as he moaned from the taste of your juices melting on his tongue. "fuck, doll− I gotta taste you, need'a make you cum on my tongue−" he pushed you on your hands and knees before even finishing his sentence− a large hand pressing your back to a perfect arch, face down ass up.

"such a nice fuckin' ass," he groaned, fingers digging into the soft fat and spreading them as you whimper, pitifully clawing at the bed sheets. he playfully bit one of your globes, earning a whine in return which made him chuckle. chuuya's greedy hands ran down from your ass to your thighs, only to go back up to knead at your ass, "and these soft thighs− god, I could kiss 'em for hours."

and as if to prove himself, he started littering kisses all over your inner thighs, hands still kneading your ass before giving it a firm spank, making you jump. "hah, and of course−" he smirked before making his way to your pussy, "this pretty fuckin' pussy− prettiest one I've ever seen," he growled before diving in between your legs− hungry lips wrapping around your clit as you gasp out from the feeling.

"fu−ck! chuuya−!" you babbled, pussy still sensitive from your orgasm from earlier, his nose bumping against your slit as he runs his tongue in a zigzag motion across your clit. his fingers were spreading your ass apart for him, to get easy access to your sweet pussy that he wanted to devour so bad.

shamelessly nasty slurping noises came from between your parted thighs. your slick was already dripping down chuuya's chin as you tried your best to keep your gaze on the mirror, watching yourself getting eaten out from the back. fuck, your hair was a mess− your bare figure covered in bites and bruises that your boyfriend gave you, claiming it was his way of showing you were his. your makeup had been completely ruined; mascara running down your cheek in inky streaks, lipstick smudged− you looked utterly debauched, chuuya's favorite look on you.

a gurgled moan came out of your mouth when two fingers pushed inside of your sloppy pussy, the mafia executive's tongue now writing his name on your clit. a deep groan rumbled in his chest when you tried to run away from the feeling of his tongue and fingers on you− pulling you back before harshly cracking a palm down on your left globe, before curling his fingers further into you. tears were falling freely from your eyes at this point, mouth dropped to an 'o' as you chanted his name like a prayer− "chuu− please, fuck! s'too much−!" you cried out, if it weren't for chuuya's death grip on you, you'd already have fallen face first into the matress.

"you can− fuuck− take it, sweet girl," chuuya moaned into your pussy, the vibrations of the sound making your toes curl and apparently that was the last straw for you− "fuckfuck! 'm cummin'− cummingg−!!" your eyes rolled back into your skull as you squirted all over chuuya's face, his own hips rutting into the mattress as his eyes widen− he wasn't expecting you to do that.

chuuya gave your messy cunt a few more licks before kissing your clit, then pulling away. you looked back to see his face completely drenched− him licking his lips as he gave you a lopsided grin. "holy shit, baby. that was..." he muttered, still dazed as he ran his clean hand through his sweaty orange locks. you were still panting, chest heaving as you tried came down from the euphoric high before looking away in embarrassment, fingers fiddling with the sheets− then suddenly, you got slammed back against the bed. face down, ass up, again.

you heard a metal clink− likely his belt. the sound of expensive leather hitting the floor snapped you back into reality, he must've tossed the belt somewhere. it wasn't long before your thoughts got quickly cut off, chuuya's heavy tip slapping against your clit a few times as you whined, begging him to give you a rest but no− he wasn't gonna stop until he was sure he fucked all those negative thoughts out of your mind− wasn't gonna stop 'till all thoughts but his left that pretty little head of yours. you just had to sit still and take it, like the good girl you were.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

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[pipthegreat]

Info Cards‼️

These took a while to make but I fairly like how they turned out. These are all ordered from the oldest to newest member of Digital Fun Park!

Welcome to Digital Fun Park, a canceled VR horror game that was brought back to life.

When the company gave up on an in-progress horror game, it was left to fade away. But a virus inside of it came to life and couldn't stand being lonely anymore, so it brought people to its digital world.

Poster:

How abstraction works:

The Adventures:

The Solar Eclipse:

First designs + lineup:

I'll edit this post when I make "important" things about the au, also please ask me questions because I absolutely love this au!!

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

Comics:

* Jax's hatred

* What could happen

* First introduction

* Gangle's comics

* A silly mistake

* The Mask

* Bonding

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

Info:

* Tadc / dfp

* Missing parts

* Outside the park

* Bubble

* Rest

* Abstracted

* Gloink Queen

* Fear of the park

* Defense

* Closed eye

* Jax.

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

"Can I make fanart?":

Of course you can! I don't mind at all and it makes me extremely happy!

"Is there any ships?":

There are no cannon ships in this au but if you want to ship the characters you can totally go for it! Self shipping is also welcome! As long as it doesn't involve minor x adult though.

"Can I make NSFW?":

You do you, just don't send it to me alright? ^^

[ssweetleaf]

doll parts.

summary: you agree to let dr crane experiment on you for ‘scientific purposes’.

jonathan crane x fem!reader

includes: SMUT 18+, based on this ask here <3, dub-con, clit play, fingering, overstimulation, kinda innocent!reader, doctor kink, jon being a condescending ass, unprotected p in v

˖ ࣪⭑

When you agreed to let Dr Crane experiment on you, you certainly hadn’t had anything remotely crude on your mind. A few tests, you thought, maybe he’d take your bloods— anything to help his scientific studies along and you agreed to be his little guinea pig for the day.

So, when he had you undress and get upon his silver operating table, it was quite the shock.

“Push your knees up to your chest,” he hummed, having you hold them in place while he analysed your pussy, “gotta make sure these tests are thorough, don’t wanna miss a thing.”

Jonathan ran a knuckle through your folds watching them flutter around his digit and coat it in your sweet slick, clit throbbing in anticipation just waiting for his touch.

“D-Dr Crane,” you stuttered out, finding it hard to keep your mewls choked down when he used a thumb and forefinger to spread you open, inspecting you even deeper. “I don’t think this is appropriate.”

You didn’t notice the flicker of a smirk that lifted his mouth before he pouted at you, mocking you, though you had no idea.

“But you said you’d let me experiment on you, sweetheart,” he cooed, using his other hand to pat at your thigh, attempting to somewhat calm your heavy breaths and wide eyes. “It’s for scientific purposes, you know that.”

You bit your lip, unsure.

“For science?” You repeated hopefully, staring at him with glistening eyes, eager to help the young scientist in any way, even if it did mean touching your most private parts.

“For science.” He nodded, “now be a good little patient and let the doctor carry on with his tests.”

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded anyway.

“O-of course, doctor.”

You resumed your position, chest already heaving from the tense atmosphere, peering down at his trailing hands when they squeezed at the fat of your thighs.

Jonathan’s thumb and forefinger parted your pussy lips, opening you up for him and exposing the pretty little pearl of your clit. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb to it, rubbing in figure eights, watching your facial expressions and how they changed with such simple touches, soft whines escaping the confines of your throat.

His eyes flitted back to your cunt, watching your arousal seep with each circle of his thumb, your hole clenching, desperate to be filled.

So he did just that and slipped a finger inside you, curling the digit upwards as it hit the base of his knuckle, and he smirked when you gasped at the sudden intrusion, your wetness just letting him slip right in, having him easily add another finger on his outward thrust.

“Oh, doctor,” you breathed, clenching hard around his fingers, the crude squelching causing your cheeks to burn.

“How do you feel, dear?” He asked, the tips of his fingers prodding at the spongy wall of your g-spot.

“F-feels good,” you managed to choke out, bashfully meeting his smug gaze. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

A virgin, he thought. Of course you were, pathetic little lamb— with the way you shivered from just his words alone he should’ve known. Hell, it made him harder, cock growing and forming a tent underneath his slacks, throbbing hotly and just begging to be released.

“I’m so glad to hear it, dear,” he cooed, reaching up to pat at your cheek with his palm, a little too hard, though you were sure he didn’t mean a thing by it.

With each passing moment, your belly started to tighten, growing warm and tingly, butterflies were flapping around and you felt like you needed to pee.

“Dr Crane, I feel strange,” you pouted, tears threatening to ebb over your waterline, it felt so good, but so unfamiliar.

“Just let go, darling,” he said, “this is what I was hoping for— my tests are going absolutely splendidly.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm rushed over you, your slick gushing along his fingers and down his wrist, your pussy clenching and spasming around his still prodding digits and you heaved out sobs. The feeling was so intense, so good, you hadn’t realised anything could feel as good as what Jonathan had made you feel.

“Say thank you, dear, it’s only polite.” He was smirking, though you somehow mistook it for a smile.

