#just keep the marks under the clothes next time

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Hellooo 👋🏻

James being into rough sex, like bruises, bites, making sure you’re limping next day? Reader actually doesn’t like it, but takes it as she afraid he’ll break up with her? He doesn’t notice that she’s is pain and is enjoying seeing marks all over her body. Until one night he wakes up and finds her in the bathroom crying and trying to clean herself after the rough session? And he’s upset that she didn’t tell him she wanted him to be gentle? He takes her back to bedroom and they do it slow and passionately?

I’m thinking ajaf James or black album?

Warnings: smut, implied rough sex, bruises, hickeys, fingering (f receiving), angst, crying, aggressively cleaning skin, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You scrubbed and scrubbed but it didn’t stop the deep purple from spilling under your skin. Your neck, arms and legs all littered in bruises, muscles sore and voice hoarse, tears rolling down your cheeks in streams.

You bit your lip to keep your sobs down, not wanting to wake James who was fast asleep just down the hall. He’d gotten back from tour the day before and after sleeping the day away he was ready to release all his pent up emotions on you.

He loved seeing you all marked up, hickeys and hand prints, all from him. He loved owning you, claiming you as his for everyone to see, it was his favourite part and you were so convinced that if he ever knew how much you hated it, he’d hate you.

You couldn’t lose him, you loved him, the pain was worth it… right?

James woke up to find himself naked in bed, alone. It wasn’t normal for him to be alone at home, you were always there, you didn’t work because you didn’t need to, he didn’t want you to. He figured you’d just gone to the bathroom and would be back soon.

Then he heard a clattering sound and thought something happened, so he went to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” He asked, leaning closer to the door. He heard you sniffles and water running before you shut it off.

“Yes, yeah, I-I’m fine.” You said, struggling to keep your voice flat but managing, just barely. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be right out.” You kept working with the cloth, trying clean up the mess James couldn’t have been bothered with. At some point it became less about the sweat and cum, you were rubbing your skin raw trying to get the marks off, the scratches and bruises.

James waited a moment longer, listening to the faint sounds he could hear. He sighed with a nod. “Just be quick.” He said, turning and walking away.

He sat down in bed and waited for you to come back. He waited a whole minute, if even, before going back to the bathroom and knocking again. “Let me in.”

You jumped at his knock, not expecting him a second time. “I’m sorry, Jamie, I-I promise I’ll be out in a minute.” The words came out rushed and panicked, you didn’t know what he wanted or why he was here but it scared you all the same.

“No, I wasn’t asking, sweetheart, let me in.” He demanded, trying the doorknob but it was locked. You hesitated, then you questioned why you were hesitating. All he wanted was to get in the bathroom because he heard you crying, why were you scared.

You didn’t know what he was going to do to you, you didn’t know how he was going to react to you crying over the marks he put there but you assumed it would end tragically.

You unlocked the door and it swung open, making you step back, you gripped the counter for stability. James caught the notion, eyeing you closely.

You stood naked in front of him, covered in marks he put on you. Your skin was red and irritated but it wasn’t from him, the wet cloth in the filled sink gave him a decent idea of what you were doing.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” He asked, taking a step closer to you. You instinctively took a step back before mentally slapping yourself and moving closer to him again. He sighed and took a step back himself, not wanting to make you more uncomfortable, he could practically see your skin crawling. “I’m not mad, darling, I love you and I’m worried, what happened?” His voice was firm but gentle, full of love.

You crumbled, unable to hold it in anymore. You fell to your knees crying, James quickly got to his knees in front of you, pulling you closer until you were sitting in his lap. He gradually tightened his hold on you, planting kisses wherever he could reach in hopes of calming you down but he didn’t want to force you to stay in his lap.

You were scared of him, terrified even, and that broke a piece of him. He never wanted you to be scared of him, he wanted to be your safe place, who you came for when you cried. Here you were, hiding from him as you broke down.

You tried to speak but it came out mumbled and slurred, voice all choked up and you coughed between sobs so he just held you and kissed you all over, letting you catch your breath before you tried speaking again.

“It hurts!” You cried, the first thing he heard clearly.

“I get that but what hurts?” He asked, keeping his voice soft and low.

“You hurt!” You yelled, looking up at him with glassy eyes and a quivering lip. He stared back at you, eyes wide and flickering over your heartbroken features.

“I hurt..?” He repeated, words coming out barely above a whisper. “Sweetheart, no…” He tightened his hold on you, pulling your head to his chest. “Why wouldn’t you say something..?”

“I-I didn’t want- didn’t want you to leave-leave me…” You managed to get out.

James shook his head. He brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. “I’m not leaving you anytime soon, love, if I do or say something you don’t like you have to tell me, you don’t deserve to be treated like that if you don’t like it.” He kissed you and let you rest against him once more.

He held you in his lap on the bathroom floor until you stopped crying when he carried you to bed and curled up with you. He lay behind you, an arm around your torso with his hand resting on your stomach, his other arm under your head, free hand playing with your hair.

James placed soft kisses to the back of your neck and leading down to your shoulder, the hand on your stomach moving down to rub your clit slow circles. You bit your lip to quiet yourself but it felt good and a few slipped.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He said, kissing your jaw. “Just relax, don’t try to stop your body, alright? Just feel good.” Your lip slipped from between your teeth and more moans left your.

“Want more, Jamie.” You said in a whisper, not sure if you wanted him to hear it or not.

“More?” He repeated, pulling his hand away for a moment. “Just tell me if it’s too much.” He said, pushing into you with a low groan.

He moved his hips slow, letting you feel and savour ever moment of it. His hand went back to your clit, the pace was nothing he’d done with you before, it was always fast and hard, words harsh and degrading. This was different.

“You’re doing so good for me, darling, just keep making those noises, let me hear you.” He muttered, leaving kisses on you to leave kisses on you, not to mark you. Your skin was littered with James but they would go away, James loved you too much to put them back. As long as you loved him and knew he loved you nothing else mattered.

“Jamie-! Jamie, feels-feels good.” You whined, clutching the sheets, the hand playing with your hair went to grab yours, letting you squeeze him.

James didn’t have anything to say, leaving more kisses in his wake, feeling his own high coming up on him. Your eyes fluttered and rolled back, body melting into James’s as he came, filling you to the brim with his seed.

He moved, going to pull out but you stopped him. “Stay, Jamie.” You said, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Just stay.”

He smiled back at you and nodded, pulling you tighter to him. “I’ll clean up in the morning, then, alright?” You nodded, letting sleep take over you.

[ppnuggiexxx]

-> best / biggest tits to suck on || whb

• characters :: ronove ,, mammon ,, marbas ,, glasyalobolas

• contains :: dom reader ,, fem reader ,, hickies ,, marking , possessive reader (mammon + marbas) ,, switch marbas ,, making glasya submit ,, mentions of glasya's chest hole ,, possibility of being caught by levi (glasya) ,, they all have fat tits

• minors dni

-> ronove

| • hes one of the few larger demons ,, and one with a large chest too . most devils of abbadon already know how big his tits are ,, having experienced them first hand

| • though when you see for the first time ,, after finally getting him out of all that clothing ,, you were whipped for a little touch

| • have you seen that one fanart of him as a nun w/ nipple piercings ?? had me drooling ngl

| • his would be so soft ,, after all he does take good care of his skin and his chest is mostly covered by soft cloth

| • his nipples perk easily with temperature change and / or the slightest touch

| • all you gotta do is rub your thumbs over them and theyre already budding up ,, hardening under your fingertips

| • now they arent too sensitive ,, but that doesn't change the fact he still feels pleasure from them

| • you can truly tell how soft they are when your tongue swivels around one of his nipples

| • he'll groan through his gag ,, humping against your leg as you suck on his nipple

| • 10/10 tiddy ,, 10/10 experience ,, softest skin ever

-> mammon

| • i mean ,, is there even an explanation needed for him ? he has his tits out 24/7 ,, takes any chance possible to have your face buried in them ,, and encourages you every time you ask to put your face there

| • theyre so soft and squishy ,, its quite addicting and makes you always come back for another feel ,, only to end up unsatisfied when your time is up

| • though he'll always have time for you ,, its only when other kings pull you away from his chest does your time end

| • no matter how much you whine about your lost ,, the other kings won't listen to it ,, mammon being the only one to back you up on your wants

| • after all ,, what his master wants is what his master will have ,, even if its his body ,, especially if its his body

| • if you wanted his body then you would have it ,, all of it or any specific part you want ,, because you're his master and you will always get what you want from him

| • and if that includes sucking on his tiddies selfishly ? well ,, who is he to deny you such a thing ,, especially if you get all shy and fidgety about it ,, he finds it cute whenever you ask in a quiet voice to suck his tits

| • theyre not as soft as ronove's ,, but theyre still super squishy ,, who needs a stress ball when you have this ? who needs slime when you can just massage mammon's tits whenever and wherever you want ?

| • though he can't help the little whimpers he gives when you finally suck on his tits . who knows ,, maybe you could splash some liquid gold on there and lick it off his nipples and suck bites into the flesh

| • it'll certainly be obvious who he belongs to ,, fueling your selfishness and letting him walk proud knowing you own him ,, that only his master can give him such treatment and truly feed into his sin

-> marbas

| • it'll certainly be a moment before you can get him shirtless . after all ,, lucifer has him bound and restricted for a reason ,, not to mention his role as a doctor for devils coming day in day out with injuries

| • though the moment you get him without a shirt on ,, probably in the morning or at night when he's changing his clothes ,, is when you'll finally get your chance to pounce

| • his are rough and firm ,, but it doesnt make it any less fun to suck on

| • straddle his lap ,, he'll keep ahold of your hips while you take your time with him ,, sucking and biting wherever you can

| • even though they'll show up as bruises the next morning ,, he wouldn't mind ,, as he is a doctor and does have solutions to hiding any signs of pain on his skin

| • though the devils that do notice dont bother to say much ,, though a few will be bold enough to ask and tease ,, asking if he got ravaged by a wild beast with how much you've marked his pale skin

| • he'll only glare at them and continue with his treatment ,, quickly shooing them out of his way for the next patient

| • that doesnt mean he hates it ,, if you want to mark him head to toe he'll gladly let you ,, granted he could do the same

| • after all ,, you do have all night ,, and the night after that and the rest of the year and years to come

| • you can renew your marks whenever and he can return the favor for you

| • his nipples are always perky ,, firm and always budded up ,, but theyre quite sensitive

| • you can suck all you want against his nipples ,, maybe even give them a little nibble . you'll feel his hard dick twitch underneath you ,, pressing up against his pants painfully

| • whenever they brush against his restraints he has to hide his moans ,, the stimulation only adding up more reasons for lucifer to bound him tighter

| • the last thing he needs is marbas losing control of his pleasure while healing patients ,, this is a hospital not a club

-> glasyalobolas

| • it doesnt take much coaxing from him to let you see his tiddies ,, you just have to know the right method

| • while a fan of seeing trouble be caused ,, hes not one to enjoy getting in trouble if it means being caught

| • but the thrill of being caught by leviathan ,, with you sucking on his fat tits while sitting in his lap ,, outweighs his worries

| • he'll risk being hung and punished ,, especially since you're so polite when you ask ,, how cute you look asking if you can suck on his tits ,, saying you'll let him grind against you if he wants to

| • its offer he has trouble refusing ,, taking you to an empty room near leviathan's office and letting you have the satisfaction you've been craving

| • his chest is also firm ,, but his skin isnt as soft but its not exactly rough ,, not to mention the whole in the middle of his chest

| • a healing wound ,, but one that you can have fun with ,, poking your fingers in it and threatening him that if he makes a noise ,, that if leviathan hears ,, you'll do worse then just stick your fingers in there

| • glasya couldnt help the whimper he gives ,, his gaze darkening as he mutters how cruel you are

| • though you decide to save that for another day ,, another night where you can have him all to yourself and tease his body to your heart's content

| • he'll be quiet when you finally suck on his nipples ,, maybe gasping and groaning when you bite him

| • due to how tall he is ,, he'll probably lean up purposely ,, making you lose your grip on his nipple as he stands up

| • all you have to do is command him to kneel ,, and if he doesn't you could always pull his noose to bring him to his knees ,, maybe pushing him farther to ground with your foot

| • trapping him against the wall and ground ,, standing above him as you hold onto the chains attached to his horns as you threaten to punish him again

| • he'll listen this time ,, letting you enjoy your suckle and leave hickies along his skin ,, knowing you'll get off to his pain

[dira333]

Water Lily - Gaara x Reader

for @sgchop - meet uglies and confessions (or something like that) -

for the Milestone Event Week 1 - Words: 2,5k (I couldn't help myself)

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“Your father asks for your presence. It’s urgent.”

You get up from your pillows right away, water lilies and books momentarily forgotten.

Your father rarely calls on you nowadays. He’s got better stuff to do.

You bow at the entrance of the main room, wait until he calls your name before you look up.

Father does not look worried. Serious, yes, but not worried.

“You’re to leave in an hour,” he addresses you without hesitation. “Your servants will pick out your finest garments.”

“Where to, Father?”

“Sunagakure, the village hidden in the wind.”

“What for, Father?”

“The Kazekage. Marry him, if you can and kill him if you can’t.”

Your throat is thight but you don’t dare swallow under his watchful gaze.

“Very well, Father. What reason will I give him for this sudden proposal?”

“What reason do you need?” He scoffs. “Get ready, you don’t have time to waste on useless conversation.”

You nod, but wait for his order to leave before you turn around. You’ve learned from your past mistakes.

-

You’ll be traveling like a princess.

You’ve had worse, so you don’t complain, not that you’d have anyone to complain to.

But you can’t help but feel like the water lilies.

They look so free, swimming on the surface, like nothing is tying them down.

But you know the truth, the roots that tie them to the ground.

-

“We’ll be staying here for the night,” your guard tells you at sunset, pointing at a cheap hotel by the road. 

Your guard. He’s just one more person watching your every move.

Though you’ve got practice in outwitting them, sneaking out when they’re not looking.

-

It’s almost dark outside now.

The forests are thinning. You’re getting closer to the dessert.

The air is dry and warm and the setting sun paints soft pink across the sky.

“Have you gotten lost?” A voice addresses you softly from the side.

You flinch back, embarrassed to be caught.

The guy’s about your age, red hair neatly combed back. It makes him look older than he is.

“Not at all,” you tell him, correct your stance in case he wants to fight. You’re dressed like a maid and he’s dressed like a traveller but clothes don’t mean anything in a fight.

He keeps looking at you, his pale green eyes almost glowing in the growing dark. His skin is pale against the dark grey of his clothes and there’s a mark on his forehead, the color a deep red, like blood. Love, it says, and you wonder what story there is behind it.

“Care for a walk?” He asks, offering you his arm.

“Where to?”

“The horizon,” he smiles, just enough to see white teeth glinting through pale lips. “Or wherever you want to go.”

“Is there a pond nearby?” You ask him. “Or any body of water, really? I miss it dearly.”

“You come from a land with lots of water?”

You swallow your doubt. “You don’t?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“What’s it like?”

“Dry.”

You choke down a giggle. He looks as serious as ever but you’re quite sure it was meant as a joke.

“Water,” he explains, ”is a treasure. Like the rarest jewel. It’s not to be wasted or spent on something mundane. It gives us life and we know that. It’s worth does not change wether it’s a drop or a pond or the sea.”

