#it’s me I’m y/n

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Overachiever

—

Time Written-12:01 a.m.

Jason Todd/fem!reader smut (gave up looking for an image for this guy so yea)

—

Faint blotches of muted blues and crooked gray shadows shroud your closed eyes, your heartbeat drumming in your head. Loud, thick gurgles ring in your ears, forcing all thoughts from your head.

Short, guttural grunts erupted above you. The sting along your scalp from a fistful of hair being clutched helped control your involuntary speed, coming to a sudden halt.

“I said,” his voice breaches through your muddled mind. “Keep those eyes open.”

On demand, you do so. Your watery eyes opening to a blurred vision of him; a rugged, sweat dampened mess, still clad in his leather uniform.

His hand eases off the back of your neck, allowing you to pull yourself off his fat, curved cock with a loud, lung expanding gasp. You cough after short chokes, a mix of spit and thick precum dribbling down your chin, seeping in between the valley of your breasts through your own suit.

“Look at you,” Jason huffs, guiding his heavy cock again to press against your glistening lips, feeling a sparkling pride over your ruined makeup.

“Pretty little whore. Y’see that?” He questions, guiding your head with his free hand to gaze down at him in question, focusing on the faint ring of bright red lipstick marking a good three quarters along the length.

“You’re getting better at this, Princess,” he breathlessly chuckles, tapping your outer cheek with his drenched dick.

“Bet your throat hurts, huh? Be honest.” His question has you nodding without much thought, feeling the muscles in your neck tingling after getting bullied and bruised by an eagerly horny vigilante.

“Tsk tsk. New hole’s just getting used to me, sweetheart,” Jason cooes with highly detectable mockery before leaning down, grasping your chin with two fingers to have you look at him, taking in his crinkled, amused expression.

“All that big talk when you’re stealing shit, now you got nothing to say.” After a condescending chuckle, Jason traps you in a hot, tongue heavy kiss, feeling himself throbbing at the sounds of your measly little whimpers.

“Aww, What’s the matter? Too fucked out already?” He whispers in between short pecks, swiping off a hint of spit along your chin before bringing it towards his lips, sucking the digit clean.

“Maybe it’s a little too much for ya,” Jason insists in a second guess attempt, fighting back a smirk from your growing eyes loaded up with denial. “Bit too big for you to take—“

“N-no!” You insist, your once balled up fists reaching up to grasp along his wrists. “I can do it, I know I can. Please, Jay.”

“Easy, easy. Fun’s barely starting, babygirl.” Jason displays his full smile, sharp teeth making an appearance with his chuckle.

Alongside pride, he was still giddy that he got you to agree to this.

“I know you wanna make me happy. Know you wanna earn your little reward.”

A hot, gushy load down your throat became your solid priority in an instant. Jason had that ability to suddenly render you absolutely starving in seconds, manipulating you into wanting what hadn’t come to mind before.

Your answer was a solid nod, eyes glowing in anticipation to further please him. His heavy palm clasps your throat in a snug hold, holding your head in place. His voice is low, quiet and lustful, but you hear him loud and clear.

“Tell you what,” Jason proposes with a quirk in his brow. “You take all of me; every last inch, an’ I’ll give you what you want.”

Eagerness leaves you automatically agreeing; pretty, kiss swollen lips with a pretty pink tongue eager to lap at the fat bead that threatened to drip off his length.

“That what you want, pretty girl?” He questions. “Want to make me happy? Wan’ me to make you come?”

You feel your whole body heating up from the fire that's burning deep inside you; your pussy painfully untouched and drenched. Jason promised he’d give you what you wanted if you played along in being a pretend thief, the motivation keeping you barely stable as it is.

It was like your brain was hard-wired to urge him towards his release. Or, maybe the mix of arousal and oxygen deprivation swirling around in your head was making you more submissive to set your own desires aside for him.

Eagerly nodding was your only form of answer, but Jason would gladly take it.

“Prove it then,” His hands leave your neck and head, settling them back along his sides. “Show me.”

Adjusting your sore knees against crooked gravel, you greedily lap up the fat, clear bead of precum that called your name, the saltiness drowning your tastebuds.

He lets out a short groan, brows furrowing slightly as he watches a bit of himself disappear between your lipstick smeared lips. His hum rumbles low in his chest as you bob your head back and forth at a steady pace, swirling along him with your tongue.

He's quickly drunk off of your persistent eagerness to please him, peering up at him through wet lashes. You were more focused on his reactions, watching his head slightly raise, threatening to tilt back if he wasn’t so stubborn to watch every second of it.

You looked a gorgeous sight already as you changed direction, pressing your glistening lips along the underside of his heavy cock, feeling the majority of his heavy dick rest along your face, settling against the corner of your cheek, nestled beside the small grove of your nostril.

A perfect picture to capture the memory, if it occurred to him to pull out his phone. His obedient, needy girl eager to please whenever he needed you.

He's panting harder now, shoulders rising quicker with his slightly labored breathing.

“Ready?” He had the decency to ask, waiting for your muffled hum in response before grasping hold of himself.

“Open.”

You obey, sticking out your pretty tongue.

“Eyes on me,” he taps the fat head along the muscle at least three times, too impatient to warn you of what happens if they close.

His hips lurch forward, sliding himself deep in your throat with a relieved groan. He fills your mouth up easily, his tip pushing past something hard in your throat until he's blocking your airways. You try to settle your reflex, nearly choking on him at the start.

Your soaking wet lips slowly passed where you last reached, your nose brushing against thick curls at his base, taking in his musk while choking on cock, hooking your fingers over the tight harnesses securing his meaty thighs.

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep your throat from rejecting him, but you're not able to hold him there for long before you choke.

The vibrations left him shivering, watching spit bubble from the corners of your mouth, dripping slowly down your chin and neck, disappearing down your constricting suit zipper.

“That’s it,” he grunts, his head tilting back in pure, raw pleasure, feeling his balls tighten with every constrict of your throat as he fucks your face.

Maybe it was his fault, getting off on your vile, arousing gags, your sickly gray tears rolling down your ruined face. The ultimate ego boost, nothing could ever top this.

You could've cared less of the mess you became, focused on him and his pleasure alone. His deep, aggressively hot tone serenaded through your brain like melted dark chocolate, leaving you addicted for more.

A rich, heavy moan left his mouth, vibrating through his chest as his head tilts back, Adam’s apple bobbing with thin beads of sweat as the nightly breeze bats against his shivering skin.

The sight of those gorgeously shiny lips clenching along the base of his drenched dick left him teetering on the very edge, your eyes watering from the sheer size of him being a bit too much for you to take.

Jason raised you higher up on his cock, nearly forcing your buckling knees off the ground.

The sounds that came from your pretty little mouth as you reached your limit, forcing you to take more than you were used to were vile and filthy, but he loved every second of it. A private symphony just for him alone.

“Nice and messy, babygirl,” Jason rasps out, glancing down at your flushed face with heavy lidded eyes.

“Gonna clean up that messy little pussy,” he murmured through heavy panting, reinforcing his interlocked fingers behind your head. “Then fuck those wet tits next.”

[satoruxx]

boyfriend toji asks you to workout with him all the time, but not in the way you’re thinking. you’re his incentive, a little prize for working so hard.

so of course he cages you underneath him as he does push ups, claiming a victory kiss each time he lowers himself to the ground. honestly the way you laugh and giggle is far more satisfying than the actual workout part of it, his lips quirking into a half smile each time he pushes back up.

“you’re so lame,” you laugh, patting his flexing bicep and he rolls his eyes.

“what’s wrong with havin’ a prize? i’m workin’ so hard,” he stresses the last word with an over exaggerated sigh.

“yeah right like this isn’t the easiest possible thing for you—”

a heavy kiss—his favorite way of shutting you up. he pulls back, expression going smug at your dazed reaction.

“you sure do talk a lot for someone who’s enjoying it.” he quips.

and you do enjoy it—honestly you’d take any excuse to steal affection from the hulking wolf of a man that is your boyfriend, especially when he’s always so willing to give it.

some days he’ll switch it up and ask you to get on his back as he does his push ups, because god knows he’s strong and he can handle you so easily.

and he likes the way you loop your arms around his neck, likes the way you squeal as he playfully tries to bite your fingers when they get too close to his face.

“i think i’ll just stay up here,” you comment from atop his back, and toji can hear your smile.

“oh yeah?” he grunts as he lowers himself to the ground.

“mhm.” your fingers drum over his back. “you look pretty good like this. i can boss you around and everything.”

“hah—” an evil smirk, even as sweat drips down his temple. “watch your mouth, kid. don’t push your luck.”

you laugh, he grins. somehow you just make the whole process that much more fun for him.

toji is selfish too. bad enough that he has you trapped either under him or on top of him as he does push ups for as long as he can. but once he’s done and you’re about to go do your own work he’s grabbing your wrist with that trademark smirk going, “hey i’m not done yet.”

and then you find yourself holding his feet down as he casually does sit ups, and of course each time he makes it back up he’s kissing you. you giggle each time, leaning your weight onto your palms to keep his legs steady as you peak over his knees. the sound tickles his ears—infectious.

“aren’t you tired yet?” you call out, tilting your head with a teasing smile. toji pulls himself up, abs flexing as his bulky arms stay put behind his head.

“tired?” he scoffs, lips brushing over yours. he pulls back just slightly, hooded eyes boring into yours. “i got my energy right here.”

he’s ridiculous. selfish and utterly ridiculous. it comes to a point where he refuses to do his exercises if you’re not there, claiming that “it’s no fun workin’ hard if there’s nothin’ to work hard for.”

but obviously half of the time he ends up forgetting about the workout anyway, grabbing at your waist to pull you into his lap as he presses his mouth to yours eagerly—one little prize already managing to distract him.

for someone so strong, toji can be embarrassingly weak when it comes to you.

oh well, no harm done. he knows he can get his exercise in a different way—and you have no problem with that either.