You nodded your head, staring at him with big, glassy eyes.

“Of course,” you breathed, “thank you, doctor.”

You had started to settle, your breathing and heartbeat evening out, until Jonathan’s thumb pressed to your clit once again, rolling and playing with the sensitive nub.

You whined out, you didn’t think you had it in you to go again. You grabbed onto his wrist, clawing at his skin and gasping into the stuffy air.

“In our agreement you said you’d take whatever I gave you, correct?” He spoke, an unoccupied hand grabbing at your cheeks, your lips jutting out into a pout.

You nodded, eyes wide like saucers and you shifted from all the fondling to your poor clit.

“Am I correct?” He repeated, much more stern that time, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing from underneath his lenses.

“Y-yes, doctor.” You nodded.

“Well then,” he muttered, letting go of your face, directing his attention to your quivering cunt. “You’ll be a good girl and do just that.”

Quickly, another orgasm approached, simply by him playing with your abused little clit, urging you to cum for him and watch your hole quiver around nothing.

One after the other, over and over again, you came around his fingers and on his hand, your body heaving and jolting from the constant painful pleasure, he had to restrain you with a hand to your stomach, pinning you to the table and forcing you to ride out each orgasm.

Jonathan’s cock was painfully hard, and he reached down to palm at himself, smirking when he caught you staring, pussy fluttering at the sight.

“Now for my last experiment,” he pulled at his belt, tugging it from the loops and unzipping his fly, grasping at his cock, he pulled it from his briefs, pumping himself a few times, little beads of pearlescent pre-cum dripping from his tip.

You were babbling, completely inebriated from his touch— he was so long, and just the right amount of thickness, veins protruding along either side and underneath, his tip a pretty shade of red that had your mouth watering.

“Let’s see if you can take this, hm?” He mocked you, pouting down at your pathetic form, tears streaming down your cheeks, long lines of mascara staining your skin all the way down your neck. “M’sure you can— been so greedy for everything I’ve given you so far.”

He tapped his cock against your pussy, the wetness splashing up against your thighs, the obscene sounds of your sopping cunt had you blushing.

He pushed into you without a warning, to the hilt with no resistance, your creamy pussy letting him slip right inside, the mushroomed head of his pretty cock nudging at your spot so deep inside, even his fingers couldn’t reach.

Oh, you felt so full.

“Such a good little patient.” He groaned. “On second thoughts, I might need you to stay overnight— get a much more thorough examination.”

[shmpxx]

THIS IS JUST TRAINING — g.s

⛤ gojo satoru x fem! reader

Perverted gojo is just teaching you some things.

cw. smut. oral (m. receiving). corruption. masturbation. toy usage. inexperienced reader. pussyjob. fingering. petnames (angel, sweetheart, baby) public sex. dirty talk. pervert gojo. age gap. 18+!

wc: 1.2k

Gojo was your superior since you were the youngest out of the sorcerer teachings in the school. You still needed a little help to get around and Gojo would be gladly to help you if you asked for it. In return you would have to do everything he says, if he needed a cup of coffee or deliver his messages for him and let him know if anything, like you were his little apprentice. You didn’t mind even when you had a crush of him and he knew that, who wouldn’t? how could he not take advantage of that? He had all the power that he could do whatever he pleased since your quite naive.

He saw you as someone who had no idea what she was getting herself into, being utterly perverted when he had asked “have you ever masturbated before?” You became flustered and nodded yes looking down to avoid his gaze, fiddling with your top and he just smirks at your reaction. “What do you do? Does it feel good?” “I use my fingers…but I don’t think I’m doing it right..” how pure you are this tempts him even more, exciting him, leaving him with a shit grin on his face. “Probably because your fingers are too small, I would love to help you with that, think of it as training” “training?”

His two fingers shoved deep into your hole and you let out a choked sound, his fingers reached farther than your fingers ever did and it was a stretch. You were bent over on a desk and you were on the tip of your toes when his fingers curled and rubbed at the right spot that made you let out a whine. “Wow your pussy is so tight around my fingers” he says steadily bringing his fingers in and out of your hole. “Ah! Gojo..mpffh please” he leans down to you and hums “please? You want me to go faster?” And you nod with a whimper. You moan when he starts thrusting his fingers faster, rubbing at your walls. His thumb strokes your clit when he reaches back inside. Your ass desperately moving against his fingers for more when your clit starts to ache and your lower stomach builds up a knotting sensation. “Wait-ah! Gojo I feel something!” You gasp

“Y’er about to orgasm sweetheart” it was a strange feeling. You’ve done it before but you never reached an big O that Gojo is bringing you.

Your pussy making beautiful sounds and your walls sucking in his fingers. Gojo turns his fingers, his palm facing upwards and his fingers reaching deeper. You covered your mouth refusing to let out any more high pitched moans when you would put it as you’re about to explode. “Aw sweet angel” he coos, his fingers repeatedly shoving inside you knowingly you were gonna cream over his fingers and you did, your cunt tightens fascinatingly around his digits and he smiles watching you tremble and the electrifying feeling coursing through your body. “Now you know what a intense orgasm feels like yeah?”

Gojo becoming more and more disgusting and indulged with you, he was shaped like the devil on your shoulder when he would have naughty conversations with you that you try to hold with him without getting embarrassed. “Do we have to talk about it now? It’s just-“ “but i wanna know how good it felt? It felt good didn’t it?” You flustered self couldn’t answer but nod your head yes “see you don’t have to do it yourself from now but anyway..have you ever tried a toy?”

He would love to watch you sit and struggle to hold a vibrator to your own clit he had bought you and wanted to be entertained to see you pleasure yourself and correct you on certain things like “press it harder” or “hold it higher” when you can’t take it wanting to close your legs he would frown having to spread your legs back open for him to see clearly “come on..you have to keep them open for me to see, how else am I supposed to know y’er doing it right baby?” He wants to see your pretty clit twitch and every angle he can get of your open cunt.

When its rush hour on a subway train he would make sure you were squeezed between the doors behind your back and against his chest, his arms on each side so people aren’t crushing you and he reaches under your skirt to push your panties to the side and slips his cock right between your folds and through your thighs. You would gasp and Gojo would press his finger at your lips to quiet you “things like this don’t just happen behind closed doors, you have to learn how to keep quiet, you don’t want people to see you doing such indecent acts in public do you?” his cock is rubbing your clit and the outside of your wet cunt and you started to soak his dick from each drag on your clit turning puffy. You would grit your teeth and your fingers dig into his shirt. He would smile of course, like always. In your thoughts he was just evil, his tip nudging your clit and spreading your folds, you can feel his veins on his girth swiping across your core. He’s going faster until your creaming over his cock.

He sees how far you can take him into your mouth. His fingers under your chin and making you look up at him with tears coming down your face when you struggle to not gag awfully with his cock down your throat. He’s just teaching you how to take big dick in your mouth, how to focus on the tip importantly and keep your hands wrapped around his cock at all times, make sure your not using teeth. Your drooling from your lips because he hasn’t given you a break, his dick just settling on the top of your tongue while also slowly thrusting his hips in your mouth.

“Use your tongue more..lick around it-just like that..fuck y’er so pretty with my dick in your mouth” he’s caressing your cheek and wiping your tears with his thumb. “Wrap your lips now” he tells you and you do it. His hand on your cheek now travels to the back of your neck to motion you to bob your head on it. You follow through with his rhythm beginning to do it on your own but your hands fall to his thighs, more tears begin to stream down your face and your heavily breathing through your nose for air. cum shoots down your tongue and Gojo squeezes your cheeks with his large hand looking down at you. “Don’t wanna waste it now, swallow it”

Gojo finally rewarding you with his cock, your laid on the mattress on your chest and your legs hang off the bed and hips in the air. You were too embarrassed to look behind you yet you were too impatient and whiny, trying to press your leg’s together and your hips messily wigging and squirming waiting for Gojo to bottom you out. “You want my cock that badly? Y’er so adorable” his hand gliding down your back sending you shivers. “Remember this is just training”

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

F*CK, KILL, MARRY — nsfw alphabet w john wick (&femreader)

[Warnings: NSFW, discussion of various sexual and kink topics that are 0% canon and 100% my fantasies opinions] gif cred: @lunaspacks & @gifpacklove

[A]ftercare

The literal king of aftercare. It does not matter what kind of sex you’re having with John—even if it’s of the slowest and sensualist variety—he’s making sure you’re clean, kissed, snuggled, and hydrated afterwards.