You still next to him, transfixed by his speech. 

You wonder if he knows what his words do to you.

“Do you have anything like that in your life?” He asks, offering his arm once more. You take it this time, feel the rough fabric of his sleeves against the bare skin of your arms. The amount of clothing in this warm weather suggests he’s coming from someplace near the dessert. The lack of water tells you the rest.

You keep silent as you walk, as you let him guide you through the darkness that’s growing thicker by the minute. 

Is there something as dear to you as water is to him? Something with equal value?

He must sense that you’ve found an answer because he stops and turns and you can barely make out the oval of his face in the lack of light.

“Yes?”

“Freedom,” you tell him quietly but with conviction. “There is not much of it where I live. Not enough to go by everyone, and not enough to have anything left to spare. It’s measured by the pound, the inch, the breath you’re able to take. I’d give my life for a little bit more freedom.”

“It’s dangerous to give your life for something.”

“Sometimes it’s the only thing worth giving.”

He smiles, you can tell, by the glint of his teeth.

-

“We’ve reached the water,” he tells you next and you know it before he said it by the smell and the sound and the taste in the air.

It’s nothing but a small creak, barely enough to soak into your shoes but you let it anyway, caress your naked toes like a lover would.

“What’s your name?” You ask, though you barely dare to.

“What’s yours?”

And you smile back at him, silent, knowing this will be a secret that you share.

- 

You wake up alone, though not by your own choice.

It’s too risky to bring someone inside, not when going out alone is almost too risky as well.

You use your time alone well, stare at the dirty brown ceiling above you and dream of the night, of dancing soundlessly in the darkness and wishing you could come closer, even closer.

You’ll have to kill the Kazekage.

There’s no way you’ll be able to love a man the way you’ve loved this stranger, this deeply even in this little time spent.

You’ll have to kill the Kazekage because there’s no way you can marry someone and love another, give up the little freedom you have left - to choose who you want to marry and who you want to kill.

- - -

Sunagakura is as tall as your valley runs deep. You stare up at those buildings in awe, at the way they seem to touch the clouds. 

The air is dry and the wind carries sand, rubs your skin raw with it until you bleed.

“The Kazekage will not see you,” you’re told. No amount of money, no amount of bribery will work.

It takes you two days to figure out he’s not even home, that he left his brother in charge.

You dislike the haughty look on his face, the way he seems to look right through the veil you’re wearing, right into the bottom of your soul.

Does he know what you’re planning? 

He should be thankful, you think. With his brother dead he’d be the next in line.

“The least you can do is offer something to pass the time,” you ask the one and only time you get to talk to him. 

The puppeteer, they call him. You wonder if he’s manipulating you too.

He reminds you too much of your father and maybe that’s who you’re seeing instead.

“Very well,” he calls for someone to guide you around. 

The markets, colorful and loud, make your heart beat louder. You wish you could stay a little longer, buy a trinket here and some sweets there, but your guards are not there to protect you but to keep you in line.

The gardens are exquisite and if you’d been allowed to, you’d bent down and sniffed the blossoms, every single one of them, just because you can and just because you want to.

But you’re not allowed and you never will be.

Lastly you visit the old hall and the portraits of every Kazekage that has been.

You stare at their dead eyes with disinterest until you reach the last painting and your breath stills in your throat.

You know those pale eyes, the red hair, the mark on his forehead. Love.

“This is-”

“Our current Kazekage, the fifth. Sabaku no Gaara.”

Freedom, the last of it that you still had, slips from your fingertips like blood from an open wound.

This is the man you’re meant to kill or to marry. And you’ll have to do it under your father’s watchful eyes.

“I’d like to go back to my room now,” you ask, voice tight, limbs shaking. 

You play the part well, maybe because you’re not pretending.

-

It’s not that hard to figure out where he’s went to when you know where to start looking.

It’s a little harder to leave without being followed. 

The knife on your hip is heavy as you run and the little water you have is your biggest treasure.

The dessert is big and your destination is far.

But if you die here, you’d at least been half succesfull.

- - -

“Have you gotten lost?”

Gaara doesn’t look at all surprised to see you.

Outside the rain is pouring. Amegakure is known for it’s predictable weather.

“Not at all.”

His clothes are dry and the room warm from the fire. Your clothes are drenched, your hair clinging to your cool skin in wet clumps.

“Care for a walk?” You offer him your arm.

“Where to?” He asks, closing his book.

“The horizon,” you smile at the memory. “Or wherever you want to go.”

“I don’t think you’ve seen some cacti nearby?” He gets up, dusting off his trousers as he steps closer. “But any flora will do, really. Dry, preferably. I miss it dearly.”

You don’t have a joke to offer but he’s not waiting for it, linking your arms instead. The rain soaks into his dry clothes instantly but he doesn’t seem to mind.

When you get outside he raises his hand and sand collects above your heads like a canopy, keeping you dry. Well, him. You’re already drenched.

You guide him through the dark alleys toward a stream, follow it for half a mile until you reach boulders. 

“In there,” you point at the waterfall that drops down here. “Is a little cave. It’s very private.”

“After you.”

You swallow down your doubt and slip inside. He’s right behind you, still miraculously dry.

It’s dark in the cave. You didn’t think of bringing candles but the darkness reminds you of your first meeting, giving you back a little bravery.

“I don’t suppose you know the Village hidden behind the water lilies?”

“I’ve heard of it,” his voice is calm. You don’t dare reach for him no matter how much you want to.

���How much have you heard of it?”

“I’ve heard,” he stops for a second. “That its head is not happy with how the peace is progressing. That he’s got a tight leash on everyone going in and out and living in his village. That he’s making plans to take over whatever he can get.”

“Have you recognized me?”

“Should I have?” His voice is cool. Even. It feels like rainwater on your heated skin.

“I have left my village with a clear mission. Marry or kill the Kazekage.”

“Interesting.”

“I’ve decided to do neither of them.”

“Why?”

“Freedom.” You swallow. “Say, I want to do one thing and not the other. It would never be my own choice, would it?”

“Not even when asked?”

“I am a water lily,” you answer him truthfully. “You can only free me by cutting off the root.”

The knife is heavy on your hip. You pull it out and offer it to him on the palm of your hands.

“I’d give my life to be free. I’m asking you to take it.”

-

Silence washes over the cave. It seems like even the water is holding its breath. 

Gaara takes the knife from you, his hands warm against your cold skin.

“Undress,” he tells you quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. “I’ll need to send your clothes to your father. He won’t believe it without evidence.”

The air is cold on your damp skin. Your shirt sticks to it, unwilling to let go. It’s clinging more to you than you’ve ever clung to life.

You can’t see Gaara, but you can hear him, just one step away, just out of reach.

“Put the clothes on the floor.” 

You hear him take a step, feel his breath wash over your face, feel the tip of the knife, ice cold, blank steel, against your throat.

“What is more precious than water?” Gaara asks as the blade cuts the skin. Blood runs down your chest and drips onto the floor. 

“Blood?” You ask, hoping he’ll make it quick.

“Wrong. Life.”

- - -

The news of your death travel quick.

There is no time to draw back your guards from Sunagakure in time. Their end is quick and painless, which is less than they deserve for planning a coup on the Kazekage’s life.

Your clothes, bloody and torn, reach your father with a strong worded letter.

If he dares to attempt something similar again, he will have to suffer the consequences.

-

It’s his last day in Amegakure.

The rain has not let up once during his stay and Gaara shields himself with sand on the way back to his hotel.

The light in his room isn’t on but he finds the window without it, the reflection of something silver sitting in the corner of it.

“Welcome back,” he’s greeted when he enters. “Can we help-”

“Dinner in my room,” he orders curtly. “Leave it at the door. I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Very well.”

He takes the stairs two steps at a time, knocks softly against the door before he enters.

You’re stretched out on the bed, watching the raindrops race each other on the window. The knife you gave him glints back at him from the corner of the window.

“We’re leaving tonight,” he tells you before dipping down to place a kiss on your lips first only to brush his lips on the fading scar across your neck right after.

“Do we have to?” You ask, pulling him down onto the bed. You’re wearing white silk and silver jewelry, look like the morning dew came to live. “I like it here.”

“We’ll come back when you miss the rain.”

“So right after we leave?”

Gaara pinches your cheek and you giggle, curling into his arms like you’ve never belonged anywhere else.

“Tell me again,” you whisper against his skin, “what we’re going to do next."

His hand is warm on your back, rubbing a circle, a drop, a heart, into the skin.

“First we’re going back to Sunagakure.”

“Boo.”

He pinches the skin of your arm and you press a kiss to his skin as an apology.

“Then we’re getting married.”

“And if my father asks-”

“You’ve never met him before in your life.”

You giggle at this. 

“Freedom.” You sigh. “Finally.”

“What’s your new name going to be?” Gaara asks, pushing a lock of your hair behind your hair.

You stare out the window where the sun finally glints through the clouds after days of relentless rain.

“Suiren. Water Lily.”

Taglist: @kaykaystrings @alexxavicry @tsxkishimx @mytanuki-kun

[ultravioletbrit]

“absent” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 268 words

Sirius loves Hogsmeade weekends when the whole group gets together for lunch at the Three Broomsticks. He’s looking around the table at the smiling faces of all his friends when he realizes two faces are notably absent.

“Hey Marls. James walked down with you guys, right?” Sirius asks.

“He said he needed to stay back and work on new strategies for us to practice this week to use in the match next weekend.” Marlene explains.

Sirius furrows his eyebrows, but it does make sense. James is obsessive about Quidditch, and next weekend’s match is a big one.

“Oi! Crouch!” Sirius calls to the other end of the table. “Where’s Reggie?”

“Revising. He says he likes the library on Hogsmeade weekends because there’s nobody else there. Swot.” Barty says with an eye roll which Sirius returns.

Regulus hates noise and crowds when he studies so it makes sense that he would want to go to the library today.

Sirius shrugs it off and goes back to his lunch.

———

Sirius is sitting across from James at dinner when he notices a trail of love bites running down his neck.

“Prongs, are those hickeys?” Sirius gasps but before James can answer–

“Oi Reg!! Are those hickeys?!” They hear Barty yelling from across the hall.

James’ eyes go wide with fear and Sirius’ eyes narrow to a murderous glare.

“I err… I have to…” James stutters as he slowly stands up.

Once he’s on his feet, James sprints from the Great Hall with Sirius close behind him.

Just before the doors close, Sirius thinks he hears Regulus yell, “Please don’t kill him.” Which only makes Sirius run faster.

[webism]

☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.

it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.

but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.

he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.

so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.

but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.

and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.

and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.

satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.

so, naturally, gojo plays into it.

the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.

and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.

“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”

it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.

you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.

he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.

he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”

“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”

“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.

gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”

“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”

“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.”

“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”

“wh—“

in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.

“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”

you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.

he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.

how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.

“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”

“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”

“yeah? well where is it now?”

you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.

you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.

but friends don’t talk like that.

they don’t fuck like this either, though.

[tarrynightss]

Thinking about being Sukuna’s favorite concubine…

He gives you special treatment, being far more lenient with you than the others. You want a luxury bath? You’ll get it. Want to have a night to yourself? He’ll consider it if you’re extra good to him today. He’ll even forgive that smart mouth of yours for speaking out of turn.

He’ll shower you in finery; clothes, hairpins, exotic fruits. He likes rewarding you with something that makes your eyes go wide and gleam with interest like you’re a little crow. It’s also to show off that you’re his favorite, everything on you marking his possession over you.

He’ll keep you on his lap as he sits on his throne, one arm always snuggly wound around your waist. It’s all about showing off his power and fertility to whoever visits him of course, but you get to be the one he does it with. You are the one to be shown off, to be remembered by whoever makes it out of a visit with Sukuna alive.

He normally doesn’t allow his concubines to sleep next to him, it being far more of a hassle than he usually finds it worth it, but he makes an exception for you. It’s not always, of course, but most nights after he calls on you (which is a lot) he’ll draw you against his body and hold you for his own comfort.

He’s more tender with you. Like mentioned before wrapping you in his arms to sleep, or letting you press a gentle kiss to his mouth. Not every touch you share with him is dirty, which is quite unique with Sukuna.

He’ll overwork you. You are his favorite, his most desired one, so be prepared to get fucked till your holes feel raw and your walk is messed up. He just wants you all of the time, making sure you are always bare under your kimono so he can flip it up and take you whenever he pleases. Perhaps if you beg him very, very sweetly not to use one of your sore holes, he’ll agree to use another, just because it’s you, because he’s such a kind master.

He’ll cum inside you. It’s not a privilege exclusively reserved for you per se, but he tries to avoid it with the others. He has had no interest in having children, so it’s a real hassle when one of his women falls pregnant. The fallout is never pleasant, to say the least. But you… well, clearly you have something special to have captured his interest. Maybe it’s your beauty, or your intelligence, or maybe you carry some tremendous cursed energy. Something made him like you best, and that something makes him wonder that maybe, if he is to create a legacy for himself, then you should be the one to help him with that. The change is not spoken about, you quickly enough finding out that Sukuna never pulls out of you anymore, keeping his cock inside you afterwards and fucking his cum even deeper. It’s only when you’re clearly sick with worry about him ditching you (of worse) if you get pregnant that he tells you his thoughts. You happily accept your role of course, just as he knew you would.

His favorite, his precious little jewel

Find part 2 here

[plutonianeris]

your sensual side (8th house signs) ❤️‍🔥 18+

How we treat our partners ❤️‍🔥....

Aries 8th House: Grabbing you by the hips with fiery urgency, pulling you in for a rough, breath-stealing kiss, raw passion in every touch, their hands exploring without hesitation, eyes locked in an intense stare that demands submission, dominating you with primal energy, pushing you against the wall, biting your lip to taste control, owning your body like it’s theirs, leaving marks to claim you, wild, reckless, and unapologetic in their lust, craving your surrender, turning every moment into a challenge they intend to win.

Taurus 8th House: Slow, sensual domination, trailing their fingers down your skin, letting their touch linger just long enough to make you ache for more, lips brushing against yours as they whisper promises of endless pleasure, firm grip on your neck, their possessiveness disguised as tenderness, pulling you onto their lap as they devour you, taking their time to savor every inch, wanting to make you beg with slow, torturous teasing, primal groans of satisfaction as they leave you trembling, leaving no doubt that you belong to them.

Gemini 8th House: Dirty talk that turns into whispers that leave you breathless, teasing touches, hands roaming over you before they pull away, just to keep you on edge, playful laughter as they push you against the bed, lips against your ear, talking you through your every reaction, making you crave more with their words alone, switching from soft to rough, hands all over you while their eyes stay locked on yours, curious exploration that keeps the energy electric, pulling you into their chaotic rhythm with wild, unpredictable passion.

Cancer 8th House: Deep, intense eye contact as they wrap you in their arms, pulling you so close you can feel their heartbeat, hands sliding under your shirt while they whisper how badly they want you, nails digging into your skin as they cling to you like they can’t get enough, slow, sensual kisses that turn into hungry, desperate moans, claiming you emotionally and physically, soft and nurturing one moment, possessive and fiercely dominant the next, leaving you feeling safe yet utterly devoured by their passion, needing you like air.