[sleepymarimo]

jokingly telling 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 a few weeks before your due date about how babies sometimes get switched in hospitals and he just shakes his head and says you’re being silly…

…then when megumi is born he refuses to let him out of his sight because he is not going to risk having his son swapped!! his big frame is almost blocking the halls, his nose grazing the glass of the door window while he watches each test..!!

and when the nurse steps out holding baby ‘gumi in a blanket, they’re obviously intimidated, practically squirming under the assassin’s gaze. “uh, i’m guessing you’re dad?”

toji takes megumi from them, holding the newborn like he’s a treasure, which he is. one look at those little green eyes peeking from the blankets and toji knows he’s going to guard this tiny bundle with his life.

he nods. “yeah, i’m dad.”

[emmyrosee]

Could you maybe do smth like cuddling with sukuna

👉👈

Backs facing each other, you gently nudge his legs with your foot, smiling as you’re able to wiggle it between his calves. He traps your foot between his legs, and you giggle when you try to pull it back.

“I’m on insta, fuck off,” he grumbles, but you hear the annoyed smile in his voice.

“I wanna snuggle,” you mewl.

“Yeah, and I want to see how this dude makes this garlic bread.”

You slip your own phone off the nightstand and open your message app, clicking his name and quickly typing.

SENT I want attention, boyfriend 🫶🏻

You hear him snort and blunt nails briefly scratch down the sole of your trapped foot, making you try to tug it back and squeal in surprise. “You want attention?” He begins, letting go of your foot so he’s able to turn on his side and spoon you from behind, body contorting to be straight curled behind you. “Well let me tell you something- I always give you my damn attention. You just can’t live without it.”

You practically purr as he loops his arms around you, tugging you closer and letting his warm hands slip under your hoodie, warm touch on your tummy relaxing you. “You’re right,” you hum. “I just want you all to myself all the time. Not my fault you give in.” He hikes up his voice to offer you a mocking “mi meh mi meh mi”’s. You call him a brat in reply.

“If you won’t let me scroll on my instagram, scroll on yours so I can watch,” he demands.

“I can’t, I follow naked anime men.”

“Im sure you’re joking, but so help me god if you go on Instagram and there’s a naked anime man, I’m blowing up your phone.” You offer him a laugh and slip out your phone to scroll, relishing in the little kiss he plants to your jawline, then adjusting his head to be able to watch your timeline with you.

You can’t help but grin as you feel one of his feet prod to try and get between your legs, mimicking how yours was just moments ago.

[gardentool]

[Another Itadori training session]

Nanami: You couldn’t use Black Flash fast enough. You just killed Y/N.

Y/N: Honey…

Nanami: I can’t hear you, Y/N. You’re dead.

Nanami, to Yuji: They bled out in your lap. How will you break the news to me? Let's see.

Yuji: We don't have to do this.

Nanami: Ah, Itadori, how are things going with Y/N, the love of my life? Wait, why are you here at this late hour? And whose blood is that?

Yuji: Okay, I get it.

Nanami: It's Y/N’s? This is devastating. I'm inconsolable. And…

[Nanami snaps his fingers]

Nanami: I’ve killed myself.

Yuji: Cool. I can see this is gonna be fun…

[brningcigs]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

no1-pro hero!katsuki x babysitter!reader !!

╰┈➤ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“is the brat asleep?”

you were knocked out of your cleaning trance upon hearing that familiar gruff voice, glancing over your shoulder and smiling before you looked back down to finish washing the dish in your hand. “he sure is.. he knocked out about twenty minutes ago.”

katsuki approached the sink, leaning against the counter as he watched you clean the dirty dishes in the sink. “how’s he been with you? i know he can be a handful.” you simply smiled and shook your head. “he’s an angel. s’got a temper like his daddy, but i know how to handle him.” you replied, your smile only growing. ever since you started working for bakugou you and his son became inseparable. he was the sweetest kid - sure his tantrums were a nightmare but he was awesome.

katsuki chuckled and nodded his head. “yeah sorry bout that.. he seems to take after me with a lot of those kinds of things. how are you with.. yknow, everything? working for me i mean. any complaints?” as you pondered his question you turned away from the now empty sink and grabbed a clean rag, drying your hands off on them before looking back up at katsukis taller frame. “i like it.. i really do. honestly i would do it for free. you’re son is wonderful and you’re..” you stop yourself before you accidentally say something unprofessional, smiling sheepishly as your ears heat up a few degrees. “you’re wonderful as well..”

the corner of katsukis mouth pulls into a grin noticing the faint hint of color on your cheeks and he leans in a little closer. “you’re pretty wonderful yourself.” he spoke in a foreignly tender voice and you can’t help but lower your head to hide the growing blush on your face and tuck your hair behind your ear. “thank you..” you say as you glance back up at him, your eyes switching between his red ones.

a brief moment of comfortable silence falls between you two before katsuki finally breaks it, his hand reaching out to rest on the counter top behind you. “do you wanna have dinner with me sometime?”

you almost choke on nothing, surprised by his sudden proposal and you find your cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so much. “i- yeah i would.. love that a lot.” you reply with a small giggle and a few chuckles pull from katsuki as well. “good.” he replies, nodding his head in triumph.

a moment of silence fell between you two but it wasn’t uncomfortable. when you first started working for katsuki, he was more stand-off-ish, not really making conversation or feeding into your attempts at small talk. but as the weeks of working for him turned into months he became more accustomed with you, and you were just so good with his son.

katsuki could still recall the moment he realized he was interested in you beyond working as his babysitter for his son - or his ‘brat’ as he referred to him as. he had come home from work late, pushing down enough of his ego to apologize for getting held up when he spotted you in his sons nursery, holding the small child in your arms protectively in your sleep. his features softened as he stared, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his heart swelled.

ever since that moment, he knew he wanted to get closer to you. he became more talkative, showing his appreciation more. he even started paying you more, which took him having to tell you to shut the hell up when you politely declined, pointing out that he had more money than he knew what to do with.

now that he’d finally made a move, you were beyond overjoyed. you weren’t sure what to expect of this date, but you couldn’t wait to finally get to know him on a deeper level.

[equestriagirl16]

YALL IM-

IM LIGHTHEADED IM LIGHTHEADED IM LIGHTHEADED-

Btw his song from my playlist is Defying Gravity by Matt Copley I don’t make the rules💖

[nofingjustaninchident]

how can someone like this be canonically ugly? i want him to *** ** ******* * **** *** **** *** ****** *** ** ** ***** * **** ***** *******

[atomicfoxx]

Have I ever mentioned his HANDS BC HOOH

[7brownsuga7]

Imagining Satoru fucking you hard and whispering in your ear to be quiet because you have company in the other room. But despite his words, his actions will say otherwise as he continues to ram into you, making you cry out in pleasure. He loves the thrill of possibly being heard. He knows you both should be quiet, but there’s something about watching you struggle to be silent whilst he gives you deep strokes that gets his blood rushing. So he fucks you harder, balls slapping against your pussy with each forceful thrust. “shh baby, you gotta try to be quiet”. A smirk plastered on his face, because he knows you can’t, especially when he makes it hard for you to. He just hopes that your company are enjoying the show.

[heavenlyraindrops]

☆ “ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ☆

☆ She said “fuck me like I’m famous”| Chapter one

☆ Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, awkward!reader, reader is literally a hermit, no established relationship, not proofread, porn with like a drop of plot, they get slightly awkward after doing it but it’s ok <3 ☆ Word Count: 3.3k | Available on Tumblr & AO3

“Out? For dinner?”

You tore your eyes from your phone to look at Ami, who was watching Chiho roll around on the floor, immersed in whichever new game of pretend she had devised.

“Yes, dinner,” she repeated, then turned to look at you. “I’m meeting a… friend. Not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. And it would do you some good to meet new people, and to get out more.” She raked her eyes over you, from your baggy clothes to messy updo. 

“What’s that meant to mean? I get out plenty often. I’m out right now with you, aren’t I?”

“‘Chilling out’ at my house twice every week isn’t exactly going out, [name],” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood up, stepping towards the kitchen. “You’re like a hermit.”

You furrowed your brows together. “Maybe that’s how I like it.”

You heard water trickling as it filled up her glass, and her voice drift down towards where you were sitting. “I tend to wonder if I’m your only friend.”

At those words you stiffened, eyes opening wide and shooting up, back straight. “What? Friends?” You spluttered. “I have friends. I have plenty of friends. You’re not my only friend.” The words tumbled out of you hastily, and then you paused, flashing her a charming smile, trying to distract her. “You’re just my favourite one!”

She rolled her eyes as she sat back down. “Well, you have awful taste.” She handed you a drinks can. Your favourite.

“Hardly,” you uttered

“Just- you focus on work too much, okay? You need to find balance.” She took your palm, uncurling your fingers and placing the cold can in your hand. “Just come to this dinner.”

“…Fine.” You dug your finger under the tab, trying to get it open. “Who even is this friend, anyways?”

“Kenji Sato.”

You stared at her.

She must have mistaken your silence and blank stare for shock, or stupor instead of a reaction to what you considered to be an underwhelming statement, because she just sat back, letting her words sink in. They did, not that they meant much to you.

“Who?” You said blankly.

She blinked, then leaned forward. “Uh, Ken Sato? The really famous baseball player?”

You took a slow sip of the drink- the carbonation danced on your tongue. “No idea who that is. I don’t follow baseball.”

“You don’t follow anything,” she pointed out. “You’re completely out of the loop.”

You threw your hands in the air, exasperated. “Just- look, is he someone I should be impressed with? Like, am I-“

“I’ve mentioned him once,” Ami cut in. “Played in the States, moved to Japan suddenly? I was wondering why, and mentioned it to you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you weren’t listening.”