[B]ody Part

What part of your body does this man not consider his favorite part, is the better question? Seems like his goal in life is to get every little piece of your flesh—especially the batches you don’t like—into his mouth and hands so he can convince you how much he loves, craves, pines after all of you. Speaking of hands, of course you love his chunky, scarred, battle worn fingers. And, since that seems to be your favorite part of him, he’s happy to agree, and wiggle his digits in front of you every once in a while as a teasing reminder of just how much you like them.

[C]um

The only thing John Wick likes teasing more than you, is himself. He’s entirely too good at keeping you both up all night either cumming or just on the precipice of it, so, by the time you’re both spent, things tend to be sticky and soaked in more than just sweat and saliva.

[D]irty Secret

There’s nothing he keeps from you, really. If you’re into it, he’s into it, and vice versa. Look at those puppy dog eyes and tell me you’re gonna tell this man no if he wants to suck your toes.

[E]xperience

Might have been a bit of a whore in his younger days, when he was still trying different bad coping skills for dealing with his own self loathing. Present, John has to really have that emotional attraction for his pants to get tighter, but he absolutely knows his way around female anatomy—as evidenced by yours and his soaked sheets.

[F]avorite Position

Either his face tucked up inside your pussy so deep his hair gets wet (John Wick’s favorite activity is making you cum in his mouth), or your knees hooked over his shoulders so he can watch your eyes roll back in your head while he reaches screaming, teeth gnashing, hellishly pleasurable depths.

[G]oofy

This one very much depends on his mood, although he’s not opposed to play fights and chasing you around the house a little bit before bending you over the couch and fucking his winning prize. He’s more playful than not most of the time, always teasing and sly, grinning against your lips and nuzzling your thighs and starting tickle fights —which may just be the only sort of fight he actually loses (sometimes).

[H]air

This man is not shaving that often these days…Something(one) else is taking up his free time. Plus, he loves to see beard burn on your skin—it means you’re his. He truly does not care at all about your body hair; whether you shave or don’t, he’s still burying his face in your cunt.

[I]ntimacy

Loving and fucking go hand in hand for him; where there is no love, there is no fuck. If he’s fucking you, he’s loving you at the same time, sometimes so deeply and intensely that the emotion becomes more overwhelming than the actual sex, which is a feat of its own. Constantly saying the dirtiest, sweetest shit to you—commanding your attention again when you try to bury your head in a pillow or close your eyes for some reprieve from his attention.

[J]ack off

You’ve both made a maddening deal that you won’t cum unless you’re in the other’s presence. It gets exceedingly frustrating at times, especially when he decides to come home from a week-long contract and then edge you out of your fucking mind for a few hours before he sends you to heaven and back on his cock

[K]ink

Hide and seek — spoiler: you always lose. Topping from the bottom — whatever you’re into, he’s into. Whatever you want, he’ll give it a try with enthusiasm. He loves pleasing you, serving you, giving you everything that you ask for and then some. John Wick is a service sub at heart, even if he takes the dominant roll to prove it. Edging and overstimulating — Living a life of pain, agony, and heartbreak has made him appreciate the finer things in life, like his cock and your cunt aching so desperately it becomes painful. He can spend all day nibbling your ears, teasing you with dark promises, brushing against your little sensitive spots, and then all night kissing your swollen clit and tickling your gspot and fucking you slow and devastatingly softly. And then there’s his love for receiving edges, leaking pools of precum while you tease his cock and kiss his tummy and nibble his hipbones.

[L]ocation

Private. He wants you to himself. The thought of someone else seeing or touching you, unless it’s something you really crave, makes him want to break bones stuff. Besides some hand holding and light cheek pecks in public, he’s not one for PDA.

[M]otivation

You don’t have to try to turn John on, which is both a blessing and a curse. More than once have you purchased a pair of cute (not even that sexy underwear) that he has ripped in half so that his impatient mouth can latch onto your pussy. He also adores femininity in all its purest forms—pretty sundresses, little strappy heels and sandals, the curves and soft places on your body, your cute giggles and soft touch and adorable pouting. Even better if you’re naturally not feminine to begin with, and take on a more masculine role; he loves to bring the little lady out in you, and take care of her.

[N]o

John will get a little rough if you ask; spank you, fuck your soul into the next life, a little bit of facefucking, but all the while he’s checking in on you, making sure you’re okay, asking if you need anything, giving you little breaks. He’s just naturally so sweet to you, it’s hard for him to complete a rough session without constant reassurance from his babydoll. So, gags are a no. He wants to—likes to—hear you, and he doesn’t need something obstructing that.

[O]ral

There are two ways that this could go. 1) With Wick slurping between your squishy thighs until dawn, delaying one orgasm after another until you’re sobbing and thrashing, until he finally lets you cum with his pruned fingers fucking up inside and sore tongue on your massively swollen clit. 2) With Baba Yaga burying his face into your folds, still in the sweaty work suit and maybe even a little blood on his tie, and taking you to heaven and back until he thinks you’re wet and stretched enough—spoiler, you are both of those things as soon as you see him…as soon as he opens his mouth—to take his cock.

[P]ace

Quick, bruising fucks in the car. Weekends in his woodsy, romantic cabin where you spend more time on his dick than off. Slow tonguing on the kitchen counter. Riding him on the doorstep while he’s in his suit when he just wants to get you off one more time before he goes off on a long job.

[Q]uickie

He prefers slow and sensual and teasing, but sometimes his cock disagrees with all that. He’s a man, after all, has needs. When he gets that haunted, dark, narrowed, pussy hungry look in his eyes—you’re fucked. You don’t know this, and he might not either, but that’s the same look he gets when he’s hunting a target.

[R]isk

What is the need for it? You’re his, completely. He doesn’t require added adrenaline when you’re around—you are his high.

[S]tamina

Y/n: *slaps John Wick’s ass* trust me, this baby can go for miles. Wait no, no, John-JOhN! Listen!—

[T]oys

As familiar as he is with the world and how it runs, he himself is a bit old school. That means holding doors open and putting you on the opposite side of the sidewalk away from traffic, but it also means he prefers to get you off with himself rather than any plastics or silicones—that is until you showed him just how fun they could be. Now, he may be initially resistant to vibrators and dildos, but that doesn’t mean he’s not privy to other tools that aid in your undoing—feathers, belts, ties, rope, his gun (unloaded, of course, don’t worry).

[U]nfair

Sometimes you feel like all the stoic, broody, dark assassin does is tease you. Not that you’re complaining, as long as his tongue or his fingers or his teeth are on you.

[V]olume

John Wick is a man of focus, determination, and sheer will power—but, make no mistake, he whimpers for you just as often as he growls.

[W]ild card

John didn’t think he’d get much out of thigh riding, until he saw you completely bare grinding your soaked cunt against the tensed muscles of his leg while he remained full on suited in black. Your fingers wrapped around his tie, the thick Kevlar of his jacket, rumpling and dampening the pristine white shirt underneath, mouth open and panting, flushed and grinding, desperate to get yourself off, nipples plucked swollen and dark by his fingers.

[X]-ray

Big Wick Energy. And, surprisingly, something you love to bite and poke, a cute little permanent pudge on his lower tummy amongst the hard panes of ab and tendon and muscle.

[Y]earning

If you’re both in good health—alright, sometimes even if you’re not (see: bullet and stab wounds, period cramps, broken bones)—you’re fucking. Often and earnestly. Debauching every available surface as soon as you get through the doors of each other's dwellings. He’s spent a lifetime training to kill, honing his body into the perfect weapon, building his inhuman stamina, unsure of why he was doing all of it in the first place—until he realized it was the universe’s grand design to assist him with fucking you whenever and wherever he wants; even when you get tired and he has to use you past the point where you can’t move or speak or think. As you’ve come to learn, it doesn’t matter if you’re too cockdrunk to assist, because John can fuck for the both of you.

[Z]zzzzzz

When he’s actually done, he’s out immediately. Just one of those common manly traits you like to poke fun at him for. At least he sleeps, now.

[chevroletdean]

nsft alphabet [sam winchester] ── ✮⋆˙

genre: smut, explicit ─ minors dni! a/n: another nsft alphabet, because these flow more easily than one shots atm. again, feel free to suggest any character for this alphabet thing in my inbox! credit & links: alphabet ──〃★ dividers ──〃★ request here taglist: comment a book emoji 📚 to be added to the sam x reader taglist (please note: ageless blogs will only be tagged in fluff and angst posts)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Sam is very attentive to you afterwards, and it‘s like he‘s always prepared or thinking ahead. He makes sure you have a glass of water to drink, cleans you up, if you‘re up for it he‘ll carry you to the shower. He can even throw a massage in there, if you’d like one. You don‘t have to lift a single finger.

