#my legs were hurting my back was hurting it was fucking hot out and i was pissed

[crimsoncandy04]

I'm sick rn but my fever fantasies have been delicious so I felt like sharing.

SMACK

You wince a little as you feel his hand slap across your ass once more. It hurts so much yet for some reason your pussy just continues to ache.

"Disgusting. You're really getting off to being treated like a pathetic whore in a place like this?" Wanderer taunts as he spanks you again and then again. His bare hand landing against your pussy for a second as you whimper for more of this harsh treatment.

"Already wet too. No wonder you were never blessed with the vision you wanted. No god would ever consider giving a whore like you their blessings. Rightfully so." Wanderer presses himself against your backside and grinds against your clothed cunt as you softly beg for him to just fuck you already.

"Eager to be defiled in a church? What a pig." He jeers as he finally slides your panties aside and roughly shoves two fingers into your pussy. You moan and feel your insides flutter even then.

Who knew sneaking into the Mondstadt cathedral for a late night fuck session would have you so hot and bothered?

Wanderer spreads your knees further apart as he continues to tease and plunge his deliciously long digits in and out of you. The nastiest squelching sounds echoing off every wall within the cavernous and grand chamber.

Your nails are practically embedded in the surface of one of the many polished seats as you cling to the back and try to keep your legs apart without losing your balance.

You're reaching your peak within a minute or two when suddenly Wanderer stops and removes his fingers entirely. You hear the sound of clothing rustling and fabric falling to the floor before feeling the tip of his cock as it rubs up and down your moist slit teasingly.

You know what he wants.

"Wanderer please! Please give me your cock! I need it!" You plead sluttily as he chuckles lustfully and barely presses his tip in before withdrawing it again and continuing to tease you.

"I don't think you do. You're going to have to try a little harder than that you filthy girl." He purrs. His other hand lifting one of your legs up so that your knee was carefully resting on top of the wooden bench with your hands, spreading your cunt even wider for him.

"PLEASE Wanderer! I want you to ruin this pussy and make me yours in this sacred place like the disgusting pig I am! Please fuck me! Please!"

You barely have time to finish your words before he suddenly shoves his entire length deep within you and causes you to squeal. Your whorish moans echo throughout the cathedral and Wanderer has to cover your mouth with his other hand as he roughly pounds into you to prevent someone outside from hearing you two.

"Be quiet. You want to be found or what?" He rasps as he holds you in place and continues to breed your useless cunt as you whine and moan cutely before him.

"I bet that's exactly what you want isn't it? An unholy little bitch like you seen getting railed like the worthless insect you are?" He begins to thrust faster.

"How fitting."

Wanderer leans forward a little as he picks up the pace even more. Abusing your tight cunt as you continue to cry out sweetly and breathily.

You feel your lower body tightening then and you know you're about to cum finally. You want to cum with him but you can't get the words out as Wanderer continues to keep you silenced.

However your wish seems to be granted anyway as you feel yourself orgasm at the same time his cool semen floods your pussy.

"Such a shameless bitch. You're lucky I pity you enough to do this. You know that?" Wanderer mumbles in your ear as he gently releases you and lets you slump to the floor in an exhausted heap.

You feel him grab your hips again as you lay against the ground. Lifting your ass again.

"Again?" You ask as you lay panting still.

He teases your clit a little.

"You thought we were done? No. You asked to be ruined. I'm going to do as asked. " Wanderer gives your clit a playful lick.

"Brace yourself. We'll be staying here until dawn."

[chronically-ghosted]

your friendly neighborhood dumbass

part i of some days, you just can't get rid of a bomb

AO3 Link | series masterlist | main masterlist | marcus moreno masterlist

rating: explicit (18+)

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: a night in turns into a crucial turning point for your relationship with marcus. what happens next, what he chooses, is entirely up to him - or maybe you, depending on who you ask.

warnings: a nice little smattering of angst and fluff, with just a dusting of crackfic, grinding like horny teenagers, themes of doubt and a lack of self-worth, lots of "i'm sorry"s because the man is a hulk, life not at risk unless you're a couch, insecure people trying to be better than what they are, missy moreno being an absolute menace, peep the references if you can

a/n: was this on the approved list of fics the author needed to work on? Absolutely not, but regrettably she recently finished My Adventures with Superman and now she needs to fuck a kind, good-hearted shitbrickhouse of a man in spandex or she will die. Apologies in advance.

The wine has you believing this time it will be different.

His grip on your hip, possessive and firm, tells you the same: this time it will be different. He will be different.

This time, he won't stop.

The inside of Marcus's mouth shares the tang of the dry cabernet sauvignon, fruity and acidic, sitting in the half-empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you. His hand in your hair is warm from the open fire roaring in the fireplace, the skin on the back of his neck where you grip him just as warm. Each time you tilt your head, licking deeper and deeper into his mouth, soft lips bumping up against each other, your nose brushes his heated cheeks, your own burning from the rub of his beard.

You dig your nails into his skull and he releases your lips for a moment let out a low groan.

"Fuck."

You grin, your half-lidded eyes taking in the way his own drift close, his swollen mouth dropping open wider and wider the harder you tug on his hair. His glasses have fogged up completely, which under any other circumstances would mean he is moments away from taking them off; it's not like he needs them to see anyway.

It's the opening you need.

With his eyes still closed, you pull yourself closer, one hand still gripping his hair, the other sliding from his shoulder to balance yourself against his solid chest. The first time you touched him like this, it surprised you that his bullet-proof skin actually depressed under the pads of your fingers. Now you know that he feels everything just as any normal man would. He can be distracted like any man can.

You nip at the tender flesh below his ear, your bite just barely on the deep end of hard, and he keens. Hips bucking into nothing, it looks involuntary, his eyes fully closed and head turned to expose his throat.

Encouragement. Don't stop.

Your heart suddenly pounds harder, or maybe you're just now registering it, as an almost panicked frenzy floods your system. God, you've wanted this for so, so, so long. Marcus Moreno is indescribably hot and the longer you've had to wait, the more thoughts of fucking him senseless had taken over your every waking moment.

His grip is so hard it officially sort of hurts. Not that you're about to tell him that.

Excitement and eager desire beating in your chest, you sit up from where your knees were tucked under you, thighs previously keeping a respectful distance between your hips and his, and you completely obliterate any idea of respectability. Throw your leg over his thighs and tug yourself into his lap, not giving him a single second to overthink or reconsider. Gone is the moment where you pleasantly request access to his mouth; you dig your fingers deep into his curls, making sure to scratch along his scalp, and when his lips part in another moan that plunges deep into your core, your tongue licks his as roughly as it can.

With the press of your chest against his, his moan twists high, a gasp, and you lose yourself entirely to sensation. His jeans scrape against the insides of your thigh, your skirt rucked up high, the threat of friction so near your throbbing cunt almost overwhelmingly cruel. That well-behaved hand finally abandons your hip and digs into your waist, then the lower arch of your ribs — sliding without thought towards your right breast. You could cry from promised relief, your own gasp escaping between your lips and his, as his other hand knots your hair at the base of your skull with warm, solid fingers.