“No no, I was,” you said quickly, then frowned, furrowing your brow. “Wait, didn’t you interrogate him, once? Twice?”

“Thrice,” she corrected you. “And it's called an interview, not an interrogation.”

“Same thing,” you said indignantly, with another gulp of ice cold carbonated sugar. “And you’re sure he’s just a friend.” You eyed her, testing her for any telltale signs on her face suggesting otherwise.

She simply stared at you, unimpressed. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you said, stretching out the vowel, rolling it along your tongue. You stopped. “Okay, fine, I’ll come to your dinner thing.”

“Yes!” She said, sounding a bit too relieved. You stared at her. “Sorry, it’s just- I’m so glad you’re finally-“ she cut off with an excited, pleased noise. 

You looked at her, concern for yourself creeping into your expression. “Am I really that-“

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Now, please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night-“

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yes, do you have plans?” She didn’t wait for an answer, because she already knew it. “No? Thought so. Please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night, because it’ll be worth it.”

“Uh huh,” you said slowly.

“I wonder if you even remember how to behave in a social setting,” she mused, and you smacked her shoulder. 

That night when you got home and flopped down on your bed, pulling out your phone, your finger hovered over the search bar.

What was his name?

Kenji Sato.

You were typing in the words before you even realized it, and seeing the images, you froze.

Oh. 

Shoving down any sort of deranged thoughts that could have been formulating in your head, you buried your face into your pillow and tried to fall asleep.

-

“[name]!”

“Ami!” You stuttered. Ami came towards you, eyes lighting up as she took in your appearance.

“You look really different,” she said, taking in your appearance. “Really pretty.”

You didn’t often wear clothes that were form-fitting or flattered your figure, but you’d decided that since it was a dinner with basically a celebrity, you might as well have put in some extra effort into your looks. 

“Thanks,” you said, as she led you through the restaurant doors and to your table. Pausing, she turned to look at you. 

“You look sick,” she frowned. “And nervous.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe this really was a bad idea. I should have know you can’t handle-“

“No!” You almost burst out. “No, I mean, I can do this. It’s not that big a deal. I’m just meeting a new person, right?” 

She nodded hesitantly, still frowning at you.

“Right. So, not a big de-“

“Hey, Ami.”

You froze, shoulders stiffening.

“Kenji.” Ami turned to him. You still hadn’t looked at him yet, eyes fixed desperately on Ami’s face. “This is [name]. Name, this is-“

“Ken Sato.” He held out his hand to you, to shake. You stared at his long fingers, then slowly looked up to his face. He was wearing this easy, charming grin. Your knees almost buckled. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

You grabbed his hand and shook it. “N-nice to meet you.” You both held your stare a few seconds longer than you needed to. 

He raised a dark brow, and you could have sworn his expression had flickered with amusement before he turned back to Ami. “And here I was worried I was late.” He waved you both on towards the table, where you took your seats.

Ami was looking at you, frowning. You gave her a wobbly smile back. 

Oh, fuck this.

-

“So, what did you say you work as, [name]?” 

Kenji’s voice snapped you out of your haze, and you looked up at him, eyes widening. “Oh, I’m an, uh, I’m an author.” You stared hard at your food, then looked back up at him to gauge his reaction. 

He just leaned back against his chair. “Cool.” His eyes were set on yours. You flushed. “What sort of stuff do you write?”

“Uh,” your eyes slid to Ami, who was looking at you expectantly. “Romance, mostly.” The confession made your cheeks burn but you were too much of a mess to lie smoothly, not that it had even occurred to you in the first place- and Ami would have teased you about it later.

But Kenji just formed a small ‘o’ with his mouth, then smirked. “That’s cute.”

“Is it?” You had to fight to not make your voice sound like a squeak. He just nodded, taking a bite of his food like it was nothing. 

He’d said it so casually that Ami hadn’t even noticed, instead pouring herself more of her drink and commenting on how Kenji had healed up. You blinked, confused, and turned as he held his arm out, flexing it.

“Yeah, quicker than I thought,” he said. You could see the faint outline of his muscles through the fabric and were so prepared to just jump out the window, then and there. He must have caught you staring because, without turning his head, he locked eyes with you and fucking winked.

You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together and trying to ignore every instinct in your body screaming at you to throw yourself across the table. “You got hurt?”

He dropped his arm back to his side, rolling his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s fine now though.”

You didn’t press any farther, just eating your food in flushed silence, trying to ignore the burning you could feel in between your thighs. 

-

“How’d you get here, [name]?” Ami asked. You stared desperately at your phone screen.

“Cab,” you muttered, rubbing your hand on the back of your neck. The app was empty. “But there aren’t any available.”

You checked the time. Half past eleven. You shivered, the night air biting at your skin. Ami looked at you, concerned. “Should I drop you?”

“No. No.” Guilt ate away at your gut. “No, you need to get home to Chiho, and I’m in the completely opposite direction- it’s not worth it.” You stepped back, and you could feel Kenji look over your shoulder at your screen. He leaned down to your level, breath warm on your ear. You shivered again, but not from the cold. “I’ll just wait until something shows up.”

“What’s your address?” He tilted his face slightly towards you, before pulling away. You stared at him, then frowned at him slightly, opening your mouth to reply, but Ami cut in.

“Look, I-“ she glanced at her watch. “I really need to go.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, [name].”

You waved her off. “Don’t be.”

And she was gone, her car rolling off. You looked back at Kenji, and quickly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, mumbling your address.

He tapped something into his phone, and his face twisted into a satisfactory grin. “It’s on the way to mine. So I’ll just drop you.” He started walking down the street.

You stumbled after him. “Oh- are you- are you sure?”

He turned, walking backwards, in the same direction but facing you know as he shrugged, grinning. “Why not? Better than waiting around in the cold for a ride.”

“R-right.” 

He led you to where a motorbike was parked, and you blinked. “You rode here on a motorcycle?”

He shrugged his blue biker’s jacket off, and without warning, draped it over your shoulders. “Yeah. Surprised?”

“I… don’t know.” Your face was burning at the action. “Are you sure…” you fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

He waved his hand at it dismissively. “Take it. You look cold.”

You fell silent. Then: “I don’t have a helmet.”

He reached into a compartment, pulling one out. “Spare. For situations like this, I guess. Comes in handy.”

“Situations like this?” You echoed, as he stepped towards you, setting the helmet down over your head and fastening it tight. Your heart was going a million miles a minute.

“When I have to make sure a pretty girl like you gets home, obviously,” he said casually, but the look on his face betrayed his nonchalant tone. He clambered onto the bike. “Come on, then. Get on.”

You blinked, face burning even harder than before, but did as he told you to. 

-

“Thanks. For taking me home, I mean.” 

He looked up at you as you pulled the helmet off your head, imitating the action himself. A strand of hair fell in front of his forehead. “Don’t think about it,” he shrugged, and your grip on the helmet tightened as you clutched it to your chest. 

“Oh, but I will.” You dropped your voice to a husky whisper, and watched his jaw clench. Oh thank you god, I remember how to flirt. Kind of. 

Now it was his turn to become flustered, as he gave you another grin, shaky this time. “Really?” He asked, voice hoarse. You stepped back, towards your house.

“You should come inside,” you suggested. “It’s not that late.”

He raised his eyebrow. “It’s almost midnight,” he laughed, but didn’t object to your offering, licking his lips nervously. You paused your walk up towards your front door, turning and looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh, fuck this,” he muttered, abandoning the bike and walking towards you. Your stomach exploded into a flurry of butterflies as you both hurried towards your front door. 

-

You bit back a whimper as his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with a hunger you hadn’t been met with before. The door hadn’t even shut before his hands were on your waist, dragging you close to him- and then it was, and he pinned you against it, your back pressing into the ridges of the wood. 

He pulled away, both of your breathing ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, eye contact unwavering. He cursed under his breath. “Sorry- I should have- I should have asked.”

You were barely able to move your mouth, shaking your head lightly. “It’s fine,” you breathed, and his eyes flicked back down to your lips, grip on your waist tightening. “You didn’t have to.”

“God, you’re-“ he choked on his own words. “You’re pretty.” 

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth was capturing yours again, heat burning all over as one of his hands wandered to grip your nape, holding you steady. His teeth grazed your lip and you gasped, but he pulled away, pressing kisses all the way down your jaw and collarbone, leaving a trail of blooming bruises in his wake. His other hand fell from your waist to hip, pressing you close up against him, and heat pooled in your core. 

“Ken,” you managed to whisper weakly through the dizzying haze clouding your mind. He paused, teeth pressed against your skin, and he leaned back up to you, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear, humming. “Are you sure this is a g-good idea?” Your voice was shaking. He frowned, pulling away, and his fingers dug into your hips. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” His voice was husky with desire, eyes trained on your every movement. You could feel his breath on your skin. You opened your mouth, searching for a reason, but couldn’t find any. He trailed his fingers down your neck, brushing over the marks, to the collar of your top, tugging at it. “Come on.”

You stumbled after him, shedding the jacket, ignoring it as it fell to the floor, and he pulled you down onto the couch with him, hands on your waist. You fell into his lap, straddling him. He grinned. “Still can’t find a reason?”

“…No.”

“Then just relax,” he told you, lips still pressed against your jaw, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your top. “Because I’m about to make you feel really good.”

At his words you bit back a moan, sucking in a harsh breath as you bit your lip, involuntarily rolling your hips against him. He hissed, tipping his head back. You were certain his hands were going to leave marks everywhere they touched, feeling them dig into your hips as you dove onto his neck, suckling and biting, anything to repay the affection he’d shown you earlier.

His hand fisted your hair, gently but firmly tugging you back and away. “Stop it,” he hissed. “Just let me do my thing, okay?”