Keeps asking you if you‘re okay, if anything hurts. Showers you in kisses all over, so much so you think it‘ll turn into a second session.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his arms and shoulders. You always hold onto them as if your life depends on it and it‘s so easy for him to pick you up with them, or engulf you in a tight embrace. Usually he’s not one to brag or flex, but he likes to impress you. He obviously works out and every now and then enjoys showing off his muscle mass to you.

His hands. They‘re so big compared to yours and also quite useful. He loves the sight of his long fingers working your sex, or when he grabs a fistful of your thighs. His grip is like iron when he holds your waist, calloused against your smooth skin. Basically just loves manhandling you.

As for you, he loves your legs. Whatever outfit you‘re wearing, tight pants, loose sweatpants, short or long skirt, it always draws his attention to them. Needless to say, he prefers them wrapped around his hips, or alternatively your thighs draped over his shoulders.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He has an amazingly healthy diet and he‘s a vegetarian, his cum has a nice smell and taste to it.

But Sam still prefers cumming inside of you, so long as no risk of pregnancy is involved (i.e. birth control, ot anal sex). Those urges are primal, he loves the idea of marking you up from within. The best part of filling you up is watching it drip out after he pulls out and he enjoys pushing it back in with his fingers, telling you not to let a single drop go to waste. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He‘s walked in on you once, touching yourself. You didn‘t notice him and he wanted to be a gentleman and walk back out, but he was frozen in place for long enough to watch you orgasm. That image is still vivid in his mind and he feels equally turned on and ashamed of it. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He‘s had his fair share of sexual encounters and he knows how to satisfy his partner. His body count is just shy of double digits, or barely above it, which is plenty enough of experience to know what he likes and to recognize what his partners enjoy. Confident in his skills for a reason.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Sam loves any position that involves pinning you down and fucking you stupid into the nearest surface. Against a wall, bent over a table, pushed doggy style into the mattress. Bonus points if he can grab your hair or choke you from behind to pull your back against his chest. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He‘s not messing around. Sam is on a mission to make you see stars and forget your own name and he‘s serious about that.

When he‘s not deadset on making you drunk of his dick, then it‘s about being passionate with you in a gentle manner. But he‘s not relying on jokes to satisfy you. It‘s not a game, it‘s serious. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Very well groomed and insistent on his personal hygiene. You think he‘s just adamant about the hair on his head? Apply that to the rest of his body too, he makes sure he‘s clean and tidy everywhere at all times.

He keeps it short down there, but not entirely bare. His body hair on his arms and chest is thick and dense, but not unruly.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

Sex with Sam is intense. With feelings involved, you are his to worship as well as claim. 

He‘s anything but a brute. You‘re his treasure and he treats you accordingly. Expect him to go over the top when he has the chance to. He doesn‘t care if you think it‘s cheesy. You deserve a nice hotel room, a bottle of champagne, rose petals leading to the king sized bed and scented candles. He‘ll go the extra mile as often as possible.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

It‘s not his favorite way of getting off. He prefers having you satisfy that need for him and returning the favor. So if it comes down to pleasuring himself, it‘s probably when you two can‘t be together. Even then he tries texting you or giving you a call, your voice helps immensely.

In a scenario where he can neither see you nor talk to you over the phone, he prefers to do it under the shower and get it over with quickly. It‘s mostly for releasing the tension and never because he wants to properly enjoy himself. The shower is a practical way of cleaning up right after and the least messy method.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Marking! Sam wants your body covered in remnants of his touch. Hickeys, bitemarks, bruises shaped like his fingers and hands, your ass and thighs tender and red. Every inch of your body should be proof that you‘re his.

Choking. You feel so small under him and those big hands of his fit perfectly around your throat, his long fingers holding you until your face goes red and your breath starts to stutter.

I feel like he‘d be into blindfolding and Shibari (or simple handcuffing works too). There‘s something so intimate about getting to drape your body the way he wants and tying you up with these pretty ropes. This way he can tell how much you trust him, blindly if necessary.

Cockwarming. Oh, he enjoys having you squirm in his lap or kneeling in front of him, any of your holes so full and stretched out by him while he focuses on the book in his hands. It gets you needy and when your impatience wins over, he gets to put you in your place.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Shower. It‘s like sex has turned into some kind of morning ritual and unwinding before bed activity for the both of you. What‘s there not to love, when he can pick you up so easily and pin you to the glass? Oh, and washing each other‘s hair, scrubbing each other‘s back? It‘s the best way to start and end the day. 

He generally prefers the privacy and comfort of your shared room. Every piece of furniture there has undergone thorough testing.

The bed works nicely, although you‘ve definitely broken it before. The desk is a good option, the chair an even better one. Against the bookshelf was a little clumsy, but it worked. And, yes, he‘s had you down on the floor before too.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Once the two of you were doing research together and you were so focused on reading a book. With a pencil you scribbled down notes and when you were deep in thought, you‘d tap it against your lips or put it in your mouth. Your lips around it, your teeth holding it – fuck, that made his blood rush straight down to his core.

Anything domestic makes his heart flutter. His life is so chaotic and you‘re already his anchor as is. But when you‘re humming to yourself as you fold the laundry, all he wants to do is grab you and kiss you dizzy. When you‘re doing little dances in the kitchen, he can‘t help but let his eyes roam all over you. 

On a more deprived note: After a particularly rough hunt you were covered in grime. Sweat, dirt, and blood that was luckily not yours but the vampire‘s you had just decapitated was sticking to your skin, you looked disheveled and badass. He didn‘t know he had a serious thing for dirty until then.

Loves it when you’re touching his hair. You’re the only one allowed to mess it up, card your fingers through it. You pulling on it makes him weak.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

It‘s not a hard no, but he doesn‘t care much for being dominated. Sam likes to be in charge and your attempts of taking over are, at most, cute in his opinion. He might entertain the idea of it to indulge in your little attempts, but it‘s just until he gets to flip you around and show you how it‘s really done.

Anything public, maybe. Sam prefers to have you all to himself and he‘s rather possessive when it comes to you. Your sex life is reserved for you and him only, he doesn‘t need any witnesses or participants.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He prefers giving over receiving, because you just look ethereal when you’re all flushed, his head nestled between your thighs as he holds you down and works his tongue on you. When Sam goes down on you, he‘s devouring you whole until you beg him to stop. Performing oral on you is only done right, in his opinion, when you‘re overstimulated afterwards.

When you suck his cock, it‘s about the only thing he lets you control fully. He might grasp your hair, but you set the pace. It‘s a rare occasion during sex for him to lean back and enjoy the show.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He‘s rough. Really rough.

His pace varies between slow and fast thrusts, because switching it up is the magic ingredient for him. But he always hits hard and deep and with purpose. Every draw of his hips against yours makes your body jolt.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

They‘re not only convenient for you two, they‘re amazing. More often than not has Sam pulled you aside to the nearest private space and taken care of you in under three minutes. He gets off on making you crumble and cum quickly.

If he can, he‘ll take his time with you. But you‘re constantly on the road and sometimes a couple of minutes is all you have. He makes the most out of every second. A handful of minutes is all he needs to make your legs shake.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Yes. There‘s little to nothing that he‘s not open to trying. He‘s used to danger, almost to the point of desensitization — risky acts during sex are just that but a positive and satisfying version of it. So long as he still has things under control, he‘s down for anything.

That said, he‘s a man of routine. What works for him, works for him and he doesn‘t need to change a winning team, right? Doesn‘t mean it‘s any less exciting, he can never get bored of you and he makes sure you‘re just as satisfied.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

His stamina is insane. He can last for hours, if you both have the time for it. His self control is immaculate and he truly holds on to his own orgasm until you‘re absolutely satiated.

It‘s more like one insanely long round. He prefers it that way, to make that one count and to drag it out, milking it for what it‘s worth. Usually you‘re both satisfied enough – and too exhausted.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Sam Winchester doesn‘t need any toys. His body has enough tools to take you apart without any additional help. If you said you wanted to try a dildo, for example, he‘d just double down on pounding his cock into you and he‘d ask you if you still needed anything else to fill that pretty hole of yours. 

The most he can get behind is a blindfold or ropes to tie you up. Nothing for between your legs or to penetrate you though. That‘s his job.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Making you beg and whimper needily is his mission. He loves getting you all desperate and whiny. He has internalized everything that drives you crazy, he knows where to touch, what to say, which kind of glance to throw at you. Teasing you is so fun and he can do it for hours upon hours.