"Oh, God, Marcus —," you're actually whining, petulant and begging.

He surges up, forward, flattening your breasts against his chest, his grip in your hair impossibly tightening, and his teeth sink into your jaw — you wail, the heat of his crotch so close to your wet panties, your thighs shake, his right hand pulling your hip down, against him, tilting you back at a sweet, beautiful angle as the tender center of your frustration grinds down against the seam of his jeans and a staggeringly hard bulge —

Marcus pulls back.

More like, he yanks himself away from your mouth, both hands this time almost shoving you off his lap.

That heart-racing desire edged with desperation twists into a light panic.

You dip forward again, seeking out that spot on his throat that made him melt, but his super-human grip holds you at a distance — you couldn't get out even if you tried. And at this point, he won't even look you in the eyes, his head tilted back on the back of the couch, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Both of you are panting hard, but with every passing moment, the high of arousal falls faster and faster, until you can feel it crash and burn.

Your own grip on his shoulders twists the fabric of his shirt, this time in anger.

"What? What is it?"

You'd already committed the clearly grievous sin of begging once tonight, so you don't ask him: why did you stop . . . again?

Marcus swallows gulps of air, flush high in his cheeks, his throat tightening and loosening in a way that in your current state nearly sets off that wild frenzy of need again. Every inch of your skin is throbbing, this time almost painfully. It feels like you've run a marathon only to slam face-first into a brick wall inches from the finish line.

There will be no finishing of any kind, he's made sure of that.

Between aborted gasps of breathe, the words form and escape in anger, before you can stop them.

"Marcus," you bark, "what is going on?"

The harshness of your voice snaps him out of whatever fugue state he's slipped into and his head jerks up off the couch. He looks like he's been slapped; shocked, pink-cheeked, eyes unfocused.

And then he swallows.

"I'm sorry." He says quickly. "I'm sorry — I just — it's —,"

Your anger swerves dangerously into sorrow, tasting bitterly of shame.

You climb off him, even though his hands follow, in direct contrast to everything he's said and done in the past two minutes.

He does look genuinely sorry as you cross your arms, the wet fabric of your panties stuck uncomfortably against your curls and that only ratchets up your building fury.

"It's what, Marcus?" you snap. His face visibly falls. The pounding in your chest is starting to hurt. "This is getting ridiculous."

Your words hit him like a physical force; he tightens his eyes shut and leans forward the curve of his brow in the palms of his hands.

"I know it is." His voice is low, addressing his knees. "This isn't what I want either."

"Then what's your fucking problem?" His shoulders lock up when you swear, harden, like he's steeling himself for something. Your ball of fury ices over immediately and plunges fear between your ribs and your heart. "Marcus, are you breaking up with me? Is that what this is?"

He blurs and he's on his feet in front of you — not an entirely needed use of his super-human speed, you think distractedly.

His dark, liquid eyes are a black hole; you fall harder for him, spin down aimlessly, every time he looks this intently at you. Every time he takes your elbows like this and makes you stand still — something you abhor by your very nature. And he'd happily spend the rest of his life chasing after you and saving your ass, he once told you.

But maybe he had lied. Maybe you were too much.

Marcus shakes his head, eyes wide, his hold on you steady but light, as if determined not to touch you in any way that can be misconstrued as simply polite. Your stomach hurts.

"No, God, no. Shit — no, that's not what I want even remotely." He swallows again, gaze drifting to your earlobe. "That's the furthest thing from what I want, but — I — I can't —,"

You open mouth to scream, you can't what?, when an all-too familiar siren breaks the silence. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the light beam flicker as it blasts one single image into the sky.

Marcus breathes in sharply and curses again under his breath as he glances out at the city's signal, all but calling his name.

Somewhere, out there in the dark, someone needs a hero.

Too bad it has to be your hero.

His expression is pained as he looks back at you.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to —,"

"Go. You have to go. I know."

"But when I come back, I want to —,"

"No, Marcus." You shake your head and amazingly pull yourself out of his grip. Your grief has been processed enough to melt the confused fury down to icy despondency. You wipe your eyes briefly before you pick up the two empty wineglasses and half-drunk wine bottle. If you couldn't control your voice every time you got emotional, you wouldn't be a very good reporter.

"I want to be alone for the rest of the night," you tell him flatly as you purposefully keep your back to him, which might be a moot point given that he could probably smell the tears in your eyes. Fucking superheroes.

The way he murmurs your name is the only thing in all of existence that could have stopped you in your tracks.

"Please, can we talk about this?"

No.

Not tonight.

Not right now.

"Just go, Marcus. I want you to leave."

You don't hear the door close, or the window open, but you know he's gone when a draft of cold air floods the room, the curtains flapping as if startled by the sudden change in temperature.

You calmly turn off the water and go to shut the window.

You make it back to the sink just as the knot in your throat chokes you enough for the tears to come. You don't sink to your knees, like any other dejected girlfriend of a superhero, but you do cry silently until your whole head feels like it's swollen with salt and water.

"This is the fourth fucking time he's done this, Kat! I am sick and tired of it! Either he's going to fuck me or I'm going to lose my goddamn mind!"

Neither the microwave nor your oatmeal deserves the way you roughly toss your bowl onto the glass plate, or the way you slam the plastic door. You take your frustration out on the buttons as if you could cause an appliance physical pain.

Huffing, you turn back around, arms crossed as the innocent microwave heats up your morning breakfast.

Kat, your best friend at work, smirks as the coffee machine refills her cup.

"'Oh, no, the hottest man on the planet who is also a sexy superhero AND who is also my boyfriend won't fuck me, whatever will I do?'"

You groan. "I'm serious! Every time we are literally inches from it, he pushes me away like I'm on fire or something. And I even wore my good underwear last night!"

Okay, you're officially pouting. But you still feel entirely justified. You snag the hot bowl from the microwave and slump into a chair at the break room table, poking your warm oatmeal with a spoon.

"If he doesn't want to fuck me, then why is he dating me?" You grumble.

Kat rolls her eyes as she sits down next to you and begins her morning ritual of turning her black coffee almost translucently white with a truly terrifying amount of sugar and cream. The break room table often resembles a battle field, mutilated sugar packets and globs of cream everywhere, by the time Kat is finished making her coffee every morning.

"I'm very sure not wanting to fuck you is the actual problem. You are very fuckable."

"Then what? What is it?" You toss your hands in the air, demanding answers from the very universe. "What is he so afraid of?"

Kat thoughtfully taps another packet of sugar into her mug, the first packet lying dead and mangled by her elbow.

"Have you asked him?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

You hide your shameful grimace behind a bite of oatmeal. "Okay, fine, I just yelled at him like he had lost his mind. And then, of course, he was called off to go be heroic, or whatever."