You looked at him, confused, and slightly hurt, until he quickly pressed a reassuring kiss to your lips. “I said I’d make you feel good, so just sit back and let me, got it?”

You didn’t argue with him, not when he flipped you around so that your back was pressed against the couch, or when he sank to his knees, pushing your legs open, letting out a shaky breath as your skirt hiked right up your thighs. 

He let out a breathless laugh. “You’re wet,” he teased, his hot breath hitting your skin. He pressed a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, making you shiver, then another, each one lasting longer before the one before, leaving marks littering all over your inner thighs. You bit your lip- the mere sight of his face in between your legs was enough to get you dripping, even more than you were before, and he seemed to notice, because he let out an amused chuckle.

“Wh-what?” Your voice was broken, and hitched when he pressed his thumb to your clothed clit, sending a jolt of pleasure into your cunt. He smirked at your reaction. 

“Nothing,” he murmured, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your soaked panties, tugging them slowly down your legs. Your teeth pressed down on your bottom lip harder. His eyes flicked up to meet your expression. “What? Nervous?” 

You didn’t reply, just shaking, and he let out a slow breath, pressing his lips back against your inner thigh as his expression softened. “Don’t be, baby.” His lips curled back into his signature grin. “I told you you could relax, remember?”

You flushed, and nodded.

Without warning, he dove in, lips pressing down on your clit. You whimpered, not even enough time to react before his tongue licked a long strip up your entrance, making you twitch and spasm, throbbing pleasure aching. Your legs instinctively pulled together but he forced them back apart, tongue tracing slow patterns across your bundle of nerves, eyes hooded with lust as he watched your flinch and gasp. 

You let out a broken whimper of his name, and felt him tense under you- but he didn’t stop his movements, slipping his tongue in between your folds, stretching you out with his fingers. You bucked your hips, but he grabbed your hip with his other hand, pinning you down to keep you from moving. “Shhh,” he whispered, his low voice sending vibrations into your core. You let out a desperate moan- it took everything in you to not desperately start grinding against his face. He chuckled slightly at your pitiful state, turning his attention back to your dripping cunt, slipping a finger inside. Your back arched, hand flying to your mouth to clamp over it. A finger slipped inside, curling to hit that sweet spot- you almost saw stars.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, screwing your eyes shut. “I think I’m gonna cum-“

He simply hummed at your words, the vibrations of his voice sending another shockwave through you, lapping at you like he was hungrier than before, fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. You knew what he was saying.

Go on. Cum. 

And you did, a broken cry of his name slipping past your lips as the orgasm crashed over you, legs shaking as he drew out your high for as long as possible. And when you finally came down he pushed himself up, towards you, capturing your lips in another feverish kiss. 

You could see the shaky movements of his chest as he breathed heavily, feel his boner pressed up against you, his face flushed and burning to the touch. You pulled away. 

“Are you… shoud I…” You reached for his zipper, despite the fact your voice was heavy with fatigue but he just shook his head, laughing breathlessly.

“No, no, I… don’t worry about me.” He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll just- where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the corridor, first door on the left,” you mumbled, slumping back. He stood up, adjusting your head on the couch.

“Okay, I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

You heard his footsteps hurry away and the door shut.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed, with you laying on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you heard his footsteps approach you again. You looked up at him drowsily.

“Hey.” Your voice was barely audible. “You should stay here for the night.”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t object, even when you waved him over to lay next to you. You settled on top of him, laying your head on his chest. His arm looped around your waist. 

“[name],” he muttered. You lifted your head. “Is this just a… one time thing?”

You tilted your head. “Do you want it to be?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

You smiled. “Me neither.”

☆ A/N: visit either the first tag or the pinned post to find the other chapters!

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 23rd. tom riddle — wet dreams, house rivals.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom’s been infiltrating your dreams, and you decide it’s time to call him out on it.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNIIII, coercion!!!!, dark!tom, mind manipulation, religious undertones, gryffindor!reader, enemies if you squint, fingering, squirting, begging, dream sex, tom riddle is his own warning, so much praise, dirty talk, verbal sparring.

You've never been a heavy sleeper. Even as a child, the smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, a shift in the walls—would jolt you awake. For years, you chalked it up to some ingrained survival instinct, some form of trauma response to whatever part of your childhood still haunts you. You got used to it.

But lately, it isn't sound that’s been waking you. It isn't movement or foundation shifts, either. It's the dreams.

Dreams—strange, lucid, intense dreams of him. Always him. Dreams that make you feel like you're drowning, like you're flying, like you've found a new level of intoxication that you'd never imagined possible—and each time the dreams wake you up, the sheets (and whatever bottoms you may have been wearing) are always soaked, and your thighs are always shaking.

It's maddening.

They feel too real to be anything but a violation, his presence bleeding into your subconscious regardless of how much you try to fight it. You know it means something is wrong. You'd tried to rationalize yourself into going back to sleep, telling yourself it's just hormones or some form of stress, but you're too smart to believe your own excuses.

You know it's more than that.

He's haunting you in your sleep—in the most unexpected way. The dreams are always lucid enough that you can feel it—you can feel him—his mouth on yours, his hands on your hips, his dick bullying your fucking cervix and his magic on your clit—leaving behind nothing but hunger. Hunger that's so intense it makes you want him in a way it almost scares you.

You tell yourself you hate him, you've always hated him—but denial only lasts for so many days, as you realize you can't look at him or talk to him without the dreams forcing their way to the forefront of your mind, making you remember the feelings and the sensations and how much, despite hating him, you want them to be real.

You wanted to believe it would pass. That this was nothing but a phase, a trick of your overactive mind. But deep down, you knew the truth. Tom Riddle has wormed his way into your head, into your dreams—out of spite—and he's not letting go.

So after a hell of a week of this—with damn near zero hours of sleep—you decide to seek him out. To put an end to this madness. Once and for all.

It takes every ounce of courage and Gryffindor-like reckless bravery you can scrape together just to go through with it, but somehow you do. Somehow, you make it across the castle, make it to his door. You're in your pyjamas, for Merlin's sake. It's 1 a.m., and the slick still coating your thighs from what had to have been your tenth lucid orgasm in a matter of a week is a humiliating reminder of why you're even here at all.

And when the door opens, you have the strange feeling that he's been expecting you, even as he makes a great show of acting surprised to see you, looking you up and down with a lazy, smug glance that makes your pulse quicken so viscerally you lose the last shred of sanity you were pathetically clinging to—

"What the fuck—" you prowl forward without hesitation, forcing him a step back into the room. "—are you doing to me?"

Even if you're not imagining some form of surprise in that smug little smirk, he does his best not to let it show.

"Me?" He says, all pretend innocence, flicking his hand out to shut the door behind you with some spell you don't care to name. "You'll have to be more specific."

You glare at him, refusing to acknowledge how unfairly attractive he looks in just sweatpants and an oversized shirt—because of course, even casual looks like this are a weapon in his arsenal.

"Cut the bullshit, Riddle," you snap, and you're not sure if it's your lack of sleep or some form of desperation-fuelled bravery, but you're suddenly invading his personal space, poking an accusing finger into his shoulder. "You're fucking haunting me—"

He blinks. "I’m haunting you. And how am I doing that?”

There's a part of you that knows it's a trap—that this is probably exactly what the smug bastard in front of you has been wanting, but your brain is so deprived of sleep and your body is so starved of respite that you decide 'fuck it'—you want answers, and you're going to get them.

"You're in my dreams," you say, bluntly, forcing an exhale alongside it. "You've been in them every night for a week straight. I haven't slept a bloody minute."

That's when it happens—the tiniest flash of amusement in his eyes, so brief you might've missed it if you weren't ready to tear his fucking throat out.

"You're accusing me of giving you dreams?" He asks, in a tone that makes you want to grab him by the front of his shirt and make him cut the bullshit, and you can't tell how much of your own expression is irritation and how much is lust. "You think I've somehow managed to invade your mind?"

"Don't be condescending," you spit, trying to focus on the spot between his eyebrows that makes the heat in your core roar the least, "and don't act like you're incapable. As much as I can't bloody stand you, we both know damn well your mind magic is strong enough to do this to me—"

"Mind magic," he echoes with an amused snort, "you think I'm doing some kind of mind magic to invade your dreams, is that it?"

He's so damn good at this, you think—infuriatingly good. The way he's playing it off like the idea is absurd, completely laughable—

"Fucking precisely.” You can't hide the heat from your voice. You don't care to try. "These aren't just dreams. They're—they're strong. I feel you. Your hands, your tongue, your—"

Dick. You can't even bring yourself to say it.

And the bastard just smirks, like he's reading your mind anyway. Like he knows. That glimmer in his eyes—arrogant, insufferable—only confirms it.

"Hm," he says with something bored, running a hand through his hair. "Your subconscious—"

"It's not a bloody subconscious thing," you cut him off, uninterested in whatever bullshit he was about to feed you. "It's you. You're invading my dreams—I feel you—my body fucking feels you—"

He laughs at that. Like some sick, sadistic freak. He actually laughs—

"Listen to yourself." He says, with a mocking tone that makes you want to shove him. "Are you that desperate to hate me that you're pinning your dreams on me?"

"Hate doesn't even begin to cover it," you spit, stepping closer, your frustration boiling over. He shifts slightly, his back brushing the wall. "You've got a hell of an ego, but even you have to know this isn't something I'd want. I wouldn't put you in my dreams willingly if you paid me to do it—"

He hums, smirk never faltering, if anything it fucking grows at the tirade.

"You've been dreaming of me for a week," he points out, coolly, as if this is the most casual conversation in the world. "And now, here you are—standing in my dorm in the middle of the night, dressed like this." He takes a step toward you, now. "Do you know what that's called, sweetheart?"