Leo 8th House: Pushing you down with a possessive grin, making sure everyone knows you’re theirs, pulling your body into theirs with commanding confidence, gripping your hair as they kiss you with overwhelming passion, showing off their control as they dominate every part of you, growling in your ear as they take what’s theirs, never backing down, craving to be worshipped as they ravish you, lighting a fire with their touch, making you feel like royalty, wanting you to beg for more, always pushing for deeper surrender.

Virgo 8th House: Subtle, precise touches that drive you wild, hands roaming over you like they’re memorizing every inch, building up the tension with slow, deliberate movements, soft but firm control that keeps you wanting more, teasing your senses until you can’t take it anymore, pulling your body close while whispering exactly what they’re going to do to you, calculated and meticulous in their pleasure, knowing exactly how to break you down, turning their gentle touch into raw intensity when they finally take over.

Libra 8th House: Seduction wrapped in elegance, teasing you with gentle touches before they grip you tight, lips brushing yours before they claim you with intense desire, pushing you against the bed with a smile that promises everything, craving to see you undone by their charm, balancing between softness and raw need, pulling your clothes off with slow, deliberate motions, whispering sweet, seductive words in your ear, taking control while making you feel like you’re their one and only, craving mutual pleasure in every moment.

Scorpio 8th House: Locking eyes with you like they can see into your soul, pulling you into a dark, intoxicating world of desire, intense and possessive, gripping your body like they never want to let go, their touch burning into your skin, craving your complete surrender, whispering how they own every part of you, devouring you with raw intensity, pulling you deeper into their control with every kiss, leaving marks to remind you of their claim, needing you on every level mind, body, and soul, passion so deep it’s addictive.

Sagittarius 8th House: Grabbing your hand and pulling you into an adventure of desire, playful and wild, throwing you onto the bed with a grin that dares you to keep up, eyes burning with excitement as they explore your body, passionate kisses that turn into playful bites, never holding back, wanting you to match their wild energy, pushing your boundaries just to see your reaction, craving the thrill of raw connection, taking control while laughing through the chaos, needing you to give into their fiery passion completely.

Capricorn 8th House: Taking control from the start, pushing you down with a firm grip, showing you who’s in charge, commanding every part of you with raw intensity, precise and deliberate in their movements, craving power in every touch, whispering in your ear how you belong to them, gripping your body like they own it, their desire controlled but intense, leaving no room for doubt, making you feel secure in their dominance, craving the satisfaction of breaking you down, turning every moment into a test of control and passion.

Aquarius 8th House: Playful and unpredictable, grabbing you suddenly, pushing you against the wall with a mischievous smile, exploring new ways to turn you on, breaking every rule just to see your reaction, switching from soft to rough without warning, craving excitement and adventure in every touch, pulling you into their unique world of passion, whispering how they want to explore every part of you, always keeping things unexpected and thrilling, pushing boundaries for the sake of excitement, never letting you get too comfortable.

Pisces 8th House: Soft, dreamy seduction that turns into raw, emotional intensity, pulling you into their world with soft kisses before devouring you with passion, craving a deep, soul-bonding connection, gripping your body with both gentleness and need, making you feel like you’re floating on desire, their touch both soothing and overwhelming, whispering their fantasies in your ear as they pull you closer, losing themselves in the moment, craving to merge with you completely, leaving you breathless with the depth of their emotions.

[nereidprinc3ss]

trolley problem

in which fem!reader has been gambling with her life and spencer reid is more than a little concerned

flangst, hurt/comfort warnings/tags: passive suicidal ideation from reader, she keeps risking her life, that really grinds Spencer’s gears, established relationship, existential dread, existential euphoria, lots of stuff about grief and death and self worth, not advocating for this, pretension from the author, blasphemy probably?, reader gets fuzzy from prescribed painkillers, arguing, hospital stuff, mention of sleep paralysis involving spiders, reader gets shot but she’s fineee, I pander to intro to philosophy takers, bau!reader, neurodivergent coded reader, if she’s not exactly like you I’m sorry, bean soup a/n: one day you’re in a writing slump literally the next you are in your notes app for six hours writing whatever the fuck this is but I think I love it even tho it’s weird and I hope u like it too!! btw this was gonna be called cotard's syndrome but then I never once talk abt cotard's but if u care that might be interesting context for the motif of not feeling human/alive, WC 3K

Spencer hasn’t spoken to you since the doctor left the room five minutes ago. 

The air is antiseptic as you take it deep into the hollows of your lungs and trap it there for a moment, trying to optimize oxygen intake without actually having to breathe very often. Hospital smell is as universal as it is suffocating. It reeks of everything but death—flowers, blood, bleach, vomit. A humiliating, desperate scramble to defy the very thing that defines mortality. It’s pathetic. It reminds you of the worst instances of failure and loss and denial in your life. It curdles your blood. Literally rots you from the inside out. 

You’ve had ample time to ponder that smell over the last few months because you keep ending up here, and some time ago you decided the institution of the hospital is inherently absurd. It’s stupid to think you could avoid the one absolute condition on your corporeal form: impermanence. It is the only thing that is promised, and people still waste their lives away running from it. It is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. 

So around the time you acknowledged that hospitals are simply monuments to the self-importance of man, you gave up on trying too hard to preserve yourself. You’ve seen death too much and too often. You’ve tried staving it off with prayer and the miracles of modern medicine, and it never matters in the end because it’s all magical thinking anyway. All the wallowing and the bargaining and pleading never got you anywhere. 

You’ve accepted that from the moment you were born, you were marked for death. 

But you’re not a complete nihilist. You’re not even totally resigned to the abject certainty of death—because you’ve found a loophole.

Everyone has as many chances at escaping death as other people are willing to offer them at the cost of their own lives. Not many people are willing to make that trade—someone else’s life for their own—but you’ve decided you are. Because if not you, then who?

It’s not that you don’t see the value in your own life, as Spencer keeps making it sound. It’s just the opposite. You understand that you’ve got an extremely valuable resource, and you don’t just have to sit on it. There are things you can do. Choices you can make. Ways to defy death. 

Just… not yours. 

Or maybe you’re just in deep denial. 

Either way—this is a philosophy your boyfriend intentionally refuses to understand. He gets mad, or some kind of upset, every time you try to explain it. Usually he ends up leaving the room close to tears. You never feel good about it.

Right now he’s presumably trying to give you the silent treatment and not doing a very good job. 

“Stop holding your breath. Why are you—stop that.”

Spencer’s frowning, skin sallow and milk-blue under fluorescent lighting. Purple seeps from around his eyes like spilled wine on a white table cloth. Your stomach turns. 

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t tell you not to apologize. You don’t expect him to. 

“Why are you doing that? Does something hurt?”

Other than your entire bicep being on fire due to the 9 millimeter Luger it recently came into contact with?

“Not really. I just don’t like the smell of hospitals.”

At that, he gets stony again. Like, Medusa stony. You feel a tightening in your chest that has nothing to do with a lack of air. His arms are crossed. A silk lined blazer drapes over your lap, and you wonder if he’s cold in just that white button up. It’s translucent in this light, like onion skin, or maybe something less organic—the folds and wrinkles look like fabric, but lots of things look like something they aren’t. In the Pietá, Jesus lounges dead on his mother’s lap, his cheek pressed to her arm like either of them have warm flesh, and her skirts drape from her knees and fall to the ground in delicate folds just like Spencer’s jacket and looking at pictures of it you swear you could find comfort there too—but if you wanted to make space for yourself next to Jesus you’d have to do it with a chisel and mallet. You’re starting to think that’s what it’s going to take with Spencer, as well. 

“So stop walking into active gunfire. You’ll spend a lot less time here.”

Every deep sigh (of which there have been several) calcifies you further. Ironically, you never feel less alive than you do in a hospital. 

“I didn’t walk into active g—”

“I’m not debating it with you. It’s not a discussion.”

“So you’re just going to be pissed at me for the rest of forever? I mean, if it’s not a discussion—what are you gonna do? Break up with me?”

You feel yourself dripping poison in the well. Even as you say it. As his head tilts toward you slowly and intently from his spot against the wall, and his warning gaze is cold and unforgiving and weighs 3.35 tons.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk?”

“Don’t try and manipulate me by implying that there are no options between permissiveness and dumping you!”

“I’m not manipulating you. And I don’t need your permission to do anything.” 

The first part is an incredulous scoff as well as a blatant lie. You are manipulating him. Chisel and all. At least, you were trying to. It clearly doesn’t work very well. His jaw clenches.  

“Is this worth it to you? Fighting with me like we’re children solely so you don’t have to take accountability?”

“Accountability for what? I made a choice. I don’t regret it. You’re upset because I did my job.”

A beat. 

Silence always makes you feel the gravity of your words. 

“Do you believe that?”

His voice softens so much, so quickly, it splinters down the middle. 

You’ve never been known for your light touch. For someone who sees eviscerated bodies nearly every day, and prides herself on her evolved understanding of mortality, you often forget other people are not, in fact, impenetrable marble—they are flesh and blood and bone, and you’ve splattered yourself in the evidence of that. 

“What?” You murmur. You easily turn timid, when you’re afraid you’ve been too heavy-handed. Spencer’s seen you sob over the birds who hit the windowpane and never reappeared from the shrubbery—their delicate wings, their little beaks—he didn’t mean to, Spencer, and now he’s dead! He’s seen you spend forty minutes catching a spider with a cup and an envelope rather than smush it, even though you have reoccurring episodes of sleep paralysis wherein a giant arachnid is sitting on your chest, hissing and clacking its pincers. He knows you are, at your core, kind and good. 

It’s a little scary for someone to know that about you. It’s a little scary when you see your own vulnerability reflected in their eyes and the way they speak to you, the way you see it in him now. 

“Do you believe that the choices you make regarding your safety don’t concern me at all?”

“They’re… my choices to make,” you whisper, but you’re less sure than you were a minute ago. 

“I’m not talking about that—I’m talking about how it feels like you are trying to kill yourself every time we’re in the field.” His voice shakes. You swallow. “You have been hospitalized for four serious injuries sustained on the job in the past five months. Every time I bring it up, you—you talk about life like it’s optional for you. Like you’re not only willing to give it up but are actively looking to throw yourself in harm’s way every chance you get. You think that doesn’t terrify me?”

There’s a small chip in the paint on the wall next to him roughly the shape of Africa. 

“It’s not like that. I’m… I’m just having an unlucky streak.”

He snaps. 

“Luck isn’t going to get between you and a bullet. Ever.”

“It’s my job, Spencer.”

“No. It is a risk of the job. Not a defining feature or requirement. But you keep running toward gunfire like you have a quota to meet.”

“Spencer, I’m not doing it at you. I’m not trying to get myself hurt.”

“Well it doesn’t really feel like you’re trying to avoid it, either,” he shoots back immediately, and you feel the anguish radiating from him until it lodges in your own chest, like it was always yours. Maybe it was. 

You want to make it better, but you don’t know how, and even if you did, he’s pushing off the wall and crossing the room toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” You call, a little too desperately for your liking. 

“You need to eat something.”

Which translates roughly to he’s pissed and upset and he needs to leave the room. You’ve done this song and dance before. 

However, food and an absence of him are contenders for the absolute last two things you want right now. 

“Spencer, please don’t—”

But the door is already whooshing closed. 

You stare at the grey and white checkered floor. Light bounces off the waxen reflection—some sort of parallel universe you can’t reach, perhaps. The whole room is desaturated. A mechanical humming threatens to drive you insane. It doesn’t feel like a place for living humans. You’re not convinced you are one. 

When he comes back, maybe ten minutes later, nothing’s moved at all. In fact you’re not even sure you’ve been breathing. 

The door closes as quietly as it opens. 

This time, wordlessly, Spencer comes to you. You see his shoes first—his serious adult shoes. You wish he was wearing his Converse. 

Then you see the bottle of apple juice he’s cracking open for you. Blue lid. Same kind you always get. 

“You didn’t bring food.”

“You wouldn’t have eaten it.”

Fair enough. 

You take the bottle with your good arm and sip shallowly—all that adrenaline and the subsequent interpersonal strife has left you nauseous. The drink is too sweet. It clashes with the tang of metal in your mouth. 

Still, you drink enough to satisfy him, and then you’re tossing his jacket aside before balancing the bottle between your thighs so you can screw the lid back on. He doesn’t go back to the couch or his spot on the wall. 

Spencer doesn’t pull away when you lean into him, but it does take him a moment to reciprocate. You’re still grateful all the same when he cradles the back of your head to his stomach like you’re made of porcelain. 

“I don’t think you understand how upset I am,” he says quietly. 

Only Spencer Reid could be furious with you and still hold you like this. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“That’s not good enough. You need to stop risking your life like that.”

He doesn’t get it. Your brows flutter as they try to furrow but even holding that expression saps you. Maybe the pain meds are finally kicking in. 

“I just wanna help people.”

“That doesn’t explain to me or justify your urge to do it at the cost of your own life. We all want to help people, angel. The whole team. That’s why we do what we do. But we don’t run into shootouts. We don’t split off and provoke people with guns when we’re unarmed and unprepared.”

“But it worked. She got away.” You feel a spark of fulfillment at the memory of Gloria Sanchez in JJ’s arms just before the ambulance doors had slammed you into your first cage of the night. 

“We don’t know if he was going to kill her. He might not’ve fired at all if you didn’t go running toward him. That wasn’t strategic, it was reckless and irresponsible and you know that. I know you do. So something else is going on.”

The pressure in your nose that usually precipitates tears comes as a surprise. 

“I just—if that’s how I can save someone, why shouldn’t I, you know? Why do they have less of a right to live than I do just because they’ve been deprived of the choice? If I have a choice, and they don’t, I should choose to… to help them. That’s my job.”

For a long moment, you listen to your own breath, muffled by Spencer’s shirt, and the mechanical humming, and something dripping, and the low, buzzy chatter of nurses far down the hallway.

When Spencer next speaks you get the sense he’s holding a lot back. His voice is taut enough it wavers slightly. Taut enough that if he weren’t speaking so quietly he might be yelling. It’s like pinpricks all over your body—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure you’re paying attention. 

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. Do you understand me?”

And yes, in theory, you do. But that doesn’t negate your original point. It only takes one life or death moment for you to utilize the most valuable resource you have. What happens after is no longer your concern. 

“On the psych evals you helped develop it asks if you think it’s appropriate to sacrifice the one to save the many. The answer is supposed to be no. If you say yes you get flagged. The FBI frowns upon… lever-pullers. And that’s exactly what I’m doing if I let one person die when I could’ve potentially saved them.”

“Protecting your own life is not pulling the lever. What you’re doing isn’t smart or morally righteous. You’re just throwing yourself across the tracks, too. If you were to fail a psych eval right now it would be because you’re passively suicidal. And you know what? The FBI also tends to frown upon self-immolative delusions of grandeur and girls who like to play sacrificial lamb.”

“’M not a… sacrificial lamb…”

“No,” Spencer agrees quietly, stroking your hair. “You’re not.”

And you can’t react to the fragility in his voice, or the content of his words, and the fact that when he says it he means something different—you can’t do anything about it. You can only catalogue it. You can only know that he loves you, and feel a little guilty about it.

Some time passes. You don’t know how long he remains standing so you can doze against him. He does not smell like the hospital. He’s the antidote for whatever grief they distill from widows and orphans before aerosolizing it through the whole place. 

“Baby?” He asks eventually. You know the lilt of it. He’s been thinking. 