"Unless I am distinctly mistaken, mind-reading is not one of his powers."

Even the rush of sugar hitting the liquid sounds judgy.

"Kat, I am a grown adult woman. I know how to communicate in a relationship. I know how to ask for what I want . . ." You pause, a sense of concern rising in your stomach. You never before had to put it into words and the instant you do, this nebulous anxiety solidifies. "But this is different."

Kat's frown matches your own as she sips her Snow White-colored coffee.

"How do you mean?"

Being with Marcus has been unlike anything else, anyone else, and it's only now how out of your element you feel you are. It's not because he's a single dad because he might be the best father you've ever seen. It's not even his highly demanding job, because you have one too. Is it because he has powers? No, that can't —

Is it because he has powers, and you don't?

That seems marvelously petty.

And perhaps inaccurate because this feeling didn't arise until after he put the kibosh on anything more than virginal hand-holding. He has powers, you don't, but he definitely has a working dick, so why is this so personal for you?

A nudge against your arm brings you back to the office break room. Kat is smirking again, eyeing the clock.

"C'mon, you're That's-So-Raven-ing which means either you've had a startling realization or you've gotten a vision of the future. We only have fifteen minutes before Barry starts nosing around, asking why we think we have autonomy over our time. Spill."

The fluorescent lights are starting to dry out your eyes. This is the first time you hesitate to investigate the truth, mostly because when you pick it up to examine the truth, it burns you in a very tender place. You sigh and rub the backs of your eyelids.

"I don't know," you partially lie, to her and yourself. "Maybe he thinks he'd be better off with someone who doesn't work twelve hours a day, three days a week. Someone who can be present on the weekends, instead of attached to their email. Maybe someone who can be a real mom to Missy —,"

Your voice breaks just as Kat's hand covers yours. Embarrassment instantly scalds away the fresh tears in your eyes and you take back your hand from hers, crushing your fist into your lap.

"I'm sorry." It's breathy and as your best friend, she deserves better, but there's bruise forming, or one you're just now recognizing, and it's been there a lot longer than you thought. You stand and you feel your thighs tremble. "I'm sorry, Kat, I'm tired and I've been busting my ass for this article and it doesn't feel like it's going anywhere — I'm sorry. Thank you for listening, but I've got to get back to work."

Kat is a few years younger than you, a little more messy with her dating life, but an incredible writer and investigator. She has broken as many stories as you have, and in the beginning, it was not uncommon for the both of you to share a byline. She is your best friend and by design, you feel deeply protective of her.

And yet, sitting there in your office's shitty break room, she looks worryingly disappointed in you, staring up with concerned eyes. She knows you're lying but she also knows she won't be able to get anything out of you because that's the kind of person you are. Hidden behind a byline and a spit-fire grin.

"Of course," she says simply, sadly. "We can chat later."

"I'll call you," you say, meaningfully, intending to do it, but knowing you won't.

"Of course," she says again. She smiles and you take that as your dismissal.

Your heart is pounding a ragged and painful beat in the hollows of your throat as you walk back to your desk.

You shake your mouse to wake up your computer, absolutely determined to write something and get it all out of your mind, when you realize your hands are trembling over the keys.

Fuck.

Fuck superheroes and their fucking powers.

Fuck Marcus Moreno for ruining your night and your morning and your friendship with Kat.

Oh, and fuck him doubly for making you forget your oatmeal in the breakroom.

Your stomach grumbles in protest.

A full gallon of Cookie Two Step was reserved only for breakups and while there hadn't been one officially, it didn't take a reporter's instinct to know what was coming. So, on Friday, after days of staying at the office until Steve the janitor was going around and shutting off the lights, and then getting back to the office before Steve unlocked the building, you come straight home after work.

With one single detour.

At least you didn't buy a full bottle of wine, like with a regular break up. That felt way too final.

Something, something counting chickens before they hatch.

So you didn't whip out your grungy sweatpants you've had since college, or your stained but buttery-soft cardigan to wrap yourself up in. Instead, you slipped on a pair of lounging shorts and took down the biggest sweatshirt you could find in the back of the closet, something that could swallow you whole — only to realize this was not your sweatshirt, but Marcus's. With Marcus's smell still present beneath the fabric softener you use. Marcus's heat still clinging to the neck hole, you're sure of it.

If this were an actual break up, you would have thrown that sweatshirt in the garbage — no, actually, down the garbage shoot of your building. Or set fire to it on your patio, whichever you decided first.

But as such —

You bury your face in the sweater, inhaling deeply and pressing your fists into your face, a poor substitute for his rock-solid chest.

Fuck.

You pull it on over your head, the soft fabric rubbing deliciously against your bare nipples. At least something of his that won't freak out about my tits.

In the living room, your blanket and spoon await. You flop onto the couch, press play to start the exposé on the evil company behind the tattoo choker of the 90s (a competing documentary on the same subject, but this one on a different streaming platform already queued), and pop the lid to the ice cream.

Marcus hasn't called you all week. Which is why your phone is face down on the coffee table, far enough away you have to lean forward to reach it.

The office knows not to bother you tonight. You made sure of that. Unless the world is literally ending, you are not a reporter tonight.

You are a sad sack who doesn't know where you stand with your boyfriend. Or maybe he just wants to be friends —

Huffing, you stuff your face full of ice cream again, trying to focus on the talking heads describe the corruption and duplicity surrounding the iconic vintage fashion choice. Oh, God, did they really just describe that plastic choker as vintage? It can't possibly vintage — you're not that old —

The harsh buzz of your phone startles you out of your spiral and your spoon drops into the half-melted tub of ice cream with a plop. You watch it sink as it is slowly submerges, before you grab your phone.

Missy Moreno is calling . . .

Your heart leaps into your chest. Back when you and her father were starting . . . whatever this thing is — was — is, you gave her your phone number and told her to call you for anything, especially emergencies. She has one of those phones meant for children (without internet access and can hold only, like, six numbers), but she seemed delighted to add another contact. Marcus made her promise not to bother you, but you pushed back, telling her you would always be there for her, so she could call day or night.

While she had taken you up on that offer and secretly used you to get ice cream when her dad was working late, she had never called at night.

Because Marcus was usually with her at night, which means he could handle anything she needed. Unless he wasn't with her. Unless he was —

"Missy?" You cradle your phone to your ear, as if you could hold her through the phone. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing! Nothing's wrong." She responds, perky as ever. You roll your eyes as the spike of adrenaline fades and you huff a sigh of relief.

"Then why are you calling me so late? It's almost ten. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I am in bed. Got my pillow behind me and my glass of leche on the bedside table. Abuela is here too."

You put aside the melting tub of ice cream and stand up. You never handled a crisis situation sitting down . . . even if this increasingly didn't look like a crisis situation.

"Okaaay," you say slowly. You mute the TV just in case you misheard her. "You know I love talking to you, Missy, but is there a reason you're calling me so late?"