Your lungs hitch at the pet name. Your mind is at war with your cunt and it's losing—

"Delirium?" You choke out, noticing another flash of something in his eyes as the gap between you closes. "Insomnia? Sleep deprivation?"

He gives you a mocking arch of the eyebrow.

"No," he says, in a tone that makes you seethe. "It's called obsession."

"Oh. The irony," you can't help but hiss at him, heart pounding because he's in your space and you're in his and this shouldn't be getting to you the way it is. "It's rich, coming from you, that you'd put that on me when—when you've been mindfucking me every goddamn night—"

"Mindfucking you?" He repeats, almost lazily, as his gaze drops, sweeping over you—your pyjamas, the clear lack of bra, the flush creeping up your neck. "Is that what you think I've been doing? You think—"

The way he doesn't even deny it—doesn't argue the accusation—makes your blood boil in a way you can't control.

"It's the only explanation. You've been—you've been—" you cut him off but your sentence falters because his gaze is moving so deliberately, dragging over you like he's cataloging your weaknesses, and the anger curdles into something raw and desperate. "God, Tom, I just need it to stop. I'm so fucking tense and tired. I'm so wound I can't even focus—I'm wet all the time—"

His eyes snap up to meet yours at that, and he gives you a look you can't even begin to interpret. You bite your tongue, realizing the words that left your mouth just a moment too late to pull them back, and you know you've lost the upper hand in this, somehow. You feel the ground slipping from under you and you hate the way your body shivers as he takes another slow, deliberate, step forward.

"Is that what you are?” He wets his lips. "You've come all the way here, in the dead of night, in your pyjamas, half out of your mind with exhaustion because you're wet. Isn't that right?"

You know better than to answer, though you feel yourself walking straight into the trap he's set.

"Piss off," you snap, but the bravado in your voice is paper-thin as he takes another step forward. He's so close now that his scent overwhelms you—leather and spice, something sharp and smoky that makes your head spin. You recognize it, of course you do; it's the same as in your dreams, and the familiarity makes your knees feel unsteady. "You're—"

"Don't act so offended," he leans closer, his voice a low murmur, quiet, almost silky as it wraps around you, and suddenly you barely remember what you were so pissed off about. "You can't even deny it. I made you cum tonight, didn't I? In your dreams."

Your teeth grit. "You know you did—"

He takes one more step and now you're backed right up against his desk—and gods, Tom's tall, so much taller than you—and it feels like he's looming over you, caging you in.

"Mhm." There's a flash of triumph in his eyes as you lose your words. He leans down, breath grazing your ear just as he brings two fingers to your temple, pressing the pads against it. "Let's watch, shall we?"

Watc—oh no.

A cold sense of dread washes over you as you catch on to what he's insinuating, merely a second too late—

"Tom—"

He whispers something, something that pulls you under, and the next thing you know—in a flash of consciousness you didn't even consider possible—you're staring at yourself inside a dream you remember all too well. A dream sequence where you're moaning and trembling beneath him, your head thrown back, eyes rolling in unabashed pleasure as he drives into you, hips snapping with thrust after thrust after thrust—

And it's one thing to have felt it in the safety of your dreams, in the dead of night when you woke slick and desperate, clenching around nothing. But this—this is visceral. You can't look away because it's projecting inside your mind: the flush blooming across your chest, the arch of your back, the way your lips part with every desperate breath. You hear the obscene sounds spilling from your mouth, mingling with his low, guttural grunts—and worst of all, you can feel it.

You can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you, as if he's giving it to you now.

"Mm," you hear him hum from infront of you—it's too much—you're lost in the memory, the dream, and it's a strange, voyeuristic, intimate experience to watch yourself and him like that. "You're worse off than I thought."

You’re gripping the wood of his desk so hard your fingertips are numb, heart flying out of the room as his hand slowly slides from your temple down to your jaw, holding you in place—

"Stop it." You manage to hiss at him, trying to force some semblance of control back into yourself—the last thing you need is to start melting against this bastard. "Tom—"

"You feel that?" He murmurs, breath brushing your neck, and you can't even focus on anything but the sensations he's forcing through your memory—seeing him above you, feeling him inside you. "You do, don't you? This is exactly what you've been feeling all week, isn't it?"

You want to snap at him, cuss him out, but oh god—

"Damn you," you hiss, even as his hands slide down to your hips—and it almost feels as if he's touching you twice, as if there are two sets of hands on your body. "Fuck, Tom—"

"Mm, you look good from this angle," he murmurs, and you fucking keen as you watch, in your mind, his hands slide over your stomach, pushing up your shirt and exposing your tits, groping as he fucks you. You keen as you feel it. "You love this, don't you? You want this."

"I—" you gasp, trying to convince him, or yourself, or goddamn anyone. Still fighting some invisible battle between resistance and submission because you hate that he's right. "I—god, what are you doing to me—"

"What am I doing to you?" He whispers, and you're not sure if the question is rhetorical, or if he's giving you permission to ask it. "I'm not doing anything that you aren't letting me do."

Your knees feel like they're about to buckle, and it's taking all your strength just to stay standing because the pleasure playing out in your mind is pouring into your veins and you can't even fathom how it's possible but you can't do anything to fight it—

"Oh, god—" you moan, unbridled, your physical body slumping back onto the desk as you feel the slick between your thighs, growing with every goddamn thrust. "Oh my god—"

He takes the opportunity of you slumped back against the desk and instantly leans down, bringing his lips to your ear—

"Not even god could keep your legs underneath you." His hand creeps up your thigh. "You're helpless."

"Helpless," you repeat, with a shaky gasp, and you hate how much the word turns you on. This is the first time you've ever been called helpless, and you're not even sure that you care. He's got you in his clutches, he's winning, and it's so infuriating and so goddamn perfect. “Tom—please, please touch me. I need to—fuck—"

You feel his lips brush the skin of your neck in a way that has you trembling with want, but—fucking hell, that's not what you need—you need his hands on you, you need him to just—

"What do you need?" He cooes, and there's a sly tone to his voice that makes you want to throw yourself at him all over again. "You need to cum?"

You moan, low and needy, writhing against the desk because this fucker—he knows exactly what he's doing. He’s got the upper hand here and you want it back. You want—

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "I need you to—I fucking need you—inside me—"

As soon as that leaves your mouth, the dream fades from your vision and he's urging you to lay back. There's a soft thud as he places a hand on the desk next to your head, and he leans down, bringing his lips back to your ear, and you can't remember a time when you've ever wanted anyone else this bad.

"I'm touched," he murmurs, fingers slipping to the waist band of your pyjama pants, "that you want me that bad."

"I hate you," you manage to gasp out, but that's a lie, and you think he knows it. His fingers on your skin as he pulls your pants down make you ache for him, and you're struggling to not make another sound that will give him ammunition. "Why do you have to—"

"Why do I have to what?" He asks, and you know he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. "Tease you? Make you helpless?"

Your pants get hardly half way down your thighs before he decides it's enough and slides a finger through your soaked slit, and you can't hold back the moan that tears itself from your throat.

"Fuck, you're soaked.” He hisses through his teeth. “You've been sitting in your dorm for days, hm? Dreaming of me touching you, wishing you could touch yourself without thinking of me—do you want to cum, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you gasp out, and you're not above begging at this point. "Yes, god, please—I want to fucking cum—"

"There we go," he cooes, and he's enjoying this more than you'd like to acknowledge. "You know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that?"

"I'd say at least a week," you throw back, in a vain attempt to keep a shred of your dignity, but that's hard when he's circling his fingers around your clit and your body is jerking against the desk beneath you. God you really are helpless. "Because that's how long you've been plaguing my head, giving me wet dreams like some goddamn incubus—"

He chuckles at that, and you hate him a little less when he slips two fingers inside you, "You think I'm a demon?"

"You certainly act like one," you choke out, because he's crooking his fingers and your mind is going fuzzy and he's not going to let you get the upper hand back, even for a second. "Fuck—oh, yes, yes, yes."

"You've got me all wrong," he says, with a smile that would be boyish if it wasn't so sinister. "Demons come to punish you. I'm here helping you get that relief you've been needing so badly."

"Just want t-to help me," you moan as his long fingers work you open, thumb brushing your clit, "out of the kindness of your heart—"

"Out of the kindness of my heart,” he repeats, with a mocking tone, and it's the way he murmurs those words that's making your thighs clench around him until he grabs the fabric of your pjs bunched around them and pushes your legs up to your chest, working his fingers impossibly deeper. "Out of the goodness of my soul—it's what I do, darling, I'm known for my benevolence—"

"You're a good man," you know he can tell you're being sarcastic, but his fingers are filling you so fucking full you're nowhere near ready to start a fight again when you're this close to losing your goddamn mind on his desk. "You're such a good man, Tom—“

"Mhm," his breath tickles your ear. "What else am I?"

"So good with your fingers," you're moaning, and he's going to get a bigger ego than he already has. You're too far gone to care. "God, you're so good, I'm going to—"

"Yes, you are," he answers, and it takes you a second to realize that he's not correcting your words anymore. He's simply telling you that you are, in fact, about to fall apart for him. "Give it to me. You've earned it."

You almost want to snap back at him, you almost try to, but you're so far gone the words don't form on your tongue and you're not sure you'd be able to fight the fire pooling in your stomach.

"Oh, fuck—“

He doesn't even let you finish that, he just dips his hips down, bringing his hand that's not buried in your slick up to cover your mouth, muffling those strangled screams before they spill out and echo down the hall—

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your skin. "Be a good girl. Let it all out for me."