“Hm?”

He hesitates. 

“Can we talk about you maybe taking some time off of work?”

“You heard the boss,” you mumble. “I can’t come in for at least a week.”

“I mean beyond that.”

You intend to respond, but by the time you open your mouth you’ve lost the prompt in all the brain fog. 

“You’re so comfy,” you murmur dreamily. “Thank you for being mad at me.”

If he responds, you miss it. 

You’re imagining the bed waiting for you at home, once the doctor is done observing you—warm, neatly made. Blankets woven with soft fibers. A mattress that will sink under your weight. You think of Spencer, who’s shaping himself to you, Spencer, who intentionally inhales when you exhale at night to make room for the rise and fall of your chest against his. You think of the imprint of his buttons on your cheek. You are both flesh and blood and bone. 

Strange, pill-induced half dreams and visions and memories take over. You’re in that alleyway again. That man fires. You don’t blink or scream or feel. 

Just before the bullet makes contact you’re standing in front of the Pietá. It’s massive. Spencer is there, too, holding your hand. 

You can’t actually see him, only, you know he’s there. You feel his warmth, his presence, when he leans over to whisper in your ear. The way you know him goes beyond sight. 

The Pietá—meaning the pity, in English—is 6’7” and six feet wide. It weighs 6,700 pounds. Michelangelo had to quarry the block of marble himself. He was only 25 when he finished. The Basilica keeps it behind bulletproof glass. 

Jesus and Mary behind bullet proof glass. 

God. Who’d try to kill Jesus a third time? He’s already dead. 

Besides—they’re both made of stone. Bullets would probably just ping right off of them. Or maybe they’d shatter just like you did. 

Probably not though. You’re not actually made of marble. You’ve no idea what it feels like to be a statue and get shot at. You sure know how it feels as a human, though—and it feels like shit. You don’t really know why you keep doing it. None of your reasons are good enough for Spencer, and he’s, generally speaking, pretty smart about some things. 

Maybe you’re tired of being human.

Maybe you’re tired of sleeping on your arm funny and waking up to a hand in your bed that doesn’t feel like yours and remembering all the hands you’ve held moments before they couldn’t hold yours back. Or tired of those moments where you are being held and it’s so unbelievably perfect and then someone has to let go, or when someone you love hugs you goodbye and you realize that there will always be a final I love you, or simply getting older and watching potential life paths fall away like rotten fruit to the ground. Maybe life is sometimes so good it hurts and you can’t bear it. So you tempt fate. You walk a tightrope because even if you fall and it can’t ever feel good again—at least it can’t hurt either. At least you won’t lose anymore. 

And yet. 

It does feel good, sometimes. Sort of often, actually. Even when it’s awful. 

Dead Jesus and Mary, with their marble skin and their bulletproof glass and their holiness and their virginity and all the other things they have that you don’t. Nobody can hurt them anymore. Not ever. 

Maybe that’s something you envy.

But you doubt they’ve ever been so terribly, wonderfully alive as you’ve been, or as comfortable as you are like this, leaning into Spencer’s warmth and his softness, in the hospital, or the Vatican, or your dreams. Your bicep was ruined but it’s healing. You are capable of ruin and rebirth in the same lifetime. In the same day, in the same hour. 

You doubt that in 520 years, behind bulletproof glass and unyielding, eternally flawless skin, they’ve ever felt as invincible as you do now. 

You doubt they ever could. 

[prael]

Integrity

Newjeans Hanni x male reader smut

Happy Hanni Day!

Masterlist word count: 6,048 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It's a really long way to travel, and doubly so when you get fuck all from it. It's not like you were after anything ground-breaking—it's just a fashion show, after all.

It's about as close as you get to 'phoning it in' as a journalist. A few copy-and-paste interviews to accompany some snapshots of the season's latest designs. A couple hundred words, cut and run. Who wore what dress and who wore it the tightest. You could probably type most of it out on the plane without ever leaving your seat, and the public will still eat it up.

Somewhere over Austria, you mulled over that very fact.

Four days later, somewhere over Hungary, you're scrambling to do exactly that.

The whole thing is going fine. Fine, right up until it isn't. Maybe it's the sound of your fingers on the keys or the pocket of air that rocked the plane in that familiar gut-wrenching way, but her eyes are opening slowly. She's mouthing something, her fingers reaching around behind her, under the thin layer of blankets she is enveloped in.

"Are we there yet?" she murmurs, fishing her phone out of her blanket, sleepiness and all.

"Not even close," you say as flatly as you can, returning to a few words you'd been rolling over in your head for the better part of thirty minutes.

"What are you writing about?" She asks from down on her fully reclined seat that's moonlighting as a bed.

"You," you say with a small laugh, not looking away from your laptop.

"What about me?" Hanni's phone lights up, cutting through the darkness and finally making her face visible. The cabin is in full black-out since it's the middle of the night, and the dividers in first-class keep the two of you isolated.

"Your clothes, mostly. Generic fashion show stuff. Doesn't really matter. I put the names Gucci and Hanni Pham in an article and it sells itself. Instant clicks. S'like... two baits for one fish."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Probably is," you reply, knowing full well that there's little to be proud of in here. It's all surface level after all, since adding the things you know now might raise a few eyebrows. All the investigative journalism you've done over the past few days isn't exactly something you can write about. Though you can't deny it, an article about the beauty mark right below her waistline would probably send the masses into a frenzy.

You can hear her tapping on her screen a few more times, and with the silence in the first-class cabin at night, you find yourself focusing on those sounds more than your writing. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Sigh. Tap. Tap.

"What is it?"

"Can't sleep," comes her whispered reply as she pushes herself up with that strange grunt you often hear her make, propping her pillow against the bulkhead and stretching out.

"Drugs not working?"

She shakes her head. "Not doing much."

"If my typing is too loud I can stop—"

"No, you focus. I'll find something to keep myself distracted." She locks her phone again and disappears into the darkness again, her soft breathing almost inaudible. Minutes go by. You manage a full two paragraphs before hearing her moving in the darkness again.

"Hanni?"

"Shh."

The slow shifting goes on for another few seconds, and in the darkness, you can make out the movement of her blanket as she slides off the chair down to your feet. What hits you next is her fingers reaching into your waistband.

"Hann—"

"Quiet," she whispers back. You quickly pick up the laptop from resting on your lap before her attempts to undress you can send it crashing to the floor. You're quick to place it on her seat and close its cover, out of her reach just in time before she slides your pants down.

She doesn't say anything, just lets you lay there in silence as her fingers guide you into her mouth. It is almost unnerving how used to it you have become in such a short time—how easy it has become for you, a supposed professional, to mix business and pleasure to this degree.

Hanni goes on unperturbed, wetting you between plump lips that trail up and down your length.

There is nothing you can do at this point but give in and just throw your head back. You grow harder under her touch and her tongue and judging by the way she grows more aggressive with her movements, Hanni is starting to enjoy herself as well. You can't quite make out her face, but you already know the look she's wearing. Can practically see it in your mind's eye; the look of wide-eyed desire as she takes you further in, lips rounding out over teeth as she welcomes every inch you give her until her cheeks cave in from sucking.

It's fucking burned into your brain. You've seen it so much, among so many other filthy expressions, you aren't sure if you could ever forget it.

Your hand reaches down blindly in the darkness until it finds the back of her head. The mere fact that the both of you are sitting on this plane hundreds of miles above the ground is instantly forgotten, fading out from consciousness and sense as she holds on, massaging your balls with one hand.

You let yourself lay there like this, fingers tangled in her hair, cock buried in her mouth. The thought of pulling her up and reciprocating is never far from your mind, but her grip on your hips is certain. This is all her right now. She's in charge.

She does not lack the pace to prove it.

Her head bobs up and down in the dark, tongue guiding you further in with every motion, lips slipping further down along your shaft, saliva pooling at your base. Her humming is growing—you can't hear it, but you can feel it. It resonates all the way through you, down the aching hardness she keeps stroking with her tongue, and even further to fuel that tension building in your lower stomach.

"Holy fuck," you curse under your breath, voice catching in your throat, lost in the motion of the plane's droning vibrations and her eager motions.

She pops you from her mouth, stroking your cock with a twist of a wrist and something she is doing with her tongue at the tip. As your eyes begin to adjust, you can see that spit has mixed with precum, dribbling down and over the back of her knuckles. It's lewd and over the top and everything that Hanni Pham, an innocent idol, pretends not to be.

"What? You want me to stop?"

"Fuck no," you whisper back, heart pumping in your ears. The feeling of her strokes, suddenly more controlled and tense without the benefit of her mouth is as jarring as it is fleeting.

"Didn't think so." With that, she brings her head back down to take you in her mouth again, hot breaths hitting the spit-slick surface of your dick. It's dirty and clumsy, messy and wet, and each time she swallows you, your entire body shudders with pleasure, coiling every muscle and feeling it climb upward until your stomach goes tight and you find yourself pushing her down, further, faster, until she is sucking what little air she has.

You are wound tight. Agonising, torturous tension pulling ever outward from your centre with each motion she makes. Every twitch of her tongue—fuck, does she work her tongue—spurs some sort of response down to the very tips of your toes.

It's a complete relapse. Back to four days ago, in the back of the car, with nothing but a divider between you and the driver. Cumming inside Hanni's pretty mouth and feeling her swallow every bit, then going on like nothing happened.

-

There's usually not a lot of enthusiasm for an interview. You have spent the whole morning being shrugged off by star after star after star. To them, they're there to look pretty. To show face and represent their brands. Answers are pre-written garbage to be regurgitated over and over like everyone is sharing the same stupid fucking tongue.

Then there's little miss backless-top. Denim jeans and a shirt with frills that barely keeps her modesty. Big, brown eyes and a smile that fills her whole face. Add her vibrance and energy and she really gets your journalistic gears turning. There's something fresh about her. How when you approach her, she engages you in a conversation like you're an actual person and not just some cardboard cut-out of a journalist.

Hanni Pham knows her shit. It's part of the training. She handles media with all the grace of someone born to do it and the energy of someone who loves it. So not only does she give you answers there and then, but when you make the request to sit down with her later and get all you need to do a whole feature on her, she's quickly turning to the powers that be to make it happen.

She should have been a ten-minute addendum. An hourglass figure strutting and posing and laughing her pretty little ass off for cameras for the adoring public. Instead, Hanni fucking Pham, you've got her. For hours.

So you sit down in a quiet little room you managed to reserve with the company card, and she's right across from you, with two glasses of water and a notepad on a table in an otherwise empty room.

"Is this going to be recorded?" She asks first, though looks sceptical and unprepared.

"Normally, yes. But I would prefer us to be a little more comfortable. I'm going to take notes, that's all."

"I like that." She claps, like there's an imaginary audience watching, even if you're the only one there. "So, what are we covering?"

"Everything. To start," you shift a little closer to the table. "Think of this being more about you rather than what you're wearing."

She gives you a little bit of a quizzical look.

"I know. Fashion show. Just, work with me here. The Gucci brand gets the clicks, I want to introduce those clickers to the girl wearing the clothes."

Hanni nods, her eyes light up a little and you can't help but notice how she is really fucking adorable. Up close, she's even prettier. It throws you off for a second as you bring up the notepad. The blank pages stare up at you—mock you. Where do you even begin?

"We met briefly earlier, and you're standing alongside stars from many industries and the lead designer at Gucci."

"Yes," she smiles politely. "That was exciting. Kind of surreal, really."

"So what does it take to be who you are? A girl of Vietnamese blood, born in Melbourne, working in South Korea and travelling to Europe for fashion shows?"

"Uhm, like, honestly?" She shifts in her seat. "Really a lot of hard work. Endless and stressful and never-ending hard work. You know? From singing and dancing, to the language lessons and the dieting and working out. It needs hard work and, well, a lot of luck too."

"You make your own luck." You nod, before jotting down into your notepad.

She tilts her head in response. "I suppose so. That's very quotable if you want. I made my own luck by working hard."

"And yet you're still young, what, turning twenty?"

"Just." Hanni nods.

"Barely twenty and making waves. Do you still feel like you have so much more to give?"

"Oh fuck yeah," she quickly confirms. "Wait, don't write that down."

"Oh... fuck... yeah." You sound out the words as you pretend to write them in the notepad.

"Hey!" Hanni laughs, and it's beautiful. It fills the room and just makes her glow with warmth. "Cut me some slack."

"Alright. Alright. So is this what you envisioned? Being twenty and being here?"

"You mean in this room with you?"

You laugh too. The jokes come so naturally to her.

"I'm happy where I am, it really was always my dream."

"To be in this room with me?"

"Fuck you," she laughs. "But, in a way, yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't achieve my dream, would I?"

"That's very true. Then what is next for you?"

"There's no end goal." Hanni tilts her head. You follow her hand as it passes through her hair. She's studying you just like you are studying her. "I don't think I'll ever sit back and say 'that's enough.' That's not who I am."

"Ambitious. The question now is what are you chasing?"

"Is that you asking or the article?"

"Both," you say with a wry smile.

"For the article: I want to tour the world, keep improving and working hard. Release more music."

You scribble down a few notes and then click the top of the pen. "And off the record?"

"To spend a little more time focusing on myself. Time is fleeting. I should try and enjoy it while it lasts."

"You're young, pretty and successful. You have plenty of opportunity to do just that."

"Is that flirting?" she jokes, cocking her brow with a seductive smile.

"I'm just stating facts. I'm married to the truth." You gesture to your notepad. "So let's get back on the record, shall we?"

-

One delayed layover later and you're back in the air, and after your brief break to let Hanni drain you into her throat, you managed to get back to finishing up the article, so for the final stretch, the two of you are lying together in one of the first-class beds, and the conversation kept going.

"How are you single?" she's asking, while you're spooning her.

"Mostly because of my job. Definitely the baggage and constant travelling. Takes a special woman to not hate this."

"Sounds like idol life. I know so many idols who try to date but you just never have the time to see each other. We tour constantly and are always on the road. A long day of practising and comeback planning and comeback filming and comeback rehearsing, and more hours of sleep and eating to prep for the next comeback, you're always too exhausted."

"Such a shame." You lower the blanket that's covering her bare chest. Her breasts fill your palm as you caress them, gently. "A pretty thing like you deserves so much better than empty hotel rooms."

"Flirt," she playfully chastises, pressing her ass to your crotch before sliding forward to give you some friction, grinning at you over her shoulder. "These past few days, all the sex, I'd be lying if I said I couldn't get used to this."

It's a sentiment so heavily shared, that even now you're thinking about how easy it would be to pin her onto her back and mount her. It isn't easy to shake the thought when her body is practically inviting you inside her.

You're asking instead, still exploring her naked form, "How do you overcome the needs?"

"Other ways..." Hanni replies through closed eyes, her cheeks blushing. "Toys. Helps and hurts. They're no real substitute."

You run your hand over her toned stomach, heading between her thighs and gently prying them open. And there she is. Right fucking there, wet and waiting for you. Your finger glides over her lips and runs the full length of her, and she strains to contain a gentle moan. The problem is, Hanni is really fucking loud, and the walls of this pod are paper thin.

"I want you again," she whispers, and it's a real fucking dilemma.

She guides your cock through the folds of her pussy and leans back her head as she takes it. Fuck, it feels so good being back inside her. Wet and tight and made to grip. A small whimper escapes her when you are in deep, which she tries to swallow.