"Are you doing anything tonight?" She asks as if you hadn't said anything. Brisk, abrupt, on mission. Focused. "Like, are you out somewhere or, like, do you have someone over?"

You blush harder than that time your father caught you making out with your boyfriend in his 89' Camaro.

"What? Missy, that's not — you can't — I'm — no, I'm not out and no, I don't have anyone over. What's this about?"

"So you're alone at home, doing nothing?"

The eleven year old is judging you on your abysmal social life. Great.

"Yes! Okay, yes! I am home alone with nothing going on!"

The doorbell rings.

"Oh, good!" Missy exclaims on the other line. "Just making sure! Good night! Oh, wait, can we go to the pier next weekend? You said we could go just the two of us."

The door bell rings again.

Maybe you're dreaming. Maybe you fell asleep to the world's worst documentary and this is all an absurd dream.

Maybe you dropped your ice cream, slipped, and cracked your head on the kitchen tile.

This time, there is a knock. A pleasant knock. One announcing arrival but not demanding attention.

"Did you hear what I said? I said can we go to the pier —,"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, Missy, we can do that." You can't take your eyes off your front door. "But would your dad mind?"

There is a full, long silence, where Missy Moreno is quiet for the first time in her life.

"He's right there. Why don't you ask him?"

Yep, that's dread you're feeling. And panic. And horror. And —

He calls your name through the wood and stops your heart.

"Bye!" Missy trills and the call ends. You feel the need to reach through the phone, yank her out, and demand she explain herself because there is no way in hell you are opening that door!

He calls out to you again. "Baby, please, can we talk? I really need to see you." Then, "I want to apologize again, and I want to explain myself. You deserve to know what's going on. If you want to break up with me after that, I won't stop you."

Oh, that maniacal, twisted, little —

You wrench the door open. His gaze drifts, all too slowly, from your bare feet, up the curves of your calves, your thighs, to where the giant sweatshirt (his giant sweatshirt) hangs down, and then to your face. His own pales slightly.

"Me break up with you?" You snarl. "How honestly fucking dare you!"

"You didn't call me all week! Or text! What was I supposed to think?"

"I was waiting for you to call! Or text! You were the one who ran out of here like his ass was on fire the instant I touched your dick! And now you have your daughter trick me into opening my door to you because you know you fucked up but you show up anyway, looking all sad with flowers and —,"

Hang on, he brought you flowers? Chrysanthemums, your favorite. A fact you've told, like, one other person besides him. How he glowed when you told him your favorite flower AND how you never told anyone that you even had a favorite flower — and he fucking remembered.

A pounding on the door across from the hall startles you both.

"I am eight-five goddamn years old," a muffled voice shouts through the wood, "I don't need to hear no stories about my neighbor's dick touching!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Sanderson!" You and, to your immense surprise, Marcus chime in unison.

"So fucking lucky I don't complain. The shit I hear coming from that door . . ."

Marcus has the audacity to look slightly ashamed, red on his neck, as he looks back at you. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him, the both of you knowing full well he could pick you up and toss you across the room with one hand.

"Chrysanthemums wilt rather quickly if you don't put them in water." He holds the bouquet up to you.

They really are gorgeous. Not halfway as gorgeous as their owner — no, bad thought.

"Fine. Come in. Just shut the door so I don't get the cops called on me."

Marcus grins as he steps inside and toes off his shoes, just like he always had, even though you never told him he needed to do that. "Yeah, but I'm pretty chummy with the chief of police so I could probably get you down to just a warning."

He follows you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter on the other side of the sink. He watches you fill up a vase, a soft smirk on his face.

"But I can't promise anything if there's a lot of noise."

Usually, you enjoy his terrible one-liners, his ridiculous puns. Marcus is probably the funniest person you've ever met, even if he doesn't always intend the humor. But tonight, his jokes only serve to remind you of the distance between you two. How long it's been since you saw his face, heard his voice. And for him to joke about that, after everything —

"That's not funny, Marcus." You snatch the flowers of his hand and drop them into the vase, eyes on a single bright petal. "Don't make fun of me."

The flowers spin from the force of his speed. He's in front of you in an instant, hand inches from your cheek. When you look up, all the levity is gone from his gaze, replaced by something so serious, it's almost stern.

"Baby, I would never make fun of you. That wasn't me laughing at you, I was being self-deprecating. All of this is my fault and I know it."

The covering you'd placed over that vulnerable bruise you'd found with Kat in the break room, on the precipice of a deeply painful realization, starts to peel with just the brush of his thumb against your skin.

You push out of his arms, yanking your head back.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better or are you just too much of a coward to admit it?"

His gaze tinged with panic, his eyes widen, the sharp line between his furrowed brows growing deeper. "Admit what? What are you talking about?"

You wish more than anything you had picked literally any other sweater to wear tonight. Agonizingly, you can still smell his cologne around the throat of the sweatshirt. Or maybe you'd just forgotten what being this close to him felt like.

You shove the overly long sleeves up your arms then ball your hands into fists. It's embarrassing to be your age and dress like a toddler, but here we are.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know! You wouldn't run away from me if you didn't feel this way!"

"Baby, please —," Genuine fear colors his voice and for some reason, you're even angrier because of it. So angry, your vision blurs. No, wait, you're —

The gulp of air you try to take in comes out as a sob.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, bending forward into your hands—

but instead, you fold into something solid. Your feet leave the ground and you cry into his chest, his smell both overwhelming and relieving all at once. Your back touches against something plush, the arm of the couch, and he props you up against his chest, his thighs under yours, his hand holding your hip to him.

"Please talk to me, baby. I'm worried," he murmurs against your forehead, taking care to brush back your hair from your face. He holds you across your shoulders, curling you into him, taking all of you for himself.

Despite your shaking, despite knowing what could happen if you screw this up, what you could lose, you wipe your face and sit up straight. Marcus is pale, stricken with fear. You sniff and smear the snot dripping from your nose on the back of the sweatshirt sleeve.

"Why do you keep running away, Marcus? Just as we're starting to get anywhere, you act like I'm revolting to you. Why — do you even want me that way?" His broken, defensive murmur — "Baby, no —," has him tucking you in closer, his hand coming to your cheek, then cupping your skull.

But you still can't tell if this is the end or not.

"Do you need . . . someone stronger? Someone who is also bullet proof and . . . is it because I don't have powers? " Quietly. Fearfully. In opposition to everything the world knows you to be. You stare at your thumb as it rests on his collarbone, touching his skin but far from his neck. "Am I not enough for you?"

You feel the gulp of air, the swallow, as it shivers down his chest.

Marcus Moreno, the superhero, his hand shakes as it turns your chin up, guiding your eyes to his.

"You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, everything I need and more." There is no hiding the tremble in his voice, the weak tremor as if his incredible strength is failing him. "I should be asking you that question. Around you, I am completely powerless. You are my strength."