He‘s rather impatient, which is why he wouldn‘t appreciate getting teased much. Being on the receiving end of this just doesn’t do it for him – that is to say, you won’t get away with much before he takes matters into his own punishing hands. He might enjoy your attempts of seducing him, but he takes what he wants (so long as you‘re okay with it ofc). If you’re trying to get him to snap, teasing is the way to go.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

You are the lead singer here, your voice the center role. He intends to make you moan and scream until you forget your own name and can only remember his.

Doesn’t mean he’s breaking a sweat to hold it back. His self control game is strong, that’s all. From him you’ll hear heavy, but steady breathing. Occasional growls.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Sam is definitely the type to rearrange your insides and then, after taking care of you and cleaning up, casually goes on with his day as if nothing happened. He’s nose-deep into his book again as if he didn’t just split you open on his cock ten minutes ago. This includes the most outlandish random conversations and deep talk too.

Like... What do you mean “Did you know, according to the lore, tulpas can be prone to allergies?” – you’re still trying to catch your breath while he’s already being a nerdy smartass again???

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Little Sammy needs its own trigger warning.

The man’s a giant not only in height, but also in the downstairs apartment and it’s honestly intimidating the first few times around. Well above average. Like way up there, the big dick energy is accurate. Something over 7 inches and thick, heavy, curved, veiny.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Honestly, Sam’s libido is not that high, but he’s just a man with needs too. He definitely would tease you for being way hornier than him. While he takes pleasure in intimacy, he’s not a horndog. It’s about quality over quantity for him anyway.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Referring back to the wild card headcanon, Sam usually isn’t very tired after sex. In fact, he makes sure you’re the first to fall asleep in his arms. He’s the one who’s probably worn you out way more than he exerted himself, after all.

He can’t clock out before he knows you’re comfortable and have everything you need to rest. Additionally, he likes the feeling of you cuddling up to him and wants to relish in that for a bit, before he drifts off.

[kiwicopia]

🔞 MDNI | Kinktober: Somnophilia 🔞

🎃 Higuruma x Fem!Reader 🎃

TW: somnophilia, consensual noncon, drugged reader (sleeping pills), needy Higuruma, brief fingering & cunnilingus, creampie, missionary position, and praise (good girl, my girl).

Tags: @shes-so-insane @uzxotic

Brown eyes stared down at your sleeping form. You were cozy in your shared bed, with the blanket draped perfectly over your body. Hiromi’s eyes then flicked to the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand, his gaze roving over the bottle for a quick second before he looked back down at you. Part of him felt as though this was wrong, yet the other half of him thought about the agreement you both had. The lawyer had to remind himself that you consented to it, that it was your idea—because it was—and he felt himself calm down a little.

He gently pulled the blanket down, his breath hitching momentarily at what was lying underneath. Hiromi swore you did it on purpose, not that he minded, but the sight of you in one of his shirts without wearing any panties sent blood straight to his cock. It strained against the confines of his boxers, and he groaned softly at the feeling. The lawyer then loosened his tie with one hand, tossing it to the side before he knelt at the foot of the bed. He was gentle when pulling you closer to the end of the bed, and his eyes lit up when the shirt covering your body slid up, revealing more of your unclothed cunt. 

Hiromi wasted no time in spreading your legs just enough to let him dive into your heat. The tip of his nose pressed against your clit as his tongue licked a slow stripe up your folds. Your body clenched as you slept, and a small sound fell from your lips in response. Despite being asleep, your body was still in tune with his actions, and it only turned him on even more knowing that fact. The man moved his face upward, letting his tongue circle your small bundle of nerves while sinking two digits into your slick heat. Your pussy clenched slightly with the way his fingers repeatedly slid in and out, stretching your gummy walls while coating his fingers in the process. 

His eyes remained on your sleeping face, his tongue kitten licking your clit while his thick digits continued teasing your cunt. Once he felt like it was enough, Hiromi’s fingers slid out of you, and he quickly lapped your juices clean off them. His face then moved away from your heat, and his gaze remained fixed on your face as you slept, and his hands quickly worked to remove his suit. The lawyer stroked his cock a few times as he stared down at you—his eyes burning with hunger. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in your warmth, and that’s exactly what he did. 

A soft groan fell from his lips as he slowly slid himself inside your cunt, your gummy walls spreading to accommodate his size. You were so warm, keeping his dick snug inside your heat, and he took caution with his hand placement. One rested at your hip while the other moved a leg over his shoulder, getting you into position before sliding to cup underneath your knee. Hiromi kept you in place as his hips moved at a languid pace—but it didn’t last long. 

The way your walls subconsciously squeezed around his cock drove him crazy, and he couldn’t handle the slow pace any longer. His hips suddenly jerked forward, snapping against yours in quick, powerful thrusts. Hiromi’s lips parted as another groan escaped from within, and he hung his head down to stare at you. You were a goddess—a beautiful work of art lying there, with faintly flushed cheeks from the heat his body created. 

Your walls clenched around him again and he let out a breathy moan. “Good girl,” he whispered, huffing slightly as his hips repeatedly snapped against yours. Even when asleep your body knew him, his touch, the shape of his cock—gods, it drove him mad with pleasure. “My good girl.” Hiromi stared down at you with half-lidded eyes, watching as your brows furrowed a little as he repeatedly rammed into you. His dick inched deeper inside you before he felt the tip brush against your cervix, and his movements increased further. 

The lawyer groaned again when your walls squeezed him yet again, and his body pressed down onto yours a bit more, shoving your unconscious body down against the bed even more. His face rested in the crook of your neck as he let out a string of breathy moans. Hiromi needed this, wanted it, craved it so badly that his hand gripped your hip a little harder than he intended. “Fuck,” he groaned, his breaths coming out in short puffs against the warmth of your skin. He couldn’t hold it any longer, and he suddenly spilled into you, filling you with hot, white ropes of cum. The man didn’t stop and slowly oved inside of you, pushing his seed deeper into your cunt. 

Hiromi groaned softly as he lifted himself up and off you, sliding out of you in the process. He watched his cum seep out slowly from your pussy, and a small smile found its way onto his lips before he moved to start the aftercare. Once you were taken care of and cleaned up, he slid into the space beside you before bringing your unconscious body closer to him. As his eyes closed to sleep, he couldn’t help but think that this was the best thing the two of you ever agreed to. 

[cheonstapes]

ok but nerd!miguel & piss kink.. idk.. thoughts r thunking..

(he luvs the humiliation of it all. that’s all ima say.)

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘GOLDEN SHOWERS’ (*≧∀≦*)

a/n ~ this exactly what you think it is, digital footprint goes crazy. THANK YOU ANNONIEE!!!!! love you🩷 nerd!miguel creds to @nymphomatique 💞

pairing; nerd!miguel x rich!fem!reader

wc; 800+

cw; SMUT!! filth, miguel and reader are a bit drunk, literally just piss and fucking. NAWT PROOFREAD - i finished this on the train

This was not how tonight was supposed to go.

He had took the initiative for the first time in your relationship, inviting you to his dorm for a little private party to celebrate you passing your recent test — one he helped you study for. What he wasn’t anticipating was half of your class showing up too. His heart was pounding out of his chest, fingers shaking slightly as he gripped the red cup in his hand.

The whole night he’d been downing drink after drink, the small amount of people doing nothing to calm his nerves — the music was booming, bodies grinding against each other, the sickening smell of alcohol in the air. “Heyyyy, Miggy! Thanks for throwing this party for me, you’re too sweet, baby.” He couldn’t help but blush at the slurred praise, regardless of if he actually intended to throw this party or not.

Your smile was just too pretty. Even under the dark lighting, he could see the shimmering of your tongue piercing — smiley poking out beneath your glossy lips. “You’re…You’re welcome.” The closer you get, the more his stomach falls to his ass. The drink in his hand goes down somewhat smoothly as the cup in crushed between his strong fingers, the same ones making their way to your exposed hips.

“Oh, someone’s feeling bold, hm? You wanna dance, then let’s dance.”

The way your hips swayed against his own was sinfully delicious, his mind slightly fuzzy as the substance intoxicated his thoughts. It was hard to stay focused regardless when having some as beautiful as you throwing your ass back against him in front of all these people — but he’s had one too many drinks to give a fuck about the stares, all he wants is you.