"You gotta be quiet," you tell her, while all but refusing to move inside her.

"I can be quiet," she grinds against you, but you're not convinced, and with a firm grasp of her jaw, you pull her closer.

"Can you?" you speak under her ear. "Can the oh-so-talented Hanni Pham control herself?"

She lets out another trembling little sound of pleasure while pushing herself onto your shaft. "I think so. All I know is you need to—yeah, right there. Yes." She closes her eyes and tries to stifle that deep groan of enjoyment.

You hush her before it gets too loud with a hand over her mouth. Tentatively, you begin moving, an aching slow journey backward and forward. As tight as her cunt is around your dick, the movement becomes easy. Dragging more pleasure from both of you and as she rolls her hips again, grinding against the motion, the whimpering returns.

"Hanni," you scold gently, pushing further into her with each stroke. "Shhh."

She mouths an 'I can't' into your hand which elicits a laugh from you and turns a smirk into a smile. You're rutting against her ass, savouring the feeling of your hips hitting her soft flesh. Ample curves along with a narrow waist begging you to embrace her. A pretty little thing taking all your cock and urging you on. It's hard not to go harder. "Need you."

"Careful what you wish for," you whisper as she tries to lean back her head in bliss.

Her tongue brushes your knuckles, and the soft sweep feels like a warm, wet invitation to probe further. A few seconds of uncertainty follows, and then her mouth closes around the tips of your fingers and starts to suck. Sharing the same excitement that has gotten the better of you the past few days of endless debauchery.

You sink your fingers deeper. She sucks harder, her moans stifled behind her pursed lips. Anywhere but here and you would throw her face down on the mattress, fuck her into a state of bliss. Make her beg for you and claw the bedsheets. Such an innocent girl, a girl who should have stayed wrapped in silk and lace, but who demands you take her, just a moment longer, just a bit rougher, and how can you refuse a beauty like that?

Just as Hanni settles and relaxes, her body is dragged into tense peaks of delight. Tiny gasps leak from around your fingers as you thrust deeper. She chokes as she orgasms, digging her nails into the arm that is holding her close, her face going bright pink. Sweat on her temples, on her chest. An earthly aroma of wet skin and hot breaths. She swears and curses the pleasure as you pump your orgasm between her thighs.

You fill her. For a while, you are one, grinding together in mutual fulfilment, breathing heavily and lost in your actions. The mess you're making runs from her sweet cunt, down her thigh, onto the bed.

The rush leaves the both of you exhausted. Hanni does nothing to resist you pulling out and emptying the last few drops over her ass. It is all over as quick as it began. It comes with a strange realisation of how natural it all feels to cum inside Hanni Pham.

-

It's not often that someone you interview not only takes your card, but doesn't immediately throw it away, and actually uses the number on there. You're in the back of a cab when it rings. Today's show has just about finished and while you didn't quite manage to snag another interview like the one you did with Hanni, it has been a good day.

"Did you get enough to write about?" is the first question she asks when you answer.

"I got a few bits here and there. Some surface-level stuff from others, but you gave me the marquee piece. I'll fluff up what I have with the spec sheets released and I'm sure it'll be a nice little exclusive."

"That makes me sound important," she giggles.

"You're a fucking celebrity, of course you are important."

"No need to swear."

"Apologies." There's a momentary pause. You let it linger on the call and soon enough, Hanni's laugh fills the silence.

"I'm kidding. Keep up that energy,"

"So, why are you calling? Usually, when I get a call it's to recant some statement or explain a misquote. Did I make a mess of something?"

"Well, not yet. But I have some ideas."

"Ideas?" You repeat, brows raising.

"Where are you now?" she asks, and for a moment you wonder if you shouldn't be answering.

"Taxi. Headed back to the place I'm staying."

"Where are you staying?" It's a strange question for her to ask, you think. Or maybe, it's not strange at all, but timing and circumstance have you considering the way it sounds.

"A hotel."

"Look to your right," she says, making a confusing request, but you look. Of course, you do. Outside the window, in the next lane over, stuck in the very same traffic as you are, is a familiar face. She gives you the widest grin, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Are you following me?" you joke.

"Do you want me to?" There's something playful in her voice, an attempt at seduction that's not exactly subtle.

"Hanni, what are—"

"Just answer the question," she interrupts.

And that's it. There's no reason to evade the truth. Lying to yourself gets no one anywhere. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Good," she murmurs, "you know, I'm still wearing the same outfit as I was at the event. These jeans are getting really uncomfortable." She pulls the phone away from her ear for a second and you hear her call out, "Driver? See that taxi on our left? Follow it, please. And can I get some privacy back here?"

There are some distant sounds from the other side of the phone. An affirmation of orders. Then her voice is right back with you.

"As I was saying, these jeans are really uncomfortable."

"Fashion can hurt," you say flatly.

"You're supposed to tell me to take them off or something. You're not very good at this are you?"

"I didn't realise 'this' is what we were doing." You've developed a stupid fucking smile, even if it's going unseen.

"Hmm, it can be." There is a moment of quiet as if she's thinking. "Hold on a second," Hanni says. There are some vague sounds you can't make out before she comes back to the phone. "Got bored of waiting. Now, keep talking will you? I like the sound of your voice."

"Hanni, what—"

"Just keep talking. Tell me what you think of me." She can't see it, but the look of confusion must be shining bright on your face. At a loss, and under duress, you speak your mind.

"Well, you seem nice." It's a weak first effort. "Very funny, a little confident. You must know you're pretty. Young, but driven." The words you mumble are stilted, but telling the truth.

"Really. You think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah."

"Not sexy?"

"Hanni, you're fucking sexy."

"Thanks," her laugh is like bells, ringing through the car. "That's better. What did you think of my outfit?"

"Daring. Not often do I see an idol go completely backless. Risky."

"Sometimes a risk is worth taking."

"Seems so."

"Tell me more. Tell me what was the part you liked the most?" Her voice drops from that relaxed confidence to a pitch that has your head buzzing with possibility.

"Nice waist. Really looked good with the way those jeans hugged your hips."

There's a long, heavy breath from the other end of the line. Something rustling and then a deep gasp from Hanni.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing. Keep talking. Describe me to me." Her voice is fraught with need, a small tremble in each word.

"Okay." That was permission, or demand, whichever is. You swallow before continuing. "Backless was a good choice. Your bare skin looks great. I'm sure those pictures are going viral already. Betting they are all over the web, all over people's phones."

"Are we close to your hotel?" Hanni strains out the question as if it were hard to say, every syllable wrought in pain.

"Close."

"Good, are you excited?"

"To?"

"See more of my bare skin."

Fuck. The image floods your mind like a dam breaking. Suddenly, she's right there, unclothed and naked and spread open. Suddenly, she's right there, moaning in pleasure, your cock lodged deep inside her.

"Yes," you groan into the phone. It's a painful admission. "Really, Hanni. Really fucking excited."

"So tell me, what are you excited to see?"

"Your ass. Love the way you wore the jeans just a little too tight. Really framed it."

She whispers, "That's all? Anything else, anything special you wanted to see?"

"Your breasts. Like what the top does. Would like to pull it down and play with those breasts." This whole thing is obscene. You're shamelessly spilling your desire to a girl you just met and she's loving every second of it.

Another soft gasp is heard on the call. It's more than that, it's her panting, short snatches of breath as her little gasps become regular, heated and urgent. "And then what?"

"That's a surprise. We're here." The cab pulls up and her car pulls in behind you.

"Room number?"

"Oh-one-two-two," you say, handing over cash to pay the driver and stepping out. "See you there."

-

It's deep into the night now, and her back is pressed against the wall as you're kissing down her neck. For a young woman who looks ever so innocent, you're quickly learning the taste of her body could have the alcohol industry aflame. She's intoxicating and you're addicted. Lips sucking, teeth pressing lightly against tender flesh.

She told you to not wear a condom, not this time. She described your first load as a waste, a sinful injustice after all the things she had done to wring it from you. So now you're back inside her, thinking only of how you're going to decorate her this time, about the moment you can't hold back any longer and cum, uninhibited, spewing mess over her delicate, flawless little body.

So you're just fucking nailing Hanni against the wall, her leg pulled up and knee hooking around your elbow. Holding her there, pounding her cunt the best you possibly can. Her hands scratch deep lines into your back, and her fingernails leave dull aches along your spine. There's something primal in the way she's urging you to fuck her harder, stronger, faster. She wants all of you, just like you want all of her.

You lift her other leg and hold her there, folded against the drywall. The steady pounding begins to churn her insides, to break her fragile body to the rhythm. She's mewling a mixture of sounds in your ear. Begging. Incoherent sounds of need. Then you feel her cunt clenching and tightening, a sudden strength to the grip she has on your shaft.

Hanni screams your name, howling it at the ceiling and the walls while you drive her ever deeper through an orgasm that's torn apart her expression. Utter beauty, sheer excellence. Her quivering pleasure comes with warmth between the two of you. She cums so hard that she goes limp in your arms. Your legs really begin to strain as you pump her full of cock, and her lips find yours again.

Your kisses are savage, the gnashing of teeth and the crush of lips. She's asking for more. Demanding more.

So you throw her to the bed, turning her over and she instinctively drags herself to her knees. Her palms run to the edge of the bed, clawing the blankets as you climb behind her.

"Do you like my ass?" She breathes. Your grip finds the firm flesh with purpose.

"Love your ass," you mutter, taking a hold and angling her towards you.

"Then fuck me." Hanni arches deep, pushing her soft ass in the air and pressing her tits against the mattress. She backs right up to you, begging to be fucked, once more.

The penetration is perfect. Balls deep inside this horny little girl, grabbing a fistful of her hair and using it as leverage. It's hard, it's fast, it's a brutal rut. A sweaty, wet fuck driven by nothing but raw need. She's too wet, too accommodating, clapping herself against your pelvis, meeting your every thrust.

It's not the time to think. Simply let instinct take over. Leaning into it and fucking her.

More words spill from her mouth. More dirty, lewd praises that have your balls aching. It won't be long now. Every muscle, straining with effort, pulls taut. It's such a fucking trip. This once innocent-looking person sucking the life right from the core of your being, bending over for you to force a hand along her spine and bend her further.

"Cum on me," she whimpers again and again. Over and over. She's pleading with you. "Please, cum on me. On my back. Cover me."

There's no further thought, no plan, no point of focus. Everything narrows down to the slick friction around your shaft, and your stomach starting to become strained from the endless effort. To how her ass shakes as your fuck yourself to the edge and how she cranes her neck to watch you.

At the very last moment, you draw out of her and jerk yourself, quick and urgent motions of your wrist. Hanni's knees give way and she lies flat, looking back and watching you as you start to cover her.

The first spurts land high, just beneath her hair. They collect and pool before forming and dripping forward along her shoulder blades. The next spreads across her shoulders. A thin coating that has you shiver as it lands. It goes on and on until you're slathering her in thick lines and ropes.

Something about the sight is so fitting, so delectable, as she lays there and writhes with need, adoring the feeling of being bathed in your lust.

Her expression is an aphrodisiac as she cries out in ecstasy. Her tongue runs across her lips, and then she lets out a soft lass before crashing her face into the soft bedsheets with a moan. Your fist is still pumping rope after rope of cum across her until every muscle feels drained, and you manage to collapse beside her on the bed. You trace a finger across her smooth, plump ass as you catch your breath.

"This is the life," Hanni gasps. "If I could just have endless sex, the world would be a far happier place."

-

You could have been forgiven for thinking it would be a one-off. Just one night of wild sex together before going your separate ways and never speaking again. A nice memory of a beautiful girl to always sit fondly at the back of your mind.

But the very next night, you're in her hotel bathroom. Sharing a bath together, her back pressed flush to your front. You can't fucking resist running a hand between her thighs, working gently over her cunt to hear the wonderful noises she makes.

"Please," she whispers over and over, grinding against your touch.

Ordinarily, you might tease her, and have her beg a little more, but there's nothing more enthralling than the sounds and sights of Hanni's face when she cums. So instead, you're knuckle deep with two fingers and curling them into her cunt, hitting that magic spot just a little more, faster and faster.

On the brink of her second orgasm in ten minutes, Hanni draws a noisy, shuddering breath, the exhalation quickly becoming a sharp, high-pitched wail that fills the bathroom, her eyes glaze as she climaxes. "Fuck. I—that's—more." Her head falls backwards and rests on your shoulder, "yeah, more."

Hanni's petite frame writhes in orgasm. Back arched, panting breaths quickly turning to gasps for air. Eyes flutter and roll backwards before shutting entirely. Every muscle in her tight cunt grips your fingers as waves of pleasure pour from deep inside. She grinds on you, riding the sensation of your touch through the spasms until they finally slow.

"You're so fucking cute when you cum," you kiss her cheek.

It's the compliment that has her rising from the water, she stands in front of you, her wet ass and thighs dripping as she turns toward you. "Me? Cute?" She smirks, lowering herself onto your thighs, resting your cock against her pussy. "Am I really?"

"Cutest fucking thing."

She guides your cock to her wet pussy, sinking down and slowly filling herself, the both of you making a whimper at the sensation. She's in no rush, though. She prefers slow, she favours long, lingering motions where you're all the way inside her and stay there for just a few moments before climbing once more.

Her rhythm has you melting back against the bath. Long, even strokes have her ass lifting and sinking, and she rolls her hips so elegantly that it's natural to reach for her waist and run your hands along her curves.

"I hope you don't think I'm easy," Hanni whispers, her fingers grabbing the hair on the back of your head, locking her hot body against yours, keeping you close, wrapping around you. "But I'm twenty and sex-deprived, so deal with it."

"You're allowed to enjoy sex. Nothing wrong with that," you answer through closed eyes, focusing only on the heat, the skin, the feeling of your cock rubbing through her.

With a mischievous chuckle, she rests her weight on you. Chest to chest, nose against nose.

"Careful," she whispers, her voice fluttering in between soft sighs of excitement. "I could get used to having a man around. Someone willing to get me off, over and over again. You might be stuck with me. Wouldn't that be scandalous? A reporter who's secretly fucking a star like me?"

That alluring, seductive voice makes your body tense. Her kiss threatens to undo you right then and there. She's riding you harder now, bouncing her ass in your lap. Driving the pleasure, the friction, harder and deeper.

"I have a confession to make," you speak with heavy breaths, trying to restrain yourself. "I think I could get used to this. Every day. If I could."

"It's a deal then. How about we celebrate by letting you blow a load inside me? Would you like that?" She nibbles at your earlobe, giggling as she sucks it between her lips. "How good would it feel to feel your hot, thick cum slide all the way up inside me?"

"So fucking good."

"And maybe tomorrow I'll keep you inside me and let you fill me all over again, and maybe I'll do the same the day after." There's a devilish smile across her face as she continues, "I'll ride you again and again and again..."

She keeps repeating it, the word stamped into your head over and over and each time she says it, she drives her hips down into you. Hard. The water ripples. Her ass slaps the tops of your thighs. It's a relentless rhythm, an insistent grind, a desperate desire for more.

"You're filthy," you tell her as you take a firm grip on her ass, her flesh filling your grasp and the muscles rippling through her skin as she moves.

"Maybe. Maybe I am, and maybe you like it." She laughs. A sound as sweet as honey.

"You know I do."