This time, amidst all the other times he's tried to make you believe him, this time is the time you finally trust him. When it finally sinks in. When you finally admit to yourself that this thing between you two is nearly tangible, pounding with vitality, that it eclipses both of you and drags you beneath its waves, rendering you helpless.

That's what this is.

You are helplessly, hopelessly in love with Marcus Moreno.

"Then why? Why, Marcus, won't you let me touch you?"

You adjust in his lap, only trying to look him in the eyes at an even height, but your hip brushes up against the seam of his jeans and he inhales. So recklessly sensitive.

He exhales, slowly, then drags his tongue over the curve of his bottom lip against his teeth, his eyes fluttering close, then open. For a moment, the man looking at you isn't Marcus, but a version of himself that has succumbed to something, who has been digested and used, stripped down and made hollow, save for one single desire. He is adrift.

"It's not a matter of want," he begins, lowly, in a pitch that sinks down between the bones of your hips, to that place that houses a creature prone to madness whenever he gets his hands on you. Your breath shudders and he notices — of course he does — his gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, then your throat. Gently, as if testing some sort of boundary, he rubs the soft hairs at the base of your hairline on your neck with his thumb. The grip could turn greedy, overpowering, in an instant. "Believe me when I say this: I've lost sleep over you. Over how you'll feel. Over how you'll sound. How this —," he cups you between your legs and you whimper. Helpless, remember? "— will taste."

The linchpin to Marcus's seduction is not predatory, but his honesty. His blinding, truthful inability to lie and simply lay his desires at your feet.

"Then just tell me — why, Marcus."

He still hasn't removed his warm palm from your cunt, one thumb slipping beneath the edges of your shorts to run smoothly over your skin. You arch into him and his next words start as a rumble in his chest.

"I could break you."

And then he removes his hand again.

Again, his hand settles respectably on your waist, only this time it doesn't settle. His fingers drum uneasily against the bones of your hip, his eyes trailing up and down your bare legs.

"You know, I like it when I can't walk the next day. Marcus," you thumb his thick bottom lip and, dragging his attention back to you, you feel his teeth scrape against your skin. The deep brown of his eyes is darkening fast. "I want you to bruise me a little."

Your kiss is hestitant but he sinks into it anyway, the small groan too soft to be discernible as protest or pleasure, but he takes your mouth all the same. Cups your neck and holds you close as the kisses elongate, heat, and take your breath away.

When your fingers wrap around his wrist, it's like a shock to his system. He pulls away, gaze blurred, mouth potent and plump — you're about two seconds away from clawing that stupid face up —

"I haven't fucked a non-super since my wife died."

Plainly. Stately.

Simply.

"Actually, I haven't fucked anyone since she . . ." He searches your eyes for something but you don't know what. Disgust? Horror, maybe? The words tumble out as if you'd pulled them along by a string. "We were kids when we met so we had all the time in the world to help me to figure out how . . . h-how not to hurt her. How to help me f-finish without . . ." He swallows. Eyes on your mouth again like he wants to keep eating but worries about overfilling. "I haven't been with anyone since her and I think I've . . . forgotten how to do it. Do it, I mean, without hurting the other person."

Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics and star player in all your wet dreams, blushes.

But when you don't say anything, his palms warm and suddenly the necklace around your throat trembles, the backs of your earrings start to twist. Your TV flickers.

"I need you to talk to me, please. Please be honest. I think about you and I think about this all the time and I've gotta know now if I have to get you out of my system — out of my head. I don't know if I even can, but I swear I'll try if that's what you want —,"

The dripping spoon rises out of the ice cream tub, wavering uneasily in the air.

"Marcus, honey, slow down. Breathe." The spoon splashes back into the ice cream. Your jewelry settles and that terrible documentary is back on the screen. With a sigh, he tucks his head below your chin and presses his ear flat against your chest. His thumbs rub circles into your back.

The room is quiet, excluding the hum of your air conditioner.

"This is still all so new to me." He murmurs. "Everything about dating is different now. I'm . . . different. You're the best fucking thing that's ever happened to me and I'm so paralyzed that I'm going to screw this up, I — I . . . I end up fucking it up anyway. I'm sorry."

Sometimes you cannot believe this is your life.

Suppressing a grin, you twist locks of his hair between your fingers, scratching lightly to relax him.

"So you won't fuck me because you're afraid you're going to, what, shatter my pelvis?"

He looks up at you, that stern seriousness wildly adorable. "That's not funny."

"Marcus, baby, you control your strength all the time. You manage to hug me without crushing my bones into dust, so what's different about this?"

He swallows, eyes glancing away from your face, down your throat, to your bare sternum. The neck hole of the sweater slings low, just above the rise of your chest. Marcus looks like he's experiencing this revelation in real time.

"Because." He blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut and settles back against the couch, his arms around your back and across your lap again. "Sex is made up of a lot of involuntary actions. I don't know what I'll be able to control and what I can't."

"Ooh, Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, just said sex." You grin into his face, despite his disapproving glare. "Can you hear that? I think the Virgin Mother's ears are burning."

"I'm serious. This is very real —,"

You slide out from his grasp and ease into the cushion next to him. Take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it. You smile.

"Baby, before you do an abridged version of Twilight's 'as if you could outrun me' speech, I know you're serious. I know you're worried. But as a hero that's kind of your job. And it's my job as the intrepid reporter to tell you to do the thing you're scared of anyway."

That look of staunch determination melts when you put your hand on his cheek. His hands curve over your bare knees. "I think some of your sources might be biased in their opinion. A conflict of interest, and all that."

"Oh, my sources are very interested," you smirk as you slip his ear between your fingers, nose nearly brushing his. But your levity fades as you swipe your thumb over the corner of his mouth, a beautiful mouth that is so often turned down in worry, or concern, or anger. Every inch of you loves every inch of him, even down to the bristles of his beard. Every wrinkle and gray thread in his curly hair. "What makes you think we don't have all the time in the world to practice getting it right?"

His mouth slips open as you watch the question occur to him for the first time. A nebulous question he had never challenge or asked directly. Instead, with you by his side, his anxiety solidifies.

"I think I thought that we just didn't have that kind of time." It's an admission that releases him but turns your touch to iron. Immediately, his eyes fly to you and he grips your hand against his cheek as if he knew you were about to tear it away. "I mean, I think I thought that . . . that I'd somehow lose you too. That this kind of love isn't meant for me, nowhere near as lucky or deserving. I thought —," he swallows, hands dropping to your knees, then sliding with slow purpose, up the sides of your thighs. He breathes deeply, eyes tracking the way your shorts crinkle beneath his palms, as inches of skin are slowly revealed to him, resolve trickling like sand through his fingers. "I thought that if I loved you enough, someone would try to take you away from me. So I tried not to. But I can't. I can't stop loving you but I'm so afraid of hurting you, of hurting us that I —,"

It's colossal, this thing that sits in your chest and screams his name. It's unwieldy and too big to be put away, but it is determined. Determined to finally feel his love.