And it's that; that stupid combination of cooing warmth and the phrase 'be a good girl' that sends you over the edge, and you're muffling your gasps and moans and screams against his palm because gods, what would happen if someone heard you? What would happen if people realized what Tom Riddle was doing to you—your house rival, your sworn enemy—

"There we go," you're falling apart and he's watching you as if he owns you, as if this is where you belong—writhing beneath him, release squirting out around his fingers. "Ride it out for me. Such a good girl, you needed this so bad, I can tell you were aching for this."

You're struggling to say anything back, the only thing that comes out is a strangled moan of his name, and you've always known how bad he was, heard from other girls how good he could be with his hands, but this—you've never had this, never been this before.

"Such a fucking mess," he's murmuring, his voice low and rough and so goddamn beautiful. “How'd that feel? Hm?"

"So—so good," it feels like the words are being forced out of your throat, and you're struggling to think with enough clarity to form anything that's not an embarrassing moan of how much you needed this. "Needed it, need more, I—"

"More?" He murmurs as he slips his fingers free, and he's bringing his other hand up to your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he brings his soaked fingers to your lips. "Greedy girl."

You're not thinking about the implication of him calling you that, you're not thinking about how you should fight back, you're not thinking about how much you hate him—you’re just thinking about the sinful taste of you on his fingers, when they press against your tongue. Without a second of hesitation you suck them clean, tasting yourself, and it's obscene. You're obscene. But you don't care, it just makes that ache in you grow worse—you need more, you need him.

Dear god, what happened to you.

“So good," he murmurs, the praise dripping like honey from his tongue. You hum and he exhales. "I'll find you tomorrow."

"You'll find me tomorrow?" You repeat, as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and you're struggling for air, your chest heaving beneath your rumpled shirt. "What are you going to do, come into my room?"

"I'll come into much more than your room," he says, with a laugh that dances with promises of sin. "Now go. Before someone finds you here."

You push yourself up on trembling arms, pulling your pants up your thighs, your heart hammering in your chest because—god, that was incredible, you want more of it, and you can hardly even believe it happened. With a breath, you force yourself to move.

You look back at him as you get to the door. Your legs are shaking and you're not going to hold it against yourself for needing the wall to support you as his eyes rake over you, the corners of those lips curled up his signature smirk, and you want to hit him so goddamn bad—but then he speaks, like he read your mind, and it snaps you out of it—

"No dreams tonight." He says. "Scouts honour."

"You're no boy scout," you throw back, and your voice is a little breathier than you'd like. "And this changes nothing."

He smiles, slow and languid and knowing. "Of course."

You want to roll your eyes at the condescension dripping off his tongue, but you're worried that if you stay here any longer the only words on your tongue will be 'do it again'.

"You just owe me." You say as you crack the door open.

"I owe you," he agrees, and you think that his smile is just a little too genuine—like he would give you anything you wanted, just for another taste of that. “I'm keeping score, darling. Sleep well."

You hate him for calling you that, you hate his stupid smile, you hate the way he knows he's got you.

What he doesn’t know, is that you’re going to make him pay.

"Good night," you mutter, and then you open the door and slip out into the hallway.

[thevirtualvalentine]

PRETTY FACE, BAD HABITS.

ft: Atsumu Miya, Tōru Oikawa, Tobio Kageyama, Shōyō Hinata, & Kei Tsukishima.

warnings: smut, afab!reader, daddy kink (atsumu), spanking, fingering, praise kink (oikawa), degradation, alcohol consumption (shōyō), cunnilings, enemies to lovers, small mentions of squirting, they’re lowk a lil filthy and obsessed MUNCH!shōyō bc definitely learned things in Brazil, coffee shop trope.

note: rereading hq, I am incredibly unwell and the volleyball pixels won’t leave me alone. Divider by @grlselle !!!

Thinking about gorgeous boys with pretty faces to the media who are so sadistic behind closed doors.

It goes without saying that setters are the notorious kings of this trope. Given that their charming faces tend to hide a fundamental need to be in control, constantly calling the shots n’ all. The facade cracks behind closed doors.

ATSUMU MIYA ... 4/10, not that shocking. He’s the face of MSBY, the golden boy. He’s got far more acceptable social skills than his other teammates: Shōyō, Kiyoomi, and Kōtarō, he knows how to handle himself in an interview. Flashing a toothy smile here, winking in a fan photo there. He has the hottest face in volleyball.

However, you had to have known about his silver tongue. It’s how he coaxes round after sadistic round out of you.

His stamina is much better than yours and to that he takes full advantage, being a pro-athlete has its perks. The downside is, his pretty face betrays the filth that spews from his maw when you fuck. “Yeah baby, think this messy pussy can give daddy another?”

He’s deplorable — that’s exactly why you keep crawling under him — the vileness you can only find there. “Y-yes, please ‘tsumu!” but woefully, it just isn’t enough for him, ever. He takes care of your trivial needs while chasing his own blissful completion.

“Ah ah baby, it’s daddy when I’m fuckin’ this cunt. Just hear how wet it is for me, fuck angel.” It’s humiliating, hot tears spilling past your lashes as his muscular thighs ram him impossibly further in you. You’re certain he’s in your cervix now.

“Shit — tight n’ creamy too,” he moans, “Feels so good on my cock.” He’s focused, a thin layer of sweat making his platinum blond hair stick to his forehead, eyebrows drawn together in concentration trying to feel everything you can offer him.

It drives you insane how he spoils you with unforgiving pleasure, never shy of showing just how bad he wants you. “Be daddy’s good girl and jus’ take it for me, yeah?”

And with a slap of your ass, he’s back to full speed, fucking you right up the mattress.

TŌRU OIKAWA … 8/10, a sleeping giant, don’t poke the bear. He was your summer fling, making you bubble with excitement and frenzy. His gorgeous face and native tongue were foreign to you but you recognized him from high-level volleyball matches on the news now and then.

Tōru was distinctly filled with passion, in everything he did you could feel it. He was a proud man through and through with a lust for victory.

That’s why he’s such a sadistic fuck, he’s too proud to stop even after he’s came inside you thrice. “Go on princess tell me, whose fingers can make you cum like this?” It’s those hands, those damn fingers you melt on every time he’s knuckled deep inside your sopping heat.

“Yours Tōru, only yours!” He’s peeled back every last restraint on your sanity with his body, reducing you to a tearful sticky mess pooling in his lap.

“I know mami, I know. You have to prove it to me though, show me how much you love it,” he muses rhetorically. His chin rests on your shoulder to get the best view of his practiced digits disappearing in and out of your tight sex; just how you like, just how you need. Those seasoned setter hands are a blessing.

“Ah! oh god — I’m, m’cumming— Tōru,” your chest heaves in his strong arms as he holds you there, letting you freely use and cream on his hands. He’s just so proud that he can make you feel good, so he’ll keep doing it. Over and over again.

“Look at you, my little slut. Just can’t help yourself from cumming all over me, hm?” The squelch of his three thick fingers and your slick coats his hand and your thighs alike.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA … 7/10, delving deeper, it makes sense. On the surface and to your friends and family, Tobio was your good boy. A perfect husband who was very successful in his career, and able to provide for you. People would remark on how starkly different your personalities were, the tabloids even going as far as questioning his feelings towards you.

But you know he loves you when he’s jackhammering your cunny like a rabbit. His brain only knows two things, volleyball and then all his other primal instincts. “Gonna fuck you till you’re sore, you hear me?”

He’s pushed your drooling face into the mattress to deepen your arch, greedy to feel more of your pussy suck him like candy. “You think I don’t see the way you watch me whore,” it’s like he’s punishing you with each grueling stroke of his thick cock inside you. “That’s exactly why you’re getting fucked like one. A dirty, cock-hungry, whore.”

That polite well-mannered man, a simple facade for something more sinister. They mistake his introversion for shyness when in reality he’s most likely self-censoring. He’s not much of a people person and lives a secluded life.

But all throughout his private practice today you plagued him with this singular thought: Kageyama craves it to no end, your utter and total obedience to him. He’s used to controlling his spikers, but you? You bring out an entirely new sadistic side of him. His one track mind learning every inch of your body fast.

“Stop! it’s t’much,” you cry into the sheets, overwhelmed by his sheer power. It feels like he’s deep in your guts with every strong piston of his hips against your ass. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your ears making your brain fuzzy.

“Maybe you should think about that next time you try and tease me,” he knows you want it exactly like this. You rile him up to get a rise out of him, pushing him to his limits and beyond. Exactly how he likes it.

He snakes a hand in between your warm connected bodies, pressing his palm over the outline of himself nestled in your tummy. “Remember how my dick feels inside you right now,” and he smirks feeling you tighten up around him.

You’re so incredibly plaint to a guy like him. His perfectly tuned toy.

With middle blockers, it’s different. They just want to watch you submit. Whether they’re reading the court, blocking, or killing the ball; it gives them an indistinguishable thrill to bring something to its knees deliberately.

SHŌYŌ HINATA … 11/10, virtually undetectable thus making him the most dangerous. When you met him, you found him to be a bit too big for his britches. He was such a sweet guy nonetheless, buying your drinks and slotting a friendly arm around your waist that night.

It felt good to have his attention, those dark brown eyes analyzing your every jiggle and jive. For some reason that night no one else seemed to approach you, perhaps it was due to the fact that #21 of Asas São Paulo had his eye on you.

“Do you wanna come home with me,” you ask him smooth as silk, carding your nails in his short ginger locks. He purs in response, groaning at the sensation and grinding himself against the thin cloth of your club dress.

He’s deceptive, but it’s not on purpose. “Please mami.” He just needs you to know how badly he wants you. Do you not realize he’s everything you need? No matter, he’ll show you.

“Mhhhm, more Shō,” you breathe life into his name like it’s a prayer, supple thighs caging his face to keep him planted there between them. It’s not like he’s going anywhere though, lips suckling on your sweetness as he lifts your ass off the bed to get a better taste.