"Then show me how much. Fill me. Let it go."

That's all you need, just her words and the way she fucks you. She's the one doing all the work, and it's all the reason you need to relax and let the bliss consume you.

Hanni is kissing you when it hits. She swallows your groans of release, sucking them into her lungs. Her hands press down into your shoulders, nails sinking deep into your skin.

She doesn't stop moving, not once. Keeps grinding. She maintains the pace until you can't take any more. Until there's nothing left. Only then does she ease her motion, settling onto your lap, keeping you deep in her.

"That was amazing," she sighs.

"Fucking was."

[luv4berry]

Can you pls make one abt miles and yn getting into a very heated argument and she slaps him for saying smth outrageous and then she leaves and he climbs into her window after a few hours and tries to work it out with her

anything for you.

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you go over to miles practically drenched in another man's cologne, and he jumps to conclusions all too quickly.

GENRE: fluff to angst to fluff.

WARNINGS: bickering/arguing, physical contact made by reader, jealous miles, cursing, kissing/making out, suggestive (?) miles calling women females (this needs a trigger warning in itself), CORNYYY

AUTHORS NOTE: yo why this tumblr shit lowkey fun? + this is my first request agagaa thank you!! omg and i hit 200?? and my eyes only is almost at 2k notes wtf r y’all onnnn?? anyways thank you for requesting! i didn’t make miles say anything too outrageous just so he could redeem himself later on, hope you like it!

“you look so good,” your boyfriend says for what seems like the 100th time today, his large hands immediately dropping to your bare waist, fidgeting with your waist beads as he leans in to mold your lips, a smile gracing his face when you return his affection.

“all mine.” he mutters as he intensifies the kiss, his hands approaching the waist band of his boxers that you’ve claimed as your own. when he lifts your feet off the ground, the heels of your feet lock around his back, a giggle escaping your lips when he lays you down on his bed. you pull away from him, laying the palms of your hands on his chest to keep him away when he pursues your lips once more.

“miles, we can’t make out all day.” you giggle, running your manicured fingers down his chest.

“says who?” he buries his head in the crevice between your neck and shoulder, leaving wet kisses along the space when he suddenly pauses.

he removes his head from the crevice, sitting up to which you follow.

“baby,” you hum in acknowledgement, “where’d you go today?” he questions you, a hint of an indistinguishable emotion in his voice.

“just here, why?” you question him, running your nails up and down his neck. a look of confusion immediately sweeps over your features when he calmly removes your hand from his body.

“cause you smell like somebody been rubbing all up on you.” he looks you up and down, leaning in to now smell your clothes, hair, neck, anything within the perimeter really.

he pulls back, “who were you with?” his expression solidified.

“nobody, i swear i don’t know why i smell.” you reason with him, genuinely confused as well.

“oh? so the smell just magically took over your hair and your clothes?”

he completely gets up from his position next to you, hovering over you. “y/n, i know im not tripping, who the hell was rubbing up on you and why’s the smell so strong? that’s what we doin’ now? and then you got the audacity to bring your ass over to my house, lay in my bed, and wear my clothes.”

“what are you implying?” you scowl at him, now rising to your own feet.

“im implying that you forreal out here fucking on other dudes when you got a whole ass boyfriend.”

the next few moments go by swiftly and mindlessly, but the scorching sensation left in the palm of your left hand enables you to process what just happened almost immediately; you slapped him. though, not an ounce of regret filled your tank of emotions, adrenaline being the only identifiable one.

“i don’t know who the hell you’re talking to but it can’t be me, how dare you?” you glare at him, the imprint of your palm already making its mark on his face, the surrounding skin blemishing. “when have i ever done something like that to you?”

“today, apparently.” he mumbles under his breath, caressing the skin of his cheek to soothe the discomfort.

you look at him like he’s just grown 3 heads before silently walking over to the corner of his room, pulling his graphic tee over your shoulders. you immediately lunge it at him, same with his boxers, bracelets, his necklace, anything of his that is currently making contact with you. you zip up your navy blue hoodie, slipping your sweatpants over your bare legs.

you bring your tote bag over your shoulder, making your way towards his window which he currently guards, glaring at you from where you stand.

“miles, get the hell out my way before i pop you in your mouth next.”

“i want his name and address, you not going anywhere till i get an answer.”

you flail your arms in his face, “are you deaf or just stupid? there is no “him” because the only person i been rubbing up on is you!”

“baby, i don’t smell like no cheap ass cologne.”

“don’t call me that, move!” you raise your voice, stepping up to him.

“what’s his name?”

“you’re crazy.” you scoff, instead bolting for the front door. you’re mindful of mama rio cooking in the kitchen, slipping past quietly as to not raise any suspicion. though, you do bid her a quiet farewell, yet even when you slip out the front door with a smile on your face she knows something isn’t right by the way miles isn’t trailing behind you.

“miles, qué pasó?” she calls out from the kitchen, wiping her hands down her apron and subtly knocking on her sons door before entering.

“it’s nothing.” he calls back, digging his cheek into his pillow to prevent his mother from spotting the blossoming blemish. he didn’t want to explain how he got you so worked up that you slapped him to his mother, or anyone for that matter.

“it’s nothing? invite her over for dinner tonight.” rio arches her brow, taking a seat next to her son on the bed.

“we aren’t on good terms right now.” he sighs out, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“even more of a reason to invite her over, right?” rio says, making her way out of his bedroom before miles could come up with a rebuttal.

he lazily grabs his phone when it pings, though when he realizes the message is from you, he throws it on the floor until the phone pings with a second message. he groans loudly swiping open your messages.

one attachment

next time don’t make stupid assumptions you dick

the photo captioned was of a half empty cologne bottle you had probably found somewhere in your home, miles heart immediately dropping to his stomach.

okay, maybe he fucked up a teensy tiny bit.

when you got home, you racked your brain for a possible explanation as to why you smelled like anything other than your boyfriend. you were stumped till your brother had walked past you, the aroma that had gotten miles so worked up earlier clouding your senses immediately.

you lay on the pad of your tummy on your king sized bed, your irritable mood causing a burning sensation to spread throughout your body. though it may not be displayed through your face, you were absolutely livid. after all you’ve done for him, this is what you got in return, his unprecedented allegations.

sure it was reasonable to be suspicious, but to outright accuse you? you’ve never given him any reason not to trust you, reassuring him whenever he needed it. had your words not been enough? what about your gestures? what about the times you’d cuddle up with him in bed, sleepily muttering words like “im yours,” or “i belong to you, miles.” had that not been enough?

your jittering thoughts are interrupted by a newfound presence in the corner of your room, the peripherals of your eye capturing those twin braids that you adore so much.

“nuh uh, get the hell up outta here.” you sit up, pointing back towards the window.

“deadass?” he raises both brows, staring at you dead in the eyes.

“deadass.” you return the gesture.

“nah.” he climbs into bed with you, settling his arm over your waist.

“im being serious miles, get out. don’t touch me either.” you pick up his arm as if it’s diseased, laying it over his stomach.

“you don’t like it when i touch on you?” he says in a sultry voice, and you roll your eyes.

“ma, listen to me,” he grabs your chin meeting you at eye level, your brows still furrowed out of anger. when your eyes meet his, any foreign sense of anger evaporates from your system, turning to putty in his hands, no matter how much you tried to fight it.

“you’re so pretty baby,” he kisses your downturned lips once.

“why you look so mad?” he ignorantly questions you, kissing your lips once more.

“baby smile for me?” he squishes your cheeks, yet he’s still met with silence till you finally part your lips.

“this isn’t helping your case by the way.” you roll your eyes at his obvious attempts to bribe you.

“alright, what if i came to you smelling like some other female? you wouldn’t like that huh?” he attempts to reason with you.

“i came to you smelling like my brother? and even then if you came to me smelling like some girl i would conduct a thorough investigation first.” you side eye him.

“how was i supposed to know it was your brother? i didn’t even know he was back.”

“he got back this morning, i gave him a hug and he must’ve rubbed off on me.”

“you didn’t tell me all that. so what i gotta do for you to believe im sorry, hm?” he climbs on top of you, following your darting eyes with his own.

“buy me a pandora bracelet.” you joke.

he perks up, “on god? baby i buy you jordans every other day, the hell is a bracelet?”

“i mean i was joking but you serious?”

“you didn’t know that i’d do anything for you?”

“you’re corny boooo, leave me alone.” you push his head away from yours, your facade breaking when a smile plays at your lips.

“y/n?”

“hm?”

“why do you hit so hard?”

“what do you mean?” you ask him, your outburst from earlier had completely left your mind. he turns to the side, and your eyes widen as they lay upon the imprint of your hand slowly fading,

“oh shit,” you wince, inspecting the damage of your earlier actions.

you throw the blanket off your legs, sitting on your knees to inspect further. you silently grab his hand, heading towards your bathroom as you slowly feel guilt begin to stir inside you.

“stay here.” he watches as you disappear into the hallway, coming back with a frozen pack of peas. you hold it up to his cheek for him, fiddling with the ends of his braids as you repeatedly check for signs of the bruising going away.

“im sorry miles, i shouldn’t have hit you.”

he hums in acknowledgment of your apology, parting his lips to speak. “it’s okay, i like them aggressive.”

a smile threatens your lips, your hand going up to cover your mouth to keep your false facade up.

“nah why you keep smiling?” he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand down to stare at you intently.

“stop that.” you attempt to straighten out your face.

it’s silent for the next few moments as you adjust the frozen peas seeing that the bruise had almost completely faded.

“y/n, you know im being forreal when i say i’d do anything for you, right?”

“yeah, i know.”

love, berry.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Logan begging for it.... so sweetly we cant refuse..... when he knows reader needs his sleep..... taking it in his even when it stays soft...... cockwarming reader while we sleeps.....

Yes im writing whis as I fall asleep

Logan Howlett x male reader

headcanons

I was gonna write a longer thing, but a migraine decided to kick my ass all of a sudden, so here I am simply rambling about this.

Imagine having a normal but exhausting day job. You’re no hero, no vigilante, no nothing, you’re just a guy. And you somehow ended up charming the pants off of The Wolverine of all people. How? You have no idea

Dating Logan is a real treat, even with his roughness and sometimes standoffish personality. When you guys really get close, he starts to get more vulnerable.

Along with vulnerable emotionally, he also starts to get a much stronger libido, seeing as he has a partner now. Him having a healing factor doesn’t help you in this case, since it means he has very little recovery time.

Seeing Logan, one would think hed be the dominant one, something you assumed in the beginning too. That was until you guys got intimate the first time and he shoved you onto your back to ride you instead.

There were no complaints from you obviously, because who’d mind having someone like that riding you? Logan in his broad, hairy and so very heavy way, lifting himself up and down on you like it was barely a workout.

You have to remind him to be careful though, multiple times, seeing as his bones make him extra heavy, and your poor hips are that of the average person.

Having a partner with a libido like that though, also means Logan is always raring to go, almost waiting for you by the door when you get home from your shift, like an old gruff dog waiting for affection.

The first week or two of you coming home dead on your feet and passing out on the couch the moment you sat down passed… as well as they could for Logan. He wouldn’t force you to do anything you hadn’t agreed with, but God, is he starting to get antsy.

After way too long, in Logans opinion at least, he finally can’t take it anymore. Being the Loverboy he secretly is, he at least brings you to your shared bed before clambering on top of you again.

You’re just too exhausted to do much other than pet at his thighs, eyes already drooping, but his almost timid but so desperate begging keeps you awake longer than other days. When you sleepily agree, Logan kisses you so hungrily you almost lose your breath.

You stay somewhat awake in the beginning as he works your clothes off, being kind enough not to rip it even if logan really really wanted too. He knows its your work clothes, and you’ve scolded him enough times about ripping up your clothes at this point.

It was hard to even really stay awake as Logan worked you hard, just enough for him to slide down on you, his groans sounding like he was a starving man having his first bite of food in weeks. Had you not been struggling to keep your eyes open, you might have teased him.

When Logan leans forward and just rests his weight on you, that was the last straw. Who could stay awake with such a warm heavy weight pressing down on them, like your own personal weighted wolverine blanket.

Logan didn’t even really feel the need to ride you or get himself off, he just wanted to be close to you like this, to feel you inside him and press up against you. So having slowly doze off under him wasn’t a bother, especially as you mumble for him to just keep going.

Most of the night is majorly used by Logan to just tuck his face into your neck and huff your scent, or rub his own against you. You will wake up with beard burns, sorry but those at the rules. Theres probably some chew marks and hickeys mixed in there too, Logans possessive.

You do wake up with very sore hips the next morning. In the comics he’s 300 lbs, but that’s with his comic height, so if were going off of movie Logan he weighs even more. And no matter how much you work out, that’s gotta make you sore.

You don’t really mind though, especially as Logan makes sure you massage your hips in ways you didn’t even know were possible. This also just gives Logan an excuse to lick and gnaw at you more, and to rub more of his scent into you, and yours into him.

Yes, you limp that day, and probably the day after. Luckily you’re able to work from home. This of course also means you have Logan on your dick the entire time, even if its just your mutant lover crawling under the blanket to get his mouth on you.

[mikoluvsblondes]

jackson!ellie x nervous!virgin!reader doing it for the first time ☝️😘

I'll Go Slow For You Baby

jackson! ellie williams x nervous! virgin! reader

warnings: fingering(r receiving), virginity loss

Ellie brought you into her garage, pushing you into the cushion of her wornout mattress with a kiss. Her tongue easily won dominance over yours in a matter of seconds before exploring every inch of your mouth. She placed wet kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone where your hoodie blocked her lips from continuing lower.

None of this worried you since you've made out with people before, but when her fingertips slid between the band of your bra and your goosebump-covered skin, butterflies began to slam at the the sides of your stomach. You placed your hands on top of hers to keep her from going further.

"Do you want to?" she asked with one of her hands moving up to caress your cheek "Its fine if you don't."

You hesitated before whispering "I want to"

Ellie noticed your hesitation "You sure?"

"I'm sure. Just nervous."

Ellie nodded, rubbing circles into the soft skin on your hip. She tugged at your hoodie, looking to you for consent. You nodded and she pulled your clothes off leaving you in just your bra and underwear. Her cold hands held your bare waist causing goosebumps to crawl up your body.

"Why are you so nervous?" her lips travel towards your chest and your breathe hitches.

"I've never done it before." your voice shook.

"Dont worry. I'll go slow for you, baby." her warm breath puffed against your skin.

She made out with you once more, reaching under you to unclasp your bra. When she pulls it off, you instinctively cover your chest as you watch her throw your bra to the side.

"Don't be shy." she gently pulled your hands away to admire your breasts.

She sucked wet marks into the skin on and around your chest, pinching your nipples between her fingertips. She continued with her teasing, pulling desperate but quiet noises out of you.

When she finally took your underwear off, her long fingers slid beneath the fabric to pull them down. She lowered her face to scatter hickeys around your inner thighs in a teasingly slow manner.

"Please, Ellie." you whimper and with that her face sinks between your legs.

She left kitten licks at your clit, running her tongue between your folds.

"I'll start with one." she says.

She pushes a finger into you. She starts off slow before quickening her pace and adding another one of her long skilled fingers. As she does this she continues ti lick and suck at your clit. Her movements repeat over and over until you reach your high. Your eyes squeeze shut with your hands finding her hair and tugging on it.