His head knocks back, teeth clashing against skin, from the force of your kiss, from the transference of your soul into his because you put everything, every feeling, every joy and fear and excitement, every ounce of love you can hold in your hands, into that kiss. Despite being a writer, you've never been good with words outloud, so this is how you tell him everything.

He doesn't push you away when you crawl into his lap, pinch his waist with your thighs, and roll your hips into him. This time it is different.

This time, his hips lift up into yours and the explosive pleasure is staggering. Gasping breath, temporarily jolted out of your mind.

You need it. You need it so fucking bad.

You dip back from him, hands curled around his shoulders, your shorts riding high, the fabric bunched against your wet pussy, and you watch his face fall as you drag your hips slowly, testing, over the seam of his jeans.

This time —

He pins you to him with two hands on your thighs as he meets you grind for grind, eyes, flickering, distracted between your shared intense gaze and the place where he grinds into you. The zipper catches the cloth over your clit and you whine quietly, high and muffled.

"Wh-what — what are we doing?" Marcus murmurs — the question bizarrely genuine — neither slowing down nor stopping the subtle drag of your hips over his. "Not that I don't like it but I — this —,"

"You're starting over, right?" Your voice is breathless, almost as startled as he looks. Marcus nods. "Then it's over the clothes stuff. I think the kids call it dry humping."

He nods, his eyes dropping shut when you roll higher up and he groans. "Y-yeah, but — fuck, there, that feels so fucking good —,"

It's about finding where you fit best against him, where desire crackles with intensity, instead of dripping like warm syrup. Your hands leave his shoulders, press flat against the couch on either side of his head, and watch the steady grind of your hips to his. He alternates between biting and licking your jaw, before dropping open-mouth kisses along your throat.

But the thing is you're not kids, no longer wayward teenagers, far from it, and you have something else in mind entirely.

You dip your hand between his legs, finding that hardening length and squeeze. Marcus lifts his head up from the couch, eyes wide, the press of his hands around your hip bones harsher than before.

"Stop," he says. "Stop, I'm gonna — I'm gonna come in my pants—,"

His grip is bruising now, borderline painful, but you don't stop, not now. Not when you need to know how far he can go. You squeeze him once more before returning to that slow, patient grind.

"Then don't, Marcus." You don't stop. And neither does he. Weakly, unsteady, he continues to rock up against you. "Don't come."

"Please —,"

"No. Control yourself. Show me your strength. Show me what I mean to you." With the swipe of your palm, you push his curls up across his forehead, the edges of his hairline damp. His eyes plead with you. They're nearly damp too. You lean down and gently lick his warm neck. Your lips curl by his ear and he shudders beneath you. "Show me your love."

A strained groan, his heaving chest, and he opens his eyes. A few more gulps of air, and . . . he settles. Then swallows.

Breathing hard, his thighs trembling slightly beneath your ass, Marcus looks up at you with complete and total adoration.

A love that overwhelms all else.

"There," he whispers. I did it, he doesn't. His fingers loosen their grip and you consider if it's possible to hide the incoming bruises. You know shame has no place here, not between the both of you, but he's going to feel some kind of way about seeing purple spots littering your skin.

You slow your grind, halting your hips over his, and you smile. You smile and run your fingers through his hair. He turns his face to your palm, like a reach towards the sun.

"That was good. So good." Marcus hums. "But you have to apologize to my couch."

"Huh?"

He lifts his hand and the white stuffing goes with it. Five wide holes, where he tore through the fabric and the cushion. "Fuck, your couch, I'm sorry, I'll replace that —,"

"That's right. Fuck my couch. You didn't hurt me. Everything in this place, and I mean everything, is replaceable. But you, this," you press your thumbs to the warmth of his cheeks, "is not. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Marcus nods. Slips his fingers under yours on his cheek and laces them together. "I do. I promise."

His mouth parts when you kiss him. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Now," you say, pushing up to waver over him, "let's take a break. I can come over tomorrow, and see if —,"

The hairs on your thighs, your arms, the back of your neck and in between your legs arch, a static, electric shock crackling in the air.

Marcus grins up at you.

"Not a chance, sweetheart."

"There's my good boy."

series masterlist | part ii

[semisentient-entity]

it's a shitty night tonight and I am handling it horribly 😎

[feelgoodinct]

nsfw, mdni.

simon becomes an absolute dog when he sees you in his shirt.

cw: possessive simon, sex on carpet (ouch), unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink (?).

simon is a good roommate. he’s organized, clean, pays rent on time, and minds his own space. the only thing is—roommate is hot. stupidly hot. you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he’s never once brought back a girl let alone mentioned one. you figured your little crush on him would pass like all the other (it does not). you start dropping hints that you find him attractive. like wearing your tightest tops, brushing your ass against him while reaching for a cup, even leaving one of your lacy thongs to mix in with his laundry. he never bites the bait. you start to think that maybe he just doesn’t find you attractive or even worse he finds you creepy. so you tuck your schoolgirl crush away into the cavity of your chest.

you close the washer with your hip, cradling your laundry basket back to your room. you hear the familiar turn of your front door lock letting you know simon is home from his morning gym session.

you pad into the living room to ask simon if he needed any clothes washed. simons back is turned from you when he begins to slip off his trainers, dropping his gym at the foot of the door.

“need any clothes washed? i’m starting a load up right now.” you ask eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his compression shirt.

he finally turns to you and starts to respond “nah don’t think-“ before he snaps his mouth shut when he sees what you’re wearing. “that mine?” his voice gruff, it’s his army issued shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. a deep green color that frays at the hem and has his last name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring at the worn fabric waiting for an answer.

you look down, “oh yeah. sorry was doing laundry found this in hamper. my clothes are in the wash. hope that’s okay?” you sound apologetic like you just did something unforgivable. jesus christ what were you thinking wearing his shirt without asking. you shift trying to ease your embarrassment.

he’s on you in three short strides. making a noise between a growl and snarl. you don’t know how or when you both ended up on the living room floor. frankly, it’s the last thing on your fucking mind now that you’re on your knees cheek pressing into the shag carpet. you can feel the heat of his stare between your legs. you get a glimpse of your shorts and panties strewn across the floor leaving you in his shirt. you wait with bated breath for him to touch you. you wiggle your hips in a silent plead to get him to do something, anything…everything.

he gives the flesh of your ass a heavy smack that has you clenching around nothing. “be good now.” is all you hear before the sting leaves an angry red mark that you know is gonna leave you wincing for the next week. simon smooths a hand over the back of your (his) shirt making a noise in the back of his throat.

you hear shuffling behind you before you feel the head of him catch on to your opening making your mouth gape like a fish out of water. he groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips, before he presses in painfully slow with a hiss. you whimper into the carpet, fists balling, feeling hot all over. your cunt pulses trying to make room for him inside your womb.