His mouth does things you didn’t know it could do, massaging your pillowy folds before diving tongue first into your wet slit. It was making you feel hot watching him as he watched you, intent on making you buck against him for more.

He welcomes it, grinding his raging boner into the mattress and groaning into your pussy. “So fucking sexy when you do that baby, drives me crazy,” he says through kisses with your swollen clit.

That same sweet guy is nowhere to be found as there's an insatiable monster between your legs that you willingly invited into your home. “Keep goin’ love, wanna make this sweet pussy squirt.” You’re his, hook line, and sinker.

ps: don’t worry, after this, he’ll go three more rounds with just his cock alone and you better be able to handle it.

KEI TSUKISHIMA … 9/10, only triggered if you can get him to open his big mouth. He was a quiet man. Stoic as he sat in the same chair, in the same corner, at the same café, every day at exactly 6 am.

He may have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Well dressed with fair skin, golden eyes, and blond hair that made him stand out amongst the other patrons. Not to mention the fact he was ginormous, making the cafe chairs almost look like stools as he quietly checked his email. From over your shoulder, you watch him adjust his glasses, opting to look from afar but not touch.

It seems he doesn’t give you the chance though, approaching you as your heart beats loudly in your chest. He’s even more gorgeous as he grows close. His skin smooth like marble matches the stiffness of his face. “You seem to have a staring problem.”

At first, Kei thought you might have been a Frogs fan. That's the only possible excuse he could muster. Then he began to notice the lingering stares as well.

Excuse me— Did you just hear him correctly? You certainly didn’t mean him any harm, if anything it was a compliment. “And you seem to have an attitude problem, doesn’t seem like much can help that though. Goodbye,” you practically scoff before returning to your book and good coffee. What an arrogant fucking jerk.

Before he leaves, he drops a small piece of paper next to your cup. “Have a nice day, miss stalker,” you huff under your breath unfolding the small slip. ‘Maybe you can fix me. xxx-xxx-xxxx'

Since then, the only thing you two seem to do is argue. Especially when he’s stuffed eight inches deep in you from behind, “giving me so much attitude when you just needed a good fuck.” Him and that big fucking mouth, he must love hearing himself talk.

“if you wanted to get fucked like a slut then you could have just said so, brat.” He sneers, spanking you with considerable force behind his meaty palm. You’re Keis’ good girl, of course you can take it. He's trained you to do so.

“Sh-shut up and just fuck me Kei,” he loves when you talk to him like that, using his name like you own it. You’re wrapped around his finger as he bullies his girth into you.

“How can I when this greedy cunt’s not letting me go?” He’s right, within these four walls you’re his as you clench around him even tighter. “You can’t even fit all this,” he’s just inexplicably sexy, condescending yet so giving as he angles himself forward into the plush of your ass.

Pleasing you is an art to him, a deliberate one that he studies to get the best results. It’s brutal how fat his dick is, it matches his brash personality. “Go on, cum.” He says with sheer confidence.

Seconds later you’re unraveling before him as if it was pre-meditated. Like he instinctively knew when it was going to occur, permitting you before the act.

[spencestiel-michelle]

*Spencer Reid lingers in the doorway*

Y/n: what’s the matter? you look like you’re struggling there, sailor. 

Reid, conflicted: i really want to kiss you goodbye but the cold you have is highly contagious and i would only be increasing my chances of contracting it and spreading it by initiating skin to skin contact. 

Y/n: you would also be kissing me goodbye- but you’re right, i get it, i’m too germ-ridden for my boyfriend to give me a quick forehead kiss goodbye, i’ll just have to wave from over he- 

*Spencer quickly kisses Y/n on the forehead and rapidly backs up and out of the door* 

*Spencer blushes and and terribly fights back a smile as he blatantly gushes over Y/n*

Y/n: was that so hard? 

Reid, bashfully: i will see you tomorrow. 

*Reid leaves*

Y/n, dreamily: i’m so gonna marry that man. 

[imsilay]

i’m fucking SCREAMING

these type of kisses. like he couldn’t get enough of you. like when he grabs you and pulls you back into kiss even if you gasp for air. he just can’t stop once he started to kiss you, he’s addicted. and his kisses aren’t too rough. he just begs to feel any part of you against his lips so he could worship you properly.

and then

these type of hugs when he squeezes you onto his body and won’t let go. he just can’t. so he pulls you onto his lap and holds you until his stress and anxiety melts away.

but if he does the combo of that. then i’m dead.

(please delete pinterest from my phone cus i can’t stop_(:_」∠)_ i have at least 12 boards for desperate looking men T-T)

[joeyfranchise]

all eyes on you, all eyes on us

joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: it’s halloween night, time to dress up with your best friend and get your party on. all is well until you see your ex at the party, the emotions rush back in… but he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. you keep letting him back in, he’s doing a number on you.

warnings: MDNI i’m sooo serious i love to block. semi-public sex, groping, hickeys, scratching, pinv, dirty talk.

word count: 3.3k.

note: this fic is based off the song So It Goes… by T. Swift! requested by my sweet friend @starsinthesky5! i also wanted to add a halloween element to it.. i hope you guys like it! (something funny in the tags hehe) (i do not own any pics used!!)

you could feel the bass of the music bumping through the floor, radiating through your feet and up your legs as your best friend pulled you deeper into the club.

she took your hand in hers, leading you through the sea of sweaty bodies to an open area in the room, somewhere the two of you could dance and let loose.

“you need this!” she assured you while you got ready. her claims were that recently you’ve been too uptight, you’ve been shouldering too much. and it’s halloween, so you need to have fun.

you agreed to come to the party, and even in matching costumes. she looked incredible in a dress identical to yours, but hers was white with gold fringe hanging from a slit in the leg. she wore a halo, gold jewelry, and red lips to match.

your dress was black with silver fringe, and rather than necklaces or bracelets you decided on two silver cuffs that sat tightly on your biceps. you painted glitter highlights on your cheekbones, and a dark maroon stain on your lips. you clipped two black horns into your hair at the top of your head. classic angel and devil costumes… but you didn’t care. you both felt good.

she finally stopped walking, dropping your hand as she stood in a vacant spot near the back of the club. there was a smoky haze that settled across the room, illuminated by the neon lights that were strung along the ceiling and the walls. you couldn’t quite make out the song that was on, but the beat was nice and you swayed your body along with it. you weren’t sure if you’d know anyone else here, but you were hoping to meet someone, even if just for a night of fun.

your friend was right. you needed to let loose. have fun. get laid.

“i’m gonna go get us a shot!” she yelled over the music, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder. your eyes followed her as she walked to one side of the bar, which wasn’t that far from you. she leaned over to speak to the bartender and then gestured back to you, presumably telling him why she wanted two shots. you locked eyes with him and - whoa. he was hot.

he smirked at you, eyes raking over your body, before looking back at your friend. his salt and pepper hair and stubble told you he was older - nearing his forties if you had to guess. he turned to grab a bottle of vodka off the shelf behind him and you ogled his form as you watched the muscles in his back and arms ripple. when he turned around, he looked back at you again. he poured the shots and your friend grabbed them, walking back over to you with her mouth wide open.

she handed yours to you and you both downed them, discarding the cups on a small table nearby. “the bartender is a total dilf!” she laughed, grabbing on to your shoulders. “totally!” you agreed, looking up to check him out again. “he was totally feeling you, babe!” she smiled. you weren’t focused on anything she said.

the bartender was now making a drink for a tall man, dressed in an all black suit. you couldn’t see the front of him, but you didn’t need to. you knew it was your ex. you could tell by his posture, the utter confidence in which he carried himself. joey fucking burrow.

flashback to your break-up

“you’re so difficult to deal with, you know that?” joe spoke, the way he sat made him look defensive. you held back tears as he threw complaints your way.

“we’re in public, joe. you’re not a fucking walk in the park!” you finally speak up, tilting your head at him to show him you wouldn’t back down. the chatter and soft music that floated through the restaurant weren’t doing enough to hide that the two of you were arguing. “this relationship hasn’t been working for a while, but it’s not just on me. you’re a diva sometimes. you make things difficult.”

he let out a snarky laugh, tipping his head back. his hand flexed on the glass he was holding, threatening to crunch it right then before he loosened his grip. you weren’t even sure what had started this fight, but you’d been at odds with each other recently, so it could have been anything. but when joe brought up working it out, you told him you weren’t sure you wanted to, which led you here. a fancy dinner in a quaint restaurant where everyone could see you falling apart.

“maybe you’re right. maybe it isn’t worth trying to work out. lets throw the last six months down the drain.” he said, his tone smarmy. he widened his eyes at you as he spoke, placing the ball in your court. the waiter came over to ask you how everything was, but he didn’t get a single word out as he took the two of you in, your anger and emotions sitting on the table rather than your meals.

“i’m sorry i just.. i don’t think this is working. i think our personalities clash too much.”

to be honest, you felt caged in. you felt like a hostage to your feelings, but you weren’t sure exactly why. sometimes joe’s barriers were difficult to break through, and you had an idea that was something that was breaking you down.

joe never had the intention of making you feel that way. he didn’t want to push you away, but he wasn’t the best at displaying his emotions. his temper was getting shorter and shorter. he had the tendency to take things out on you, and he hated it. but, if you wanted out, he couldn’t stop you.

neither of you said a word for the rest of your meal, the tension was palpable from across the table. he paid for dinner, although you offered, and you climbed into his car quickly so he could take you home.

he pulled into your drive, parking the car before leaning over the console to look at you. you felt stifled, the air in the car was thick with anger, sadness, regret. you grabbed the door handle and popped it open, but before you could get away joe grabbed your hand, turning you back to face him. you leaned into the car, waiting for his spiel.