So he has you, bent over his bathroom sink — your heels scraping against the paint of his bathtub. “F-Fuuuck, miggy! Slow d — nngh — own.” The music was loud enough that no one could hear the way he was absolutely ruining your little pussy, a concoction of your shared fluids dripping out of you and down your sore thighs. Your tits were so soft, his thumbs gently caressing the cool barbells — tugging on them to bring out your cute little whimpers.

“My…shit — my bad, mommy. ‘S just, t-this pussy’s too fuckin’ tight — can’t…can’t stop.” Not that he wanted too, despite your complaints you couldn’t stop sucking his fat cock right back inside of you. It felt like you were wringing him dry, suctioning out everything he had to give you. At his current state, he knew he wasn’t gonna last very long — but poor Miggy couldn’t really tell the difference between the sensations he was feeling right now.

It was a familiar feeling nonetheless, the pressure on his lower stomach, the clenching, throbbing — but those drinks were starting to catch up with him, fast. The pressure on his bladder was getting worse with each slam of his hips against your ass, sending tremors throughout him. “M-Mommy? I’m — I think…’m gonna - ugh, shit!” You knew, from the amount of liquid you saw him consuming — you knew. “Gonna what, pretty boy? You gonna cum, or is there something you’re not tellin’ me?”

Jesus, your smile. The way you looked back at him, gripping onto the sink for leverage to grind back against him — sinking the blunt tip of his cock righttt against your womb. He cheeks were flushed both from the alcohol and from embarrassment, he was not about to tell you what you wanted to hear — you clearly had clocked on already so what’s the point of telling you what you already know?

His hips stuttered, the force of his release threatening to push his cock out of your stained hole. “God, you’re so dirty, Migs — ‘s like you’ve been waiting to do this, hm?” It felt so strange, the sudden warmness coating your walls as a steady stream of his piss left his sore tip. “S-Shit, sorry, I…I couldn’t control it.” He quickly pulled out, letting it drip onto the floor. Miguel wasn’t really sorry though, not with the way you were clenching sporadically around nothing — the look you gave him the moment he filled you up.

His mind is a vault of nasty, nasty things he wants to do to you — the sight of you now has him unconsciously stroking his soaked length, he was already so close to cumming anyway. But of course, he always, always, came inside his pretty mommy — can’t let it go to waste when he could be giving you a little baby instead. Squeezing his base, he pushed himself back inside of you — the fucked out moan you let out making his breath hitch.

The fat of your ass rippled against his pelvis as he pounded back into you, a messy mix of his cum and piss creaming where you two were connected. His hands anchored your waist, arching your back so he can fuck himself that much deeper in you.

“One more, mommy — let me fill you up one more time.”

-i’m sorry 😔

[justblades]

⋆｡˚ ♰・dan heng imbibitor lunae x afab! reader

┈─ ・(ex)plicit, mdni. dragon fxcking, breeding, cervix kissing, horns stim. not proofread.

"higher elder, are you certain you want to do this?" a doubtful query rises in the midst of shared, saccharine, heated kisses, the higher elder continues to roam his slender fingers on your belly, teal hues fixating on your worry painted features.

he cracks a sheepish smile and lays a gentle touch on your cheek, fingers now extending to your brows, gesturing for you to peel your eyes open— to see him clearly. "i may not be the person you knew eons ago, but given that your warmth exudes that of a familiar makes me yearn for more."

your heart rate picks up and a squirm slips out once he applies more pressure on your pelvis, signaling for you to rock your hips on him faster . . . and harder as he could no longer contain his urges. it was evident from his beetling brows and heavy breaths.

dan heng never breaks the intimate eye contact in spite of the raging temptation coursing through his body, he just persists until he reaches his limit, finally ripping your sheer clothes with his power to wield crystalline waters - an enticing sight welcomes his vision the next second. "h-higher elder!" you were unsure what could a mere calling of his title do in this situation, but all you could deduce was it fueled his lust even more so than before.

your body trembles from the glacial wind blowing upon your dewed skin, glistening from faint aureate lights emitted from the higher elder's palace. dan heng was quick to catch on as he grabs ahold of your wrists and leans forward in, closing the gap slowly between your lustful bodies.

as he does so, pieces of the past flash in his mind like it was a puzzle - the face in front of him now being the very same one he used to share an intimate past with. he could envision everything, from the first moment he laid his eyes on your figure to the very last time the both of you locked gazes when he was exiled.

it has been a very long time.

dan heng glances at your features once more, focusing at every detail of your appearance that the past him had come to adore. "i apologize i kept you waiting for too long." his apologetic tone soothes your aching heart. "i've told you before that no matter what you do, i'll accept you back into my life with open arms."

there was a faint hesitation displaying over dan heng's expression. "however, i am not dan feng anymore. would that be alright with you?"

an action as a response would speak louder than words ever could, you thought. a burning kiss presses on his lips right after, tongues coming next as the dyad tangles in sync, relishing each other's flavors tinged with undying love despite of how many years have passed.

as if your bodies had come to a mutual understanding, basking in pleasure never felt better than before. dan heng flips you around, your naked back facing him now while he rises from his seat, a hand clutches the frame of your waist.

in frozen frames does he flick his wet tongue on your body, tracing lines depending on what earns the most satisfaction judging from the mewls continually slipping out of your lush lips. your knees shake underneath his feathery, light touches — it was clear as a day that he's enjoying your reaction, savoring how you're incredibly sensitive with minimum efforts.

"hah . . d-dan heng . . not your tongue." you protest in the midst of the teasing but as anticipated, he doesn't halt. if anything, he goes deeper down your body, eventually reaching the peeking folds from your ass cheeks. a foreign sensation wells inside you, a searing flame burns bright within.

your body stature wavers, he wanted to see more. the male then gives kitty licks on your flesh, a muffled moan escapes the margins of your lips, he wanted to hear more. he proceeds to prod two digits into your slit, goosebumps ride on your skin. he wanted to feel more.

cloudy white liquids glaze his fingers at the very last thrust while you gasp for air, unable to keep up with the events unfolding. as you were getting lost and tangled in your own thoughts, something brushes past the soft surface of your damp skin. it was long and textured, its temperature the similar with your heating region.

you look back at the higher elder only to be welcomed by his erect dick, twitching in intervals, aching for it to prod through your entrance. your eyes widen into two full moons but little did you know the male was delighted to see you bask at the sight of his cock.

"raise your ass up." a singular order was all it took for you to obey like a second-in-command. you follow suit to his request and bent yourself over on the table across, perking your cheeks in the air - waiting for it to be accompanied.

dan heng inches closer and rubs the tip of his dick right on your sopping wet slit, meriting you his melodic mewls of pleasure and muses of fascination. "let's take it slow from here on." a part of you begs to disagree but you were already drowning in a cesspool of satisfaction. you could no longer form any coherent thoughts but just let out lewd noises alongside him like an animal in heat.

with what minutes felt like light years, he finally slips it in— with ease and intense yearning. the male grits his teeth as he pulls out and pounds back in with force of a tenfold, your body twitches and look back at him with confusion painted all over your expression. "i-i thought we'll take it slow?"

as unbelievable as it is to hear him let out a hoarse chuckle in this situation, "i underestimated my restraint. i keep wanting for more of you." he responds with composure and jackhammers into your pussy at this point in time, emitting naughty, splotching sounds everytime his cock meets with your walls.

every time he kisses the far ends of your cervix, your walls clench around his shape, remembering every detail that undoubtedly drove the higher elder crazy. "hah . . i'm feeling too good . . you tighten up when i do that." he mumbles under his hot, deep breaths.

dan heng proceeds to fill you up until there's no more of anything that can disrupt your rhythmic pace shared alongside him. he persists to thrust in and out of you faster than ever, but something feels rather amiss. something feels different.