“i know. i know, pretty girl. almost there.” simon bites back a hiss when you clench at his words. you think you might die like this. laid out on ugly apartment carpet trying to take simon’s cock. you could cry with relief when you feel simon’s balls meet your clit letting you know he’s all the way in. simon lets out a guttural sound bordering on animalistic at the sight of you speared open on his cock, last name across your back, absolutely crying for it.

he fists the bottom of the shirt to keep you still and eases his hips back just to sink back in slowly. the pressure in your navel hurts so good it’s starting to make you dizzy. simon sets a pace that has you trying to cant your hips back to meet his thrusts. he lays a heavy palm in the middle of your back, just under the boldened ‘RILEY’, keeping you pinned giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.

“prettiest fuckin girl i ever seen. gonna give this cunt the proper treatment she deserves, yeah?” he bends his left leg, somehow sliding in deeper. there’s no doubt that you can feel him in your lungs. “s’deep simon.” you slur, reaching a hand back to weakly press against his stomach. he chuckles at the act taking both wrists into one of his hands pressing them at the small of your back, forcing you into a deeper arch. you sob at the change in angle. your nipples being rubbed raw by the friction of his thrusts.

“needed this real bad, huh? don’t worry baby. i’ll make sure you don’t go without it again. wearing those tiny tops think i didn’t notice.” his voice rough and deep behind you. “uh huh.” you reply without a second thought, you don’t even care that you’ve been drooling into the carpet or that you’ve been caught. simon gives a deep chuckle at how pliant you’ve become just from some good dick.

he knows your close by the increasing volume of your sounds. he never lets up his pace determined to give you his all. “where?” he asks in a quick breathe. you take a few seconds to register his words. “huh?” you manage to squeak out. “where do you want me, pretty thing?” he says in an almost pained voice. the gears turn in your head before you speak up “inside. want it inside. m’clean. pill.” resorting to short clipped words. you beg, as if you have to, simon thinks.

your orgasm comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out garbled version of please and simon. simon is not far behind burying himself as deep as your bodies will allow and comes inside with a pinched “oh fuck.” he pulls out with a pop and watches his spend leak down your slit leaving a small puddle on the floor that he knows he’ll have to scrub out later.

simon pats your backside affectionately. “don’t think we’ll be doing any laundry today” he says with a grin that makes you giggle. “yeah, don’t think so.”

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

anyway. “j why are you still up don’t you hate staying up late” well you see the demons got me. and by demons i mean. ow

[fairy-angel222]

“𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘”.. 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐈𝐄 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—gojo finds out that you’re baking a pie for some stupid co worker of yours, shows you that he’s the only one deserving

pairing: gojo x fem! reader

content: smut, tit slapping, pussy slapping, degradation, hair pulling, belly bulge, breeding, finger sucking, spit swallowing, mean teasing

When Gojo strolled into the kitchen to find you baking one of your signature cream filled pies he hummed. Pressing up against you with his arms around your waist while placing soft kisses to your neck.

“That smells delicious baby, who��s it for?” He had seen the text from your coworker asking you to bake one for him.

“Oh thanks baby! It’s just for some coworker at work. Been begging me for one of my pies for a while now.” You shrugged. “Hmm.. and would that co worker happen to be the same one who’s been flirting with you for ages?” He whispered when his lips reached your ear, hot breath fanning against your skin as you swallowed hard.

—

“Don’t fucking run from it baby, take it all like a good girl.” Gojo growled out, a grin spread across his face as his cock drilled meanly into your cunt. His hand in your hair yanking your head back to look up at him. Blue eyes seemingly darker when he groaned.

“My little slut’s so fucking pretty.” Grinding hard against your ass, a loud mewl escaping your lips when his tip grazed roughly into your gummy spot. “You feel that?” He rolled his hips again, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand pressed against the bottom of your stomach. “Feel me deep in you baby?”

You let out a shaky cry, your body being jerked back and forth with each of the man’s harsh thrusts. His hand pointing out the bulge of his tip against your skin. “Nngh— Satoru.”

“Open that pretty little mouth for me.” Gojo breathed, your back arching deeply as you sniffled. Doing as told and opening your mouth with a whimper, allowing Gojo’s spit to fall onto your tongue with a hum. Two of his slender fingers finding their way into your mouth, resting on the back of your tongue before he was lightly thrusting them down your throat.

“That’s it. That’s the good slut i know.” he smirked, your lips enclosing around the digits as your eyes closed with the shiver of your body.

Your loud moans were muffled as Gojo bullied his fat cock deep into your tightness. Eyes pooling with tears as your stomach burned with heat. Gojo’s hand finding its way to grope at your tits, pinching at your hard nipples making you let out a choked whine.

You yelped when your boyfriend’s large hand landed softly on your breast, mewling messily around his fingers when it landed harder on the other one. Your body trembled as Gojo’s finger trailed down your stomach, stopping at your clit to rub on the sensitive nub. Pulling out a string of moans followed by a cry when he slapped down at your clit.

“Gonna show you a real cream pie baby. Gonna stuff that pussy full of me.” Gojo grunted, one hand remaining on clit while he removed the one in your mouth with a string of salvia still attached. Using it to knead the flesh of your ass, red from the constant slamming of his hips onto it.

“S-satoruu, you’re so mean— ahh,” you mewled when you felt a harsh smack stinging through your skin. Your boyfriend’s hand reaching to your neck as he pulled you close, increasing the speed of his thrusts with a chuckle.

“Hmm, am i? Could’ve decided to leave this pussy wet and needy if i wanted to.” Pressing his chest flush against your back, his breath hot on your ear. “Could’ve left you to go bring you that stupid pie to that stupid boy, baby.” He scoffed in faux offense. “I’m hurt, i’d say i’m quite nice don’t ya think?”

You could only whimper as you felt yourself getting close, pussy clenching around Gojo’s cock when his grip on your neck tightened.

“O-oh, Satoru— ‘m close,” you cried, your eyes rolling back and your legs shaking.

“Thought i was mean huh? Why’re you coming on a mean man’s cock?” he teased, his finger’s movements on your clit speeding up to drive you over the edge.

Cumming hard with the scream of his name, your sopping pussy gushing onto his cock. Gojo groaned deeply, his thrusts noisy as heavy balls slapped against your folds. Basking in the feeling of your perfect pussy before he was bottoming out in you.

“Gonna stuff this pussy nice ‘n full with my cum.” His movements stilling as he pumped ropes after ropes onto your walls. Painting them from red to white with a smile. “Look at that, greedy pussy’s swallowing it all.” Pulling out of you ever so slowly and watching as his cum spilled in tiny spurts as your hole spasmed.

You let out a breath, allowing your body to fall limp into the sheets as you panted. You should have seen that coming.

[slut4thebroken]

size kink

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | He as a size kink. That’s it lol.