“i’m sorry for making you feel upset. i’m sorry i couldn’t have been more for you.” tears spilled down your cheeks finally, all your emotions were rolling down your face leaving salty stains in your makeup.

he continued. “i really am sorry, i love you.” he said, looking down at the wheel.

“so it goes…” you respond, pulling your hand away and walking inside.

end of flashback

joe must’ve felt your eyes burning holes into the back of his head, because he turned around and smirked at you, catching you staring at him.

he took his drink from the bartender and walked away, back toward his group of friends. you tried to push him out of your mind and let loose anyway. you danced with your friend through five or six songs, and the thought of joe being at the party almost became a distant memory.

after a little while you were feeling hot, a sticky sheen of sweat coated your whole body. “i’m gonna gef some water!” you told your friend. you made your way to the bar, slightly excited to talk to the extremely hot bartender.

you sat down on one of the stools and waited for him to get finished making someone else’s cocktail so he could attend to you. he shook their drink in the mixer, poured it, then finally looked your way. a goofy lopsided smile spread over his lips as he walked closer.

“what can i getcha?” he drawls, leaning over the bar on his elbows. his face is now inches from your own, but you don’t mind it. he looks even better up close. “just some water, please. i’m just a little hot.”

he turns and grabs a bottle of water from a mini-fridge behind him, placing it on the bar in front of you. you unscrew the cap and take a long sip, accidentally letting a drop fall from the corner of your mouth and slide down your neck. you know he sees it, but he doesn’t mention it. after you finish drinking, you place the bottle down, twisting the cap back on.

the bartender starts speaking to you again. “i really like your costume, by the way. i saw you when you came in and… woah. you’re gorgeous. i’m j-” he begins to tell you his name, but he’s cut off.

“she doesn’t care what your name is, buddy. she’s my girl.” joe snaps. he must have seen you flirting with the man behind the bar and made his way over. “i’m not your girl, joey.”

he places a hand on your arm, running his fingers along the silver cuff. “‘can we go talk for a moment?” he asks you, tone sounding oddly soft. the bartender looks back and forth between you. “i can have him thrown out.” he says, completely seriously. “it’s okay,” you tell him, reaching across to pat his shoulder. “i’ll go talk and be right back.”

you hop off the barstool, ready to walk away with joe, but then you remember your friend. your eyes scan the room to find her and you aren’t shocked to see her making out with one of joe’s friends. “she’ll be fine.” joe says, taking your hand and leading you through the crowd. he stops in the middle of the dance floor, pulling you close against him as you allow him to take the lead, moving along with the music.

“very fitting costume.” he smirks, looking you up and down. “what are you supposed to be?” you ask.

he reaches his hand in his pocket, pulling something out. he holds up a white masquerade style mask. “a magician.”

he lifts it up to his face, putting it on with the strap going around his head. he’s smirking. curse the phantom of the opera for making you think this costume style was hot. his hands find your hips, pulling your body closer to his. it’s like you can feel every set of eyes in the room on you. joe feels you tense up and watches you as you scan the room.

“i promise all eyes aren’t on us, babe.” he whispers. “but i think they are.” you reply. “what did you even want to talk to me about?” you ask, pushing at his chest to create some distance between you.

“i miss you.”

you scoff out a laugh. he misses you? he knows this’ll never work. joe cradles your face in his hands. “you know we don’t work, joey.” you argue, once again trying to pull away from him. “we don’t,” he agrees, small smile playing at his lips, “but the sex does.”

you can’t disagree with him on that front. “why try to find some random stranger to sleep with when i’m here, when i know your body and what you like?” he challenges, leaning down so his lips are ghosting over yours. he’s right.

you don’t give it any more consideration. you don’t allow yourself time to back out. you smash your lips into his with fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck. he kisses you back with just as much intensity before pulling away, grabbing your hand and leading you through the club again.

“where are you taking me?” you ask him breathlessly. “one of the private rooms.”

he pulls you through a beaded curtain that hangs on a doorway, roughly pushing you up against a wall. “i’m not fucking you on one of those beds or couches or whatever they are. that’s so unsanitary.” you protest.

“i know that. that’s why were gonna do it against the wall.” he smirks.

“anyone could walk in here and find us!” you say, worried about being caught. “let loose, that’s what makes it fun, baby.”

his lips find your neck, biting and sucking at the skin. “jump.” he murmurs. you hop up and wrap your legs around his waist. you reach up and pull his mask off, tossing it somewhere across the room. your fingers tangle in his dirty blonde curls.

his grip is firm as he holds you against the wall. you tug on his hair, bringing his lips back up to yours. he slips his tongue into your mouth, sliding it against yours. you can feel him straining against his dress pants as his hips roll upward into yours.

“joey, fuck me.” you breathe, your voice hoarse. he chuckles at you. “still so eager for it, huh?” he teases.

he uses one of his arms to press you into the wall, sliding his other hand up your dress and tugging at your panties. when he realizes this angle won’t work, he drops you back down til your feet are on the floor and helps you step out of the lacy black thong. he shoves it in his back pocket before standing up, telling you to jump again. his hand bunches up your dress, exposing your bare core to him.

he kisses you again, one of his hands working to undo his belt and pants. you glance down slightly, watching as he pulls his thick cock from his pants. your arms remain around his neck, your forehead pressed to his shoulder. he brings his hand up to his mouth, spitting on it before reaching down to run his fingers through your folds, not that you really needed it.

from seeing him in the costume, the thrill of potentially getting caught, and knowing that he knows just how to get you there, you’re soaked. he takes his cock in his hands, sliding it through your folds before finally pushing into you, inch by inch. you gasp at the size, even though you know from plenty of experience exactly what he feels like.

the air in the room is thick as he begins thrusting into you. the sheer force of his hips slamming into yours is holding you against the wall, but you still help him remove his jacket anyway, and you pop the buttons on his shirt as he bites and sucks at your neck again. you’re satisfied when you can finally get your hands in enough to rake your nails along his back. if he plans on marking your neck, you’re going to tear his back up with your freshly manicured nails.

“fuck, you feel so good. so tight.” he says, tongue soothing over a mark he left on your neck. “i’m so full, joey.” you reply, finally pulling him up to look into your eyes again. he reaches up and places a hand on your neck, applying the lightest pressure. “ah, your favorite necklace.” he teases. you place your hand on top of his, pushing on his fingers so he’ll squeeze harder. he does, but only briefly, all the while his hips are still pistoning into yours. when he removes his hand, his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles into it. you can tell he’s close, and he’s trying to get you there too.

he presses gentle kisses into your lips as he speaks to you. “come on baby, i know you’ve got one for me. let me have it.” he coaxes.

it doesn’t take long before you’re unraveling, cumming hard all over his cock as warmth spreads from your horns to your toes. you’re squeezing joe, sucking him in and he cums soon after, filling up your cunt with his cum.

you press your sweaty foreheads together for a moment, the slight intimacy of the moment making both of you reminisce. you don’t let it last long, you can’t. because you know this doesn’t work.

“joe… can i.. have my panties back?” you ask, trying to make your voice sound playful so you don’t completely ruin the moment. he pulls out of you and lets you down. you squeeze your legs together, hoping that none of his seed will run down your thighs.

“sure.” he says, fishing them out of his pocket. “not sure what they’re gonna do for you, though.”

he’s right, but you need to slip something on, to create at least the tiniest barrier. joe awkwardly scratches at the back of his head before fixing himself, and then buttoning his pants. he fixes his shirt, slides his jacket on, and makes himself look as neat as he can.

“um.. thanks joe. that was nice.” you slip out, voice cracking. saying goodbye would be awkward for you both. joe doesn’t respond verbally, instead he just leans in and kisses your forehead before walking away. you unfortunately have to walk out after him, looking for your friend. she’s still kissing joe’s friend, but you think you’ll have to interrupt to tell her you’re just going to head home.

joe turns to look at you. “i’ll have tee tell her you left, just make sure you text her when you get home.”

“tee?” you ask, looking puzzled. “my teammate tee? that’s who she’s kissing.” you nod knowingly. you turn away from him then, heading for the exit, walking as slow as you can so that no evidence of what you’ve just done with him leaks out of you. when you’re almost to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

you turn around and you’re face to face with the bartender. he looks you over, smirking. he can tell by your appearance that barely any talking was done, but he doesn’t care. he shoots his shot anyway. he hands you a slip of paper with his number on it, winking at you before sauntering back off to the bar. you glance around the crowded club again, your eyes landing on joe. he’s already dancing with another girl. you’re not jealous you tell yourself. he’s not yours, nor are you his. you tear your eyes away and walk out.

you make it outside, hailing a taxi and telling the driver your address. it doesn’t take long to get back to your building. you pull out your phone and keys, which you’re surprised you didn’t lose after the events of the evening, and head up the elevator to your floor.

you unlock the door, stepping inside and kicking your heels off before locking it again behind you. you tiptoe to the bathroom, turning on the shower and letting it heat up. you look back at your phone, two new text notifications showing on your screen. you open them one by one.

bestie: girl!!! let me know when you make it home! i’ll probably be going home with this cutie i met!

you respond to her quickly.

you: home! have fun 😋

the second text is from joe, go figure.

joeyyy b: so it goes, huh?

you don’t respond to his message, you just heart react to it. you really aren’t in the headspace to talk to him right now, because if you respond you’ll end up inviting him over, and you can’t have that. he’s not good for you, you aren’t good for him. you’ve let the pieces fall naturally into place. it’s over between you, even if you both still have the slightest residual feelings left.

before you step into the shower to wash the day away, you click new message at the top of your screen. you type the bartenders number in and… are you really gonna do this? fuck it.

you: hey, it’s y/n. the devil from the bar. 😈

when you see typing bubbles pop up almost immediately you squeal, locking your phone and slamming it on the bathroom counter before undressing and stepping into the hot, steamy shower.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @bengals-barnesbabe @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22