"why does it feel like you're getting bigger?" you ask as you racked your head for any idea as to why. "you finally noticed." he responds, licking his lips in anticipation, watching on the beads of sweat racing down your naked skin. "—it's to prevent the female from escaping."

your energy begins to dissipate and as for your body, it felt lethargic and heavy that you could no longer keep yourself up, thus making you drop down on the glossy tabletop. fortunately, dan heng catches your figure before you meet your own fall, he turns you around, piercing ablaze eyes sharing a passionate gaze once again. "i understand, your body can't keep up anymore. just do as i say and everything will be okay." his words were laced with affection, the mien on his face looked sweet and serene.

he casts you a worried look but a lustful one all at the same. when suddenly, with one quick movement, your bare back now sinks in the soft cushions of a mattress — while your lover was atop your messed figure. his azure irises were beaming with intense fervor, "caress my horns."

you do not bother questioning but abided as always with his request as it has been like that since day one. your weak hands raise in the air to reach for the peculiar attributes the higher elder bore to which dan heng lowers his head to make it easier for you. slowly by slowly, you gently touch dan heng's translucent, turquoise gradient hued horns, gliding your fingers on the golden rings, and on to the shaft.

his hands wrap around yours suit, guiding your touch to where it feels the best to be caressed. the suspense was killing him yet it felt gratifying. "mm . . more." he muses and you obey— stroking his characteristics gently yet in a quick pace. your fingers coil around the small branches of his horns that stuck out, dan heng groans, feeling his climax nearing soon.

at the same time, he quickly lets go and fondles your bare tits, while his other free hand's digits fiddles with the clit. your back arches with pleasure to which the male accepts with gratitude, sucking your breast as he nestles the erect tips in between his teeth. he grinds his teeth and toys your hard nipples with his wet tongue in intervals, making your eyes roll far back from the foreign sensation welling up in your stomach.

on the spur of the moment, numerous strings of white cum sprawls out onto your body. the amount seemed rather bizarre as you looked to check . . . you saw two cocks from the same part, both hardened, erect as prominent veins adorn them both. "t-two?" you ask, brows furrowed at the unfamiliar sight.

dan heng pauses for a moment, feeling abashed at how your reaction. he heaves a deep sigh before responding. "yes, this is a state we enter when basking in incredible amounts of pleasure." he replies as a matter of fact, now cleaning up his own cum staining your body with his fingers and tongue. as he watches on you about what's the next course of action, a doubtful look lingers on your features. "what's wrong?"

"i don't think i can take it . ." the raven haired stops briefly to give you a reassuring smile. "don't worry, i'll be gentle until you can finally take all of me in." dan heng says, a dulcet tone underlying his sentence.

he presses a quick peck on your forehead and pats your head for a second, "this will feel good." dan heng leans forward to your body and strokes both his cocks with the help of his hands.

watching the male pleasure himself right in front of you: noticing his jaw tightening and supple thighs flinching, a sudden longing brews in the depths of your body to which your slit aches to feel more of his dick inside you, succumbing to your desires felt like the right thing to do. dan heng seemed so beautiful yet scary from what he can do.

and now here you wound up, facing his pair with a lewd expression carved all over your face. you poke your slick tongue out and brush it on his shaft, while your hands do the work on the other cock, caressing and stroking it in turns - earning dan heng's guttural moans bubbling from his throat.

his gloved hands then tangle themselves from the locks of your hair, he guides your mouth as you now lap all his length, bobbing your head up and down. your wet cavern provides the best makeshift of a vacuum sensation, he slowly rocks his hip, matching your pace, his tip eventually hitting the farthest places of your throat. "ah — okay, that's enough. . you did well."

the male cups your cheeks and makes you stop, the smeared pre cum and saliva over your lips makes the sight of you all the more endearing. he shifts his position and rests against the sofa's back cushions, helping you get up as well and place your slit adjacent to his two dicks.

as you grind your pelvis and guide his other cock with a hand to your other hole, with a slight push, both his erection were quickly clenched around by your two velvet walls. "ah! too big . ." you wail and rest your head against the chiseled plane of his chest, and dan heng pulls you into a tight embrace.

"it's okay, your body will adjust." he says, leaving another heating yet short lived kiss on your cheek. you remain still on your position, taking time to bask in the warmth both his cocks exude while sucked inside you.

there's no rush. after all, you have the night for yourselves to indulge in such carnal desires. as you expected, deeds like this indeed feel better when it's with your lover. a lover whose face you could only remember with the faintest memory, which now feels like complete victory as you two are finally reunited. you've long waited for this moment.

"i think . . i feel better compared to earlier. you may do so as you please now."

with a go signal, he clutches his hands on your arms and pounces into your pussy, once again meeting the far ends of your womb like crazy. your breaths become hitched and deep the longer the session continued, it's as if a switch is toggled in his behavior: you could point out the stark contrast between his instincts as a dragon and a human, a desire to care and protect and a desire to breed and devour.

but surprisingly, his sudden roughness always felt rather satisfying, dan heng is the equilibrium your life has looked for in a millennia. as you look at the higher elder, he was already staring brazenly at your lewd expressions and body, your mounds continuing to bounce up and down, as well as liquids of arousal seeping out like a maniac.

"you're too beautiful that i want to leave my mark on you . . you're way too beautiful that i want to drill into your womb who you'll only belong to." he says out of the blue, obvious thirst adorns his words. 

"do it then, plant your seed inside me, do whatever you want to me."

his aquamarine eyes widen in surprise, incandescent pupils dilating. "are you sure? anything i want to do to you?" he reiterates and you nod in agreement. "yes, anything."

"i won't be as gentle as i was before."

[vampcubus]

imagine playing with dbz!vegeta’s tail while pegging him, pretty boy’s gonna be in heaven but would rather die than admit that <3

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw, sub!vegeta, afab gn!dom!reader, pegging, tail pulling, finger sucking bc i apparently can't escape that kink, brat -> fuckslut pipeline with a single gesture.

It isn't often you have the privilege of seeing your fiesty Saiyan prince splayed at your mercy like this, bent over and vulnerable to attack and yet begrudgingly eager to fuck himself back onto your plastic cock. His reddened face is deliberately hidden in the sheet that threatens to tear in his iron grip, but his rear is elevated, knees parted to present his toned ass to you.

"You're so cute when you get shy, 'geta," you purred in an octave that makes his heavy and neglected cock twitch between his legs. He sputters and growls in humiliation, though the frantic back-and-forth motions of his hips are no gentler.

"Shut up," he spits through clenched teeth, though it holds only a fraction of its usual bark as his brain turns to mush. "D-don't call me that, idiot." He cries out as your hips snap against his sharply, the toy striking that spot that makes his knees tremble and buckle.

"Oh, my mistake, my prince," you mocked, and for some reason he groans instead of hissing out another insult. It's not his fault, you're forcibly fucking the sense out of him. "No need to get hostile. After all, I'm treating you good, aren't I?"

Vegeta can't even conjure a flustered lie with the way you're baring down on his prostate, strong hands holding his bucking hips in place so you could bend over him and plow into him more efficiently. You always fuck him perfectly, and even if he doesn't trust you as far as he can ki-blast you, he's helplessly attracted to you. You aren't the first to top him, just the first to keep him engaged, in-line, and sated by the end of each session.

Your chest slips and slides against his sweat-glistened back, and his twitching tail gets caught between your bodies. He faintly has the presence of mind to move it out of your way, although that that only draws your attention to the furry appendage, spelling his doom.

Vegeta is so large and imposing that the existence of his tail always makes you grin and coo. It's so cute, just like him, just like the choked noises he makes as your thrusts become bruising and rough, just the way he likes them. His chestnut-colored tail swishes and curls in midair, waving around your face like a feathered toy to a cat. An unintentional tease, and an opportunity.

A hand leaves his hip to snake around his body, stroking over the layers of hardened muscle adorning his torso to find his jaw. He half-expects you to wrap your nimble fingers around his throat and squeeze, to which he tenses and sends you a warning glare over his shoulder. You only smirk back, sliding your fingers over his kiss-bruised and bitten lips.

"Open," you command, and he grunts in protest, shaking his head.

"Stick your fingers in my mouth and I'll bite them clean off, that's a p-promise-! fuck, what are you-?" Vegeta's growl turns into a startled yelp as your free hand catches his tail in a firm grip. "You insolent- fuuuck."

You give his tail a tug, and it sends a shockwave down his spine, making his entire body tense up and then abruptly go limp. He hates how weak and helpless he's become with a single gesture, and how his traitorous cock only throbs and leaks all the more for it. It's not his fault. It feels too good to submit to you, even if his mind disagrees, his body surrenders enthusiastically.

His jaw loosens, lips parting around your digits as if in a trance and embarassingly, he moans as your fingers glide across his tongue.

The immobile state of his body only seems to amplify the feeling of your cock filling him over and over again, forcing his insides into the shape of the toy. He's ruined surely, no one else could pin him down and fuck him within an inch of his life as you do. The realization both terrifies and turns him on beyond belief.

He can't need you, it's unbecoming. But as your fingers fuck his mouth in time with your purposeful thrusts, his doubts go quiet in his mind, replaced by primal pleadings he's thankful are muffled by your digits.

He wants to cum. He wants to be filled, taken, used. He wants to please you but can never say it. Especially not to you, whom his body ignorantly has been tricked into believing you're his mate.

Mate. What a foolish notion.