"Come on, cum for me, baby" she mumbles against your pussy.

The knot that formed in your core unravels with a jolting thrust of your hips. Ellie pumps her fingers slower to bring you down from your high. When she pulls her fingers out, she sucks every drop of you off of them without breaking eye contact.

She lays on her side next to you, gliding her hands up and down the length of your body.

"You okay?" she asks and you nod in response, laying on your side to face her. After moments of her stroking your hair with sweet praises an idea comes to you.

"Show me how to make you feel good."

-miko♡✿

[retromochi]

lovingly still drawing mlp redesigns in the year of our lord 2024 these are kind of for a very casual next gen au of mine, but honestly i just like imagining ponies in different ways :-) (more info + headcanons under the cut!)

fluttershy: - trans (she/her), sapphic, autistic - she's a deerpony mix, with her maternal grandmother being a deer and her maternal grandfather a pegasus. - has sensory issues with cutting her hair, so she's content to just let it be long. - has large wings, but not a lot of strength. she's better at gliding, and can't really get herself into the air very well. - tallest of the mane six. twilight: - nonbinary (they/she), bisexual, autistic - all ponies have magic in them that can give their bodies physical changes, with twilight being an extreme example. the star patterns on her chest appeared after wielding the elements of harmony for the first time, the stars on her hooves appeared after becoming an alicorn, and the yellow streak in her hair appeared after defeating tirek. - has fairly bad eyesight, but prefers using her glasses rather than using magic to fix her vision. - can't fly as fast as most pegasi, but has good endurance. - shortest of the mane six, although she's only barely shorter than rainbow. pinkie pie: - gnc (any pronouns, but loves being called sister), pansexual - her full name is rose quartz pie, in line with the rock and gemstone theme in her family, but pinkie was a nickname that just stuck. - chiffon swirl/mrs. cake is her maternal aunt, they have more in common than pinkie does with her mom, but pinkie loves them both equally. - her strength nearly rivals applejack, she has super strong legs from bouncing and jumping everywhere. applejack: - bigender (he/she), sapphic - inherited her father's hat and her mother's hairbands - all of the apple siblings have accessories left to them by their parents. - prefers going by AJ or jackie, only granny smith usually calls her by her full name. - ties up her hair when working, and keeps the fetlocks on her back hooves trimmed short.

rainbow dash: - nonbinary (he/she/they), queer, ADHD - like twilight, rainbow has extreme examples of her body changing with magic. her cutie mark got longer after performing each sonic rainboom, and the colors in her hair appeared after she got her cutie mark to begin with. - originally named bluejay dash, changed her name to match her new look. her parents still call her "jay" from time to time. - never quite shook the rainbow crash nickname, she's a great flier but not so great at landings. has a fair share of scrapes and bruises, but they dont bother her. rarity: - cis (she/her), omnisexual - part crystal pony on her dad's side, her mane and coat have a slight crystaline look to them in the right light. - changes her hairstyle a lot, but has it tied up when working in her studio. - crafts beautiful jewelry, in addition to her clothes and accessories.

[heartofjasmina]

personal assistant!Iwaizumi and boss lady!reader who have a weekly "meeting" where he fucks an attitude adjustment into you.

You had too much on your shoulders as usual, and it was making you snap at interns left and right. Iwaizumi respected you for handling your shit and keeping lesser men in their place-

But what he wasn't going to let slide is when you start making snide comments to him.

So now he has you bent over your desk, drooling onto your important papers as he gives you just what you need. "I don't give a fuck if the new merger is stressing you out, you're going to remember your fucking manners. Am I fucking clear?" Every thrust of his cock inside your gummy walls was melting your brain, and he knew damn well that you could barely string words together.

Doesn't mean he was going to go easy on you. Especially not when you're creaming on his cock.

A slight change in the angle of his hips and he was dragging the head of his cock against your spot, making you keen and struggle half heartedly against his hold. Your wrists were held in one of his hands behind your back, your suit skirt pushed up over your ass so he could see the way your pussy stretched to accommodate his size.

He could tell when you were starting to let go of your sass, sniffling and whining where before you were cursing him.

"That's it, there's my girl. You gonna be sweet for me now baby? Not gonna tell me to fuck off?" Hajime's voice gentles as he watches your face, how you're trying so bravely not to bawl like a baby.

"'m sorry," you whimpered, getting close to cumming again just from knowing how securely Iwaizumi had you in his control. You could fall apart for him, and he would put you back together again.

"What was that?" He pushed you, knowing you needed to be dominated without mercy for you to relax once more.

"I'm s-sorry Haji, please-" your voice raised to a cry as he started fucking you in earnest now.

"Good fucking girl. Gonna make you cum on my cock baby, cause you deserve it." He moans before sucking a hickey into your shoudler blade, joining several similar faded marks.

Iwaizumi's cock filled you perfectly, and it didn't take much for him to play you like an instrument tuned just for him. You came with a wail, your perfect pussy sucking him in as he came hard.

He couldn't deny you his cum, not when you'd been so good for him. With a groan he spilled his seed, filling you with his warmth until you felt your brain go quiet and content.

He even fixed your panties so his cum would stay nice and safe tucked inside you.

It took a bit to put you back together, fixing your crumpled clothes and hiding them under your suit jacket. But you looked passable and Hajime grinned at you.

"Same time next week, boss?"

[dejwrld]

⤷‧₊˚ could you imagine having a wet dream about your hot neighbor?

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female anatomy described, her/she pronouns, written with black reader in mind, pet names (good girl), oral fixation, oral (f.receiving), dirty talk, biting kink, backshots/doggystyle position, spanking, anal play (i mean he put a thumb in it that's it), marking kink, profanity, i think we should write smut about men in explicit mangas some more, mentions of a wet dream, wet dream is in italics, slight pervert!reader, repost from old account, mdni

You couldn't help but stare at him when you saw him. You remembered how your eyes lit up with curiosity seeing him move into the apartment next to yours. An apartment with many tenants who moved in and soon quickly moved out. A rumor traveled around that a ghost resided in that apartment, but you never cared to gossip about said rumor. You just went to work and came home. It was a sad cycle that you’ve done Monday through Friday. Occasionally when you would be leaving for work, you'd see him. The bags under his eyes are as heavy as he’s taking his trash out to put into the apartment’s trash bin. His whole demeanor oozed sex appeal even though he would be the type of man your parents would usher you to stay away from. 

He was a handsome man, and when you laid down to sleep, you only seethed in jealousy, hearing faint moans through the thin walls. A regular neighbor would march over and bang on the door to tell their neighbor to keep it down—but with you, it felt like your body was stuck. You stared at the ceiling indulging in the sound of the way he pleasured this woman. That jealous pit twists in your stomach, realizing that you have most likely been crushing on a taken man this whole time. But it didn’t make sense, you hadn’t seen a woman enter or exit his place when you were around. Either or, you still thought that it should have been you to have the privilege of cooing out his name the way this woman was. 

You could do better. You know you can. 

You may have been in a significant drought, but you were positive your plush lips could kiss him better. Your mouth could wrap around his cock better. You could move your hips while riding him better. But then again, this woman had to have something you didn’t if he was making her feel like this every night. 

You took your pillow over your head to scream into it. The heated feeling between your thighs caused you to roll over on your side to force yourself to sleep. You were only torturing yourself by continuing to be a pervert and listening to him pleasure another woman. Before you could utter a string of complaints to yourself, your body finally relaxed for you to fall into a deep slumber—a poor attempt at ignoring the walls through the paper-thin walls. 

Your body stirred in your sleep as you felt something under the thin lilac-colored duvet that covered your body. You felt something wet upon your thighs as if somebody was nibbling on the flesh on the inside area of your thighs. You attempted to squirm tiredly, but the grip upon you grew tighter. With your hand rubbing the sleep out of your eye, you lifted the duvet, and your eyes nearly bulged out your head seeing him. His eyes filled with so much hunger it sent a chill down your spine. With the oversized t-shirt you usually sleep in pushed up to your waist, you watched as the flat of his tongue glided upward and downward on the clothed part of where your pussy lips were. Even though your underwear was blocking the pleasure feeling of his tongue—you still felt yourself grow wet at the feeling. 

Your next-door neighbor Totsumoto Yuushi didn’t waste any time dragging your fusion-colored panties down your smooth legs to get a taste of you. The flat of his tongue dragged across your puffy pussy lips just to finally relinquish in the taste of you. His darkened eyes met with yours through the little light that shimmered through the window from the moon. You relaxed in his touch as soon as you felt the first flicker on your clit. Your breathing hitches in your throat before you cough up moans and your fingers tangle into his black hair. Before your eyes lolly in the back of your head, the last glimpse you got was of Totsumoto’s eyes shifting close as he finally wanted to focus on his main task. 

Totsumoto’s tongue glides around the entrance of your drooling cunt, and he even could feel you clench, feeling him teasing you. Your thighs were seizing close due to the intense feeling of him between your thighs, but he just pinned them back open. You even heard him moan as he continued to eat his meal. He didn’t leave a drop of slick for him not to savor. The blood rushing to his cock with each kitten lick he’s making on your pussy or each flicker and suck on your sensitive bud. Your juices stained his face, but he could care less when it was a mouthwatering meal right before him. 

Your body arched off the mattress as you failed to run away from your pending orgasm. Your stomach began to form the most satisfying knots for Totsumoto to untie, but he pulled it away. He shortly let his lips drag kisses and bites on the inside of your thighs. He removed himself away from your pussy with a satisfying pop. 

“I want you to cum on this dick, Y/N.” His voice rasps. “I know you want the same thing, right?” Totsumoto tilts his head to the side slightly as if he’s letting his head rest on your bite marks-covered thigh, and his eyes never stop looking at you. 

Totsumoto’s words hit you like a truck with each continued kiss and bite. Your brain felt like complete mush as you realized he snatched your orgasm away from you in the blink of an eye. With his cock on hard, he kisses up your body until his face is just inches away from yours. Him being on top of you but also sure not to squash you. You could feel his cock on the inside of your thigh. Just by how it felt—you could tell it was fat. You’ve had your perverted thoughts during a hot morning imagining how his cock looked. Was it long? Was it girthy? Was he circumcised? How pretty was the tip? You’ve asked yourself that constantly. 

He’ll inch closer to your lips. Through your stare of desperation for him, you watched him lick his lips—savoring in the aftertaste of your pussy before he spoke once more, “How’d you want it? Since you’ve been a good girl while I was between your thighs….” 

Teasingly, he’s letting his teeth nibble on your plump lower lip instead of giving you the satisfaction of a heated kiss. 

“I’ll let you choose.” He adds. 

And that’s how you whine up on all fours with a perfect arch and your cunt eager to swallow Totsumoto’s cock. You figured that if you were to do missionary, you’d become cock drunk for the gentleman immediately. His callous hands grabbed at your waist, dragging you closer to him; you could feel the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. “Just relax, pretty, sure you fit around me perfectly,” Totsumoto assured.

He’s collecting saliva in his hand to coat his girthy cock with, even though he could see how wet you were for him through his dark locs that fell in his face. His hand gripped your waist, similar to how a person would with some bike handles. He completely braced himself for the waterfall he was about to experience. First, he’s shoving his tip in—slowly, just so you can get used to it, savor it. A wonderful feeling he could get used to. Second, he’s gradually shoving move of his cock inside you. This time he’s taking note of how your manicured fingers grasped at the sheets. 

“I thought you could take my cock, hm?” He’ll teasingly ask. 

You couldn’t even answer his question before he’s immediately plowing forward. No regard for getting used to his size when the wet cunt in between your thighs was enthusiastic for more. You’ll moan out his name like a song you knew from heart. The lewd sound of heated skin slapping against each other adding on to your tune of moans. It created a sweet melody that Totsumoto enjoyed hearing. It motivated him to fuck just a little better, a little harder. 

Your pillow was beginning to stain with your salty tears with each ram of his hips. You only had the opportunity to let out broken moans that bounced upon the thin walls of your bedroom. Your hand went back behind you to slow down his abrupt thrusting, but that only led to him swatting your hand away as if it were a fruit fly flying around a garbage can. At this point, you had lost count of how many times the two of you had cum. The sticky mess that imprinted your thighs didn’t stop Totsumoto from continuing what he was doing. The white ring that decorated his cock only turned him on even more. His eyes lazily droop to gaze at your pussy, swallowing his cock. It was an intoxicating feeling how you were clutching around him. Which each pull back on his cock—he could feel you tremble. Hurriedly, wanting to run away from his jabs but ever so eager for him to fill you up some more. 

“You were waiting to feel my cock weren’t you?” He growled lowly. He noticed you didn’t answer his question, only purring out desperate moans. The dark-haired male took that as a challenge. His large hands that once were on your plush love handles would press down your back, ensuring that you wouldn’t break the perfect arch. 

Totsumoto’s fingertips trace alongside the flesh of your ass. His hand slaps at it, and his actions' ripple effect causes his cock to twitch inside you. His body felt like he was running a fever so hot that he could most likely faint. His jet-black strands of hair were sticking to his sweat-coated forward, but even if his hair drooped low in front of his intoxicating deadpan eyes—he still couldn’t take them away from the mess between the two of your bodies. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy as his body finally overheated due to his lewd actions. 

You knew that the older gentleman was so close to cumming. His grip on your waist tightens, completely entrapping you from running away from his brash thrusting. It took you by shock feeling his thumb insert instantly into your asshole. Your body tensed up, and he leaned down to place the sloppiest set of kisses on your back. “It’s just a thumb unless you want it to be something else.” He hungrily said. 

His words sent a frightening yet exhilarating chill down your spine. Your fingers grasped the crumpled sheets on your mattress as you met his thrusting halfway until the both of you were a cumming mess. You’ve had your fair share of sleeping with men. From horrible hookups to the best lovemaking, no one ever made you feel like this when you were orgasming. You felt like you were on the highest cloud attempting to climb down all by yourself. Your limbs quivered with each sloppy cum coated slam upon your ass, and your moans became so frantic that someone would have thought you were speaking in tongue. The messy mess that imprinted the two of your skin wasn’t as bad as the mess when his cock hesitantly removed itself from you. Totsumoto’s thick cum dripped out of your cunt as he let your body collapse on the mattress below you like a personal used fleshlight. You could hear his breathing returning to normal as he let his fingertips drag alongside your sweat-coated body parts. 

“Sleep tight. You’re going to need it for when I return.” His words came out like a whisper.

When his fingertips left your body, you felt cold without his touch. You were utterly addicted to his touch, and you needed more. However, your shaken limbs and depleted body said otherwise.

Exhaustion overcame your body as the only thing that could be heard in the room was the sound of you trying to control your breathing. Your eyes became droopy, and you realized that he just gave you the best dick you could imagine, that you instantly fell into a deep slumber.

The annoying sound of your alarm caused your eyes to open instantly. Your phone was practically yelling at you to get up to start your day. When you pressed the snooze button on your phone, you glanced at the time. You still have a couple more minutes—perhaps you can attempt to fall asleep to continue the dream. Your panties already were damp, and your nipples hardened in anticipation due to it, but no matter how comfortable you got or how tightly squeezed shut your eyes were—you couldn’t fall back into that deep slumber. There you were, staring at the ceiling, thinking about him, and once again, the horrible feeling of him not being able to pleasure you outside of your perverted wet dreams swirled around in your mind. 