Still, he is a weak Saiyan, and he is yours. So he lets go of the illusion of control, just for tonight and allows himself to be conquered.

His tail curls around your wrist in a serpentine manner, and he chews and licks at your fingers. The resulting coo and praise that spills from your wicked lips makes his eyes glaze over. "Pleathe," comes his muffled plea around your fingers, and you are filled with pride. Your grip loosens, and you caress the length of his twitching tail between your fingers, transfixed by the way he squirms and whimpers at the touch.

Your fingers retreat from his mouth, connected to his swollen lower lip by shiny drool. You tilt his head to the side, bending over him further until your lips brush over his own.

"Again. Beg again, and I'll let you cum," you proposed, and this time, he doesn't hesitate, feelings his balls tense in anticipation of an orgasm he needs before he's driven utterly insane with desire.

[cherry-titz]

HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said. 

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight. 

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry��s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones. 

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.” 

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest. 

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?” 

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck. 

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile. 

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear. 

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.” 

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form. 

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming. 

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all. 

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them. 

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat. 

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them. 

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure. 

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way. 

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all. 

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers. 

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.” 

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.” 

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone. 

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat. 

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits. 

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better. 

Y/N never sees him again.

[philistiniphagottini]

Hiii! Anon here who asked

"2, 15, 21, 23, 42 and 65 smut prompts with Portgas D Ace, pretty please <3"

Can you just do: 2, 15, 24 and 42 smut prompts with Portgas D Ace and fem reader instead of everything else then? If no, that's also understandable <3

Also, have a lovely day!

p.s.: you deserve all the hugs in the world <333

be happy hooman :)

AHHHHHHHHHHH thank you for being so patient with my dumb ass, I really, really appreciate it. I'm going to assume that you meant 23 instead of 24 ((because that's what you asked for previously)) I hope that's okay! I hope you enjoy :D

Smut Prompts

Prompts 2 + 15 + 23 + 42

cw. smut, penetrative sex, body worship, light breeding kink, slight temperature play, squirting, creampie ((this is quite vanilla lol)), female reader

Ace’s body was scorching hot to the touch. It felt like you were going to suffocate beneath him, bare body stuck against the sweat soaked bedsheet and the sweltering heat of Ace’s naked skin. You could feel the perspiration dotting your brow as every hair on the nape of your neck stood up in anticipation. Your breath hitched as you felt warm, large hands roam the expanse of your body, your skin prickling with goosebumps despite being bathed in the naked flames of a burning forge.

A warm hum stirred in Ace’s throat as he languidly rolled his hips, burying his cock deeper into the soused walls of your pussy as you trembled beneath him. Warmth tickled your spine and pooled rapidly in the pit of your stomach, your hands clasping the back of Ace’s neck as your fingers curled and pulled at the baby hairs lining his nape.

"You look so pretty" Ace murmured with a husky purr of your name. "So beautiful."

His large palms smoothed over your thighs and hips, slowly crawling up your body as he continued to bump his hips into yours. Your eyelashes fluttered over your burning cheeks, eyes threatening to slip close as the hot coil in the pit of your stomach twisted tighter to each wavering breath. You could hear your pulse drumming loudly in your ears as your heart fluttered wildly in your chest, close to leaping up into your throat as the tips of Ace’s fingers left a trail of fire in their wake as they danced along your body. They lingered between your sticky thighs, beads of slick rolling down the plush insides as he felt the place where your bodies were intimately joined in fervid rapture. Another soft hum stirred in his chest, the sound bordering on a delighted purr as his hands continued to roam your body. A spine-tingling shiver wracked your body when you felt a puff of hot air against the hollow of your throat as Ace dragged his bruised lips across your skin, lazily mouthing at your neck as he buried his cock deeper inside you.

"We fit together so perfectly" Ace breathed into the crook of your neck. "Like two puzzle pieces."

You whined his name as his hands squeezed the soft pudge of your belly, kneading at your flesh like a contented cat as your skin spilled between his digits. The tips of your ears felt hot as you twisted beneath him, his soft words of praise making your blood simmer hotly in your veins. His hands continued to paw at your soft stomach, thumbs dragging along the sensitive skin of your v-line as his teeth nipped at your jaw. Your hands tangled in his mop of dark hair, your chest heaving and soft tits bouncing as your pert nipples rubbed sensually against the hard muscles of his chest, your back arching as his cock carved a path deeper into you. You could feel the clap of his pelvis against the pearl sitting pretty at the top of your pussy, the bundle of nerves flushing to life from the delicious friction. Your tongue felt heavy as you tried to peel it off the roof of your mouth, throat bobbing as you swallowed thickly and tasted the desire in the back of your throat. You could barely think past the thick fog clouding your mind as Ace squeezed your belly yet again, his fascination almost maddening as another spike of pleasure left you feeling rather breathless. His voice vibrated against your skin when he spoke, tongue tasting the perspiration clinging to your skin as his pearly white teeth followed the path of his tongue.

"Want a put a baby right here" Ace said, the large palm of his hand pressing down on your stomach. "Will you let me?"

It felt like your insides turned to mush around the shape of his cock, plush walls fluttering around his girth as the pressure in your core started to bubble to the surface. You started to nod along to his words, fingers pressed hard into his scalp as you threatened to rip the roots of his hair out. A moan tickled the back of his throat as you mewled with bliss beneath him, legs loosely wrapping around his waist and ushering him closer as you dug your feet into the beautiful dip of his back.

"Please" you whispered hoarsely, voice straining at the edges. "Please Ace, put a baby in me."

You could swear the temperature in the room just skyrocketed and the blistering heat almost made you choke. Ace’s lips suddenly captured yours in a searing kiss, his tongue prying apart the seam of your lips as he whispered a litany of ‘thank you’ into the hot cavern of your mouth. His musky scent tickled your nose as you breathed deeply, a string of soft moans crawling out of your throat as he sucked your tongue into his own mouth. The pace of his hips only increased a fraction as he thrust into you, the tip of his cock grazing against the soft, gummy patch inside of you that made stars swirl in your vision. He jammed his thumb against your twitching clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves in tight circles as he continued to worship your body, praises of your name muffled against your kiss swollen lips like a prayer.

Your feet kicked at his back as the smouldering fire in your stomach was stoked into fiercer flames, the pressure intense and threatening to break something inside of you at a moments notice. You writhed beneath the hot press of Ace’s body, your pussy slobbering filthily around his cock as you tried to suck him deeper, desperate to feel him pressed against the raw nerve inside you that was about to snap. You parted from his swollen lips with a heavy gasp, a hiccup of pleasure stuck in your throat as tears pricked the corner of your dazed eyes.

"Ace" you whined. "Gonna cum. Gonna cum really hard."

Ace gently hushed you, holding your gaze with his bright stare as he rubbed soothing circles against your belly.

"It’s okay, pretty baby" he reassured. "I got you. You can cum."

You threw your head back into the safe confines of your pillow, your lips parted around a loud cry that echoed around your stuffy bedroom as the coil in your stomach shattered. Your pussy spasmed around Ace, your clit twitching violently against his rough thumb as your veins were flooded with white hot relief. Your juices spilled forth in thin, translucent threads, drooling around his cock as he continued to rut against you like a dog in heat. Ace fought to keep his eyes uncrossed as he groaned, your snug pussy squeezing him so tight as he smothered the head of his cock against the most sacred part of you. Your body continued to twitch in the aftermath of your pleasure as the push of Ace’s hips came to an abrupt halt, cock buried to the hilt inside of you as he came with a loud grunt. His cock kicked with each rope of his viscous seed that painted your walls, the heat his body provided occupying your hazy mind as you were filled to the brim. Your nerves continued to zap you as he pumped every last drop of his seed into your greedy pussy, your snug walls milking him until he was completely dry. 

The warmth overflowed and dribbled down your quaking thighs, your pussy still clenching tight around Ace’s cock as it kept your centre plugged and stuffed full. His hard pants mingled with your own laboured breathing, his clammy skin sticking to yours as wisps of dark hair stuck to the side of his freckled cheeks. He trailed wet kisses over your chin, trying to coax you out of your stupor and draw your gaze to him once more. Your head eventually tipped as you gazed down at him through lidded eyes, head still swirling up in the clouds as your nerves had yet to settle. Your grip on his hair eased as you massaged your fingers along his scalp, teasing the knots out of his wild hair with a warm smile. He rubbed his hands against your full, round belly, a hum of content bubbling up your throat as his hands worshipped your body. He rested his chin between the valley of your breasts, a wide grin lighting up his features.

"Are you full? Do you need more?"