A knock could be heard from your front door, causing your thoughts to disappear— just like the dream you had last night. You climbed out of bed to answer the door, mumbling coherent words about who could be visiting you so early. It was most likely another salesman that wanted to sell something. You opened your front door, and all the annoyance in your body disappeared. There, your neighbor Totsumoto Yuushi stood at your door holding a box. 

Your words were stuck in your throat as your fingers toyed with the ends of the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed. Totsumoto’s eyes traveled down your body, staring at your boobs, and he took a mental note of how your nipples poked through the thin fabric of the t-shirt you were wearing. He cleared his throat to clear out the tension in the air. 

“The delivery guy put this outside my door, and it belongs to you.” Totsumoto’s deep voice croaked out. 

“Thank you.” Your arms extended for him to drop the package in your arms.

Instead, he wiggled past the small gap between you and your cracked door and directly placed your package in your house. He walked out of your apartment and glanced down at you. The scent of him went by you, and you could feel your knees weaken. 

“I’m going to get going now. If you need anything, just knock on my door.” His lips form a sly smile before he walks down to his apartment. 

You closed the door when he was no longer in your eyesight. Your back pressed upon the door as you slowly slid down it—if only he could get you the one thing you wanted the most. 

And that was for your wet dream to come true vividly. 

[tddyhyck]

in the next room [ nct dream ]

pairings ⇢ dreamies x afab!reader

warnings ⇢ exhibitionism, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum eating, hot tub sex, car sex, clothes sex, balcony sex, face fucking, fingering, squirting, grinding, belt as a restraint, bathroom sex, spanking, spitting, dom/sub undertones, use of (whore, slut, baby, good girl)

masterlist

the sink is cold when you grip it, holding yourself up as he slides into your abused hole swollen and puffy from the day's adventures. you weren’t sure if it was hormones or if jeno was more enticing than normal. you just couldn’t help yourself. “so wet for me already?” he whispered against your neck before he started moving behind you. one hand gripping your hip the other tightening on your jaw every time your head started to droop. lifting you to look at him through the mirror. his eyes darted between your reflection and where his cock was buried inside of you. “fuck” you mewled as he hit your sweet spot, but quickly shut your mouth remembering your friends in the next room. “shh unless you want them to hear how good i fuck you” he mumbled against your burning skin. the thought of your friends hearing him fuck you like a whore made you clench around him. he smirked at you through the mirror. you looked a mess, eyes hazy and lidded, mouth hanging open. you lifted a hand from the sink to dip between your legs circling your clit with a silent moan. “hey is everything okay?” someone called from the other side of the door. you whimpered, the knot in your belly tightening as your eyes went wide, staring at him knowing you can’t respond. “yeah just a bit under the weather.” jeno replied, still thrusting into you harshly. you could hear feet pattering away. “you think they heard your sloppy wet cunt?” that sent you over the edge shuttering in his hold head lolling back against his shoulder. he continued to use you for his own release “perfect fucking pussy” he moans into your neck as he cums. you feel his release as he emptied himself into you for the fourth time today. you whimper when he pulls out, and again when he shoves two fingers inside as a poor attempt to keep his cum from spilling out between your legs. it doesn’t help much and he pulls them out tugging your messy panties over your cunt to catch anything else. you turn around grabbing his wrist before slurping his fingers into your mouth lewdly licking your mixed cum off of his digits, before fixing your hair in the mirror and joining your friends again.

the car was muggy like a hot summer day but it was the middle of january, and snow covered the ground outside. but inside the car was filled with groans and moans and hot breaths on necks. you left open mouthed kisses down his collar bones as you sunk down onto his cock. he groaned into the car the music playing was too loud you wanted to hear him, hear the way he whimpered as you traced a hand under his shirt and over his nipples. “fuck” he groaned slamming his hand against the fogged window leaving a hand print on the glass. his hand slid down before gripping your ass again kneading the plush skin. he tugged you up and down before you leaned back offering space so he could see the way his cock filled you up. the new angle made you whine his cock brushing your sweet spot before pressing against your cervix. gravity achieving a new depth leaving you gripping his shirt. knuckles white as he fucked his hips up to meet yours. “shit shit” he pulled you to him as a car parked next to yours. he paused but you didn’t. you continued to grind against him swiveling your hips as you heard doors slam. his eyes rolled back as the person walked away. your cunt tightening around him as you circle your hips. “fuck what if they saw” he groaned face turning pink. “isn’t that the fun of it mark?” you smirked. lifting your hips to bounce over him again his head fell back “you’re crazy” he moaned. his hand gripping your waist slipped between you thumbing against your clit as you whimpered. the fast swirls heating up your insides as mark rearranged them. thrusting up into you with an irregular rhythm “you’re gonna make me cum” he whimpered. “that’s the point” you giggled. “shut up” he groaned. and you shut up when he sped up. skin slapping as he fucked into you, thumb and pointer finger pinching your swollen clit making your moan. mouth hanging open as you came and he quickly followed you, filling the condom. curses slipping from his lips as your cunt milked him. leaning down you kissed his neck sloppily. “fuck baby” he groaned when you lifted off of him. you rolled into the passenger seat legs spread swollen pussy on display. you brushed your fingers over yourself spreading your lips slick dripping still. “you’re filthy” he shook his head staring between your legs licking his lips.

his skin felt hot as you let your hand dance on his shoulder. fingers dragging water droplets around his skin. you let your hand go lower before fully submerging as you tapped against his skin. he stared up at you curiously a smirk dancing on his lips when you traced fingers down his chest and to his stomach. a light hand pressing over his swim trunks feeling a familiar hardness beneath the material. you smiled down at him gripping his member “you really want it?” renjun asked. you nodded tugging at the elastic “need you.” “you want everyone to look out of their rooms and see you getting fucked?” he questioned. you moaned in response letting go of his shorts to rub over your hardening clit. “little whore” he mumbled and it only made you go faster. you felt his hands gripping your ass kneading the plump skin. he grinded against you as you used your other hand to tug his shorts down. pulling his cock out your thumb sliding over the head making him sigh. he lifted you up while you tug your bottoms to the side quickly pressing the head against your hole. sighing with him as you sink down letting him fill you up. you groaned into his neck as he lifts you up and down on his cock. you planted your feet on the bench he sat on moving faster up and down. the jets pulsed around you covering the movement beneath the water; small splashes hitting the tile with every bounce. “can never have enough can you?” renjun groaned and his words made you whimper. you grabbed at his shoulders before your hands found the tile behind him, slippery and wet as you gripped it. “needy slut. you don’t care if they see you, you just want cock.” you shook your head bouncing harder on him moaning wantonly as his cock rubbed your sweet spot. “don’t care, want you” you whined. his fingers pressed against your clit smooth circles building your orgasm. “we should just come out here during the day let everyone watch you.” you moaned loudly as you came spasming around his cock. your bounces slowing but he still fucked into you as you shuttered over him. he kept his fingers circling your overly sensitive clit as he came biting your skin with a groan.

you kept your mouth tight, biting inside your lip to keep it shut. his fingers weren’t helping, sliding in slick between your legs. the movie flashed in front of you, your face lighting up with the screen. you glanced around the room full of your friends all focusing on the film, but you don’t even know the main characters name. jaemin’s hand had been down your shorts the entire time. you had lifted your hand to your mouth biting down into your palm to keep from moaning. every time he swirled his fingers over your swollen nub; thumb and pointer finger pinching down making your hips jolt. you could feel him smirking behind you as he dragged a finger down circling your hole. taping his finger, teasing the entrance and you could hear the wetness. it left you mortified slamming your face down against the couch. “don’t like the movie?” he asked, lips pressing against your ear. you shook your head feeling slick dribble out of you and down your thigh. you lifted your head up whimpering when he started moving his hand once more “gonna open you up. stretch your cunt so i can fuck you” he whispered. you wanted to whine, and cry, and kick your feet like a child, but your mind went blank when he finally pushed two fingers into you. your mouth formed an o shape as he plunged in, curling his digits into you. your legs shook around his hand making him frustrated. he pulled his fingers from you moving to wrap his arm around you. slithering between your legs not wasting time to fill you back up. you sobbed when he used his thumb on your clit working you closer to release. “you need to be quiet. do you want our friends to know you’re a whore?” your eyes shot open glancing around the room to see if their eyes were on you, but no one noticed you, or your legs spread open under the blanket, or heard the squelch of your wetness. “bet you want them to know” you whined into your hand. the knot in your stomach tightened your release imminent with each flick of his wrist. his other hand reaches to clamp down over your mouth as you cum shaking in his hold. he coos at you quietly continuing to milk your orgasm while you come down. limp in his arms he pulls out of you before lifting you to stand weakly. “y/n’s not feeling great we’re gonna go lay down,” jaemin announces before dragging you down the hall with a grin and sticky fingers.

his hands shook slightly as he tried to brush your hair from your face. you were too focused on grinding against him, panties sticky and wet on his sweats leaving a damp stain. his headset was still on mic moved from his mouth, but you could still hear his friends talking through the headphones. your hands brush from his shoulders to tug his sweatpants lower and peak at his hardening cock. trailing a finger over the head teasing his slit as you watch a bead of precum pump out. he sighs leaning back against his chair “baby” jisung murmurs. gripping your hips to slow you down. “can you see how bad i need you” you whine. fingers pressing to your damp panties covering your sticky cunt. “don’t want them to hear you” he says nodding his head to the mic. “just let me ride you i’ll be good” you murmur trying to move your hips again. “you have to be quiet” he whispers. one hand releasing from your hips to touch the damp material for himself holding back a groan. when you grind against his fingers you smile contentedly moving your hips against his hardening cock. the friction of the damp fabric and heat of his cock was enough for you, but jisung wanted more. he lifted your hips before tugging his pants lower letting you settle back down on his uncovered cock. he hissed when you humped against him staring down at your panties dragging against his pulsing member. “so good” you whined, gripping his shoulders to stay upright. he held your hips with one hand helping you drag against him. his other hand snaked between you tugging your panties to the side. your glistening clit peaking out sliding wetly as your slick dripped onto him coating his cock with each movement. his head rested against his chair, lips between his teeth blush painting his cheeks. you loved him like this and it was all because of you. your tummy tightened when you felt his cock twitch against you. “wanna cum” you mumbled. he took that as a challenge, gripping you tighter moving your hips over him swiftly. he angled his hips to offer more pressure to you, and it had you sobbing. your head lolling to his shoulder hips shuttering as you came with a whimper. you silently hoped the mic above you picked it up. he kept you moving against him as he stuttered praises in your ear before releasing on your pussy thick white ropes. you kissed his cheek leaning back looking at your soiled panties.

warm lips pressed against your shoulder blade, tongue sliding over your skin. you whined when teeth nibbled slightly. you reached behind yourself gripping his member making him hiss on your skin. pushing your hips back rubbing the tip between your legs over your cunt. “fuck me” you mumbled. he bit down on your shoulder as he pushed into you filling you up in an instant. “fuck” he groaned into your skin pulling your hips back to meet his own. you gripped the cool railing looking over the balcony at the busy city. thoughts racing around the idea of someone glancing up and seeing your dripping cunt being pounded. it had you clenching around him. “shit baby.” you fucked yourself back harder skin slapping rhythmically. you wear moaning unabashedly with every brush of his cock against your sweet spot. “gonna have the neighbors filing a noise complaint” haechan mumbled into your neck. you smirked as his hand slithered over your chest to grip your breast thumbing your nipple. “i’ll just blame you” your voice was rough and breathy. knees jiggly and weak legs shaking as he filled you over and over. his hand that was on your hip moved to press against your lower back making you arch beautifully. his eyes focused on the curve of your spine down to your ass and where he was buried inside of you. he brought his hand slapping against your ass making you moan loudly. you heard haechan chuckle behind you “you’re literally dripping” he smirked. he leaned back as he stared at the ground beneath you. your slick puddled on the floor beneath you. glancing down before bringing your hands between your legs collecting the sticky wetness on your fingers. swirling your hand over your cunt with a whine from both of you. your fingers splitting to a v shape around his cock. “such a messy cunt just begging for someone to watch you.” you whimpered clenching around him belly hot and full of fire. “you’d like it right? maybe i’ll invite someone over so they can see you whore out.” you moaned at his words as his thrusts were getting sloppy. both of you close to the edge, his cock fucking into you erratically nudging your sweet spot. your legs were shaking as you came, crying out as liquid spilled out of you. he kept fucking you until he came. cum dripping out of you to join the mess you had made on the tile.

you’d spent the whole day trying to rile him up and it seemed like he wasn’t having any of it. in a way it pissed you off but in another way it made you more determined. you hoped that flirting with someone at this club would make him show you who you belonged to. but he didn’t seem to care about you giggling at some lame jokes this guy was making. glancing across the bar at him, but he sat running a finger on his glass. you huffed walking back to your private table in the corner tugging the curtain closed behind you. you wanted to sulk but you didn’t have time. before you could sit down he was closing the curtain behind himself staring at you as he sat his glass down. “you’ve been a little brat all day.” you pouted lifting an eyebrow at him. “i was going to give in when we got home but your little flirting game changed my mind.” he walked towards you, backing you up until your knees hit the couch making you sit abruptly. staring up at him his fingers grazed your chin gripping your jaw to squish your cheeks until your mouth opened. watching him intently as he brought his face to yours before spitting into your open mouth. he kept it open watching the saliva slide down your throat before releasing your chin. “you’re going to be good for me now aren’t you?” chenle asked. you nodded quickly watching as his hands unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather out of the loops before squatting down in front of you. he held out his hand and you placed your hands in his palm; he massaged them before looping the belt snuggly around your wrists. “good girl,” he mumbled kissing your forehead. he stood back up unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down slightly. watching you as he took his cock out. it made your mouth water as your eyes followed his fist as it pumped over his member. he gripped your hair in one hand tapping the tip against your cheek with the other. your lips were already open and waiting as he slapped his cock against your face. he didn’t pause, plunging it down your throat your eyes immediately pooled. you pulled yourself to the edge of the seat to follow your head as he fucked into your warm mouth. he groaned and fingers tangling in your hair “such a whore.” he smirked down at you loving the way you gagged around him with each tug on your hair. “want me to go get that guy? let him see how good you are with your dirty mouth?” you whined vibrating around him making him moan. “you think this flimsy little curtain will keep everyone from knowing what a slutty brat you are?” he fucked into you harshly you felt your cheeks dampen as your legs pressed together. your cunt pulsed with need every word, every thrust into you made you want him more. “getting wet just thinking about it?” chenle asked, pulling out of your mouth with a squelch. spit dripped down your chin and onto your dress as you caught your breath. you kept your eyes on his, full of admiration. “let me see?” he pressed your shoulders back and you spread your legs showing your barely covered cunt. he tugged your panties down leaving them gripped in one hand as his other pumped his cock. you knew he was close and you hoped he would let you have it before he let go. he came closer pressing the tip into you as he groaned, and you whined feeling hot white shoot into you. you wiggled your hips for something for anything but he didn’t give it, pulling out of you he reached for you panties shoving the material in your messy cunt and you moaned up at him. he stood over you tucking himself back into his pants. he leaned down releasing your wrists and putting his belt back on. “keep it in until we’re home you understand?” you nod dumbly as he stands you up walking you out.

© tddyhyck