Warnings | Smut, size kink, manhandling, praise, creampie, gaping, cockwarming.

Words | 1k

Notes | 😵‍💫 that fucking comic panel tho

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 6: manhandling + size kink

Can y’all help me come up with a title😭 I’m literally so exhausted and I just want to pass out but I have to post it within two hours for it to still be day 6 skfhsk

Jason Todd has a huge size kink… He’s so massive that it’s honestly hard not to because there are barely any female body types that aren’t smaller than him. Tall, big, buff— all smaller than him, usually by a lot too. 

Especially you. You’re pretty much the same size as the average woman, but standing next to Jason— he practically dwarfs you. Whenever he holds your hand, you usually end up just holding two of his fingers because it’s more comfortable that way. Even when he places his hand on your thigh, he can completely cover the entire width of it. 

Even though he loves the way it feels to hold you, how easy it is to lift you and manhandle you however he wants… one of his most favorite things is how small your cunt is too. It wasn’t abnormally small— it was proportionate to your body— but compared to his abnormally large cock? Even just compared to his fingers, you could barely take it. 

He always tried to do as much foreplay as possible because, even though he thinks it’s hot when your face scrunches up in pain as you do your best to take him, he doesn’t actually want to hurt you or make it not good for you. So he usually eats you out, slowly working you open on his fingers. He almost always gives you at least one orgasm before even attempting to fit his cock inside you, but even after the time he made you come over and over again for two hours straight, you were still so fucking tight. 

You let out these soft whimpers and sounds of pain that make his cock throb. Sometimes you gasp out and desperately cling to him, trying to ground yourself. He always eases his cock in slowly, holding your hand or cupping your cheek and whispering soft praises into your ear. 

“So good at taking my cock, baby. I’m almost halfway.” You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on taking deep breaths and relaxing your muscles. Jason couldn’t help but look down between your bodies, watching his cock slowly disappear into your tight heat. “Almost there, princess.” His voice was low and thick with poorly restrained arousal. When he finally bottomed out, you let out a pained whimper and he closed his eyes, trying not to bust his load right then and there. 

“Such a good girl. You’re doing so good, baby.” He murmured tenderly, leaning down to kiss over your neck as his hand snaked down to rub your clit. You usually signaled whenever you were ready for him to start moving and he’d slowly draw his hips back, then push in again at the same pace. 

Sometimes though, he’d stand and hold you in the air, lifting you up and down on his cock, limiting your squirming significantly. Or if you were riding him, he’d grab your hips and move you however fast and hard he wanted— even if you put all your strength into staying seated or moving away, he was always stronger than you. It took practically no effort for him to lift you up and down, fucking you like you were his own personal sex doll. 

While he usually liked being able to kiss you and watch your expression contort in pain as your walls were forced to accommodate his cock, he also liked putting you on your stomach. Sometimes he’d put you on your knees and push your face into the bed, but he liked laying on top of you even more. With his large legs caging in your much smaller ones, it made you even tighter. He loved being able to completely lay on top of you and wrap his arms around you, forcing you to feel every inch of his thick cock going in and out of your pussy. That position always made you feel trapped, but more in an exciting way rather than an anxious way because you knew he’d get off of you in a heartbeat if you told him to. 

“That’s it… Be a good girl and just take it, baby.” He whispered breathily, lips brushing your ear. You let out a choked moan and he moved his hand to squeeze your neck. “You just lay there and let me use my favorite little fleshlight.” Every single time— without fail— your cunt would get impossibly tighter when he talked to you like that. 

Something else he loved; the amount of come he released was proportional to his body as well… Sometimes he liked to paint your pretty face, completely drench you in his seed, but usually he liked filling you up. He liked dragging his hips back until his cock finally dislodged from your tight pussy that was practically trying to suck him in, and watching his come dribble out of your gaping hole, down your puffy folds. 

“Oh, look at you, baby…” He cooed, voice raspy and thick. You whined and squirmed, enjoying the feeling of him filling you up and his seed leaking out of your abused cunt almost as much as he did. 

“Squeeze that little cunt, princess. Try to keep my come inside.” He ordered softly, grabbing your ass and pulling you open to get a perfect view of your holes. He watched them flutter, but even when you tried your hardest, his cock had stretched you out too much for your hole to be able to tighten up again so soon. 

“Poor thing… can’t keep my come in that needy little pussy.” He chuckled, collecting the leaking come on his fingers and pushing it back into your hole. “But that’s okay, baby. I’ll help you…” you let out a choked moan when he forced his cock back in, stretching you once again, “keep you nice and plugged up, huh?” He laid down over you again, but turned so you were both on your sides in a spooning position with his cock still deep in your pussy— It would usually stay there until you fell asleep, but sometimes only until he got worked up enough for round two. 

(I’m still bad at ending one shots lol)

[ddejavvu]

Cant stop thinking about Logan bending Wades darling little sister (in her 20s) over the kitchen table while Waded out on a mission. That is all I can think about right now

Insatiable - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. age gap (legal; reader is in her 20's, logan is like... 200 years old.), wilson!reader, dirty talk, slight breeding mentioned

The only reason you're able to do it in the kitchen is because Wade isn't home, and you'd managed to shut the door on his pathetically endearing little dog. Mary Puppins is probably tearing up Wade's poor excuse for a comforter right now, and Logan is tearing up- well.

You.

Your pussy.

You're bent so far over the counter that your tits are cold, your nipples stiff and sensitive against the countertop. The pressure against them hurts, or maybe it's a lack of other stimulation against them- either way, they're stinging and you wish to right yourself and tug mercilessly at them.

But Logan's weight- not the full load, or you'd be crushed - is holding you down, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the smooth counter for purchase that you'll never find as you're rocked steadily into the cabinets below.

Logan's cock is buried so deep inside of you that you're not sure he'll ever get it out again, but then he does, and then he thrusts back in and you're hit all over again with a sense of shit, I didn't know I went that deep. He's found your limit, stretched your cunt to the breaking point with his impressive length, and his facial hair tickles the side of your face as he takes your cunt from behind.

Your face smacks painfully against the cabinets over the counter and Logan reaches a hand up to cover your forehead, "Shit, be careful. Head down, honey, there you go. Wouldn't want Big Brother finding an imprint of your face in the wood."

"Whaddya think he'd say?" Logan's suddenly snickering, a gruff delight to his voice as he rams his cock inside you once more, thrusting at a steady, merciless pace, "Shit, if he knew my old ass had his sweet little sister pinned up against the counter..."

Wade would kill him. Or try valiantly to, as it's been established before by Wade's best efforts that Logan is one difficult motherfucker to kill. But you don't fancy a bloodbath even if the vessel will survive, so you tuck yourself tight to the counter so that you won't have to explain to Wade why the cupboard door is off its hinges.

Leaning forwards more only pushes your ass out further, and Logan groans, dick twitching, as he's able to thrust more viciously beneath the curve of your ass. He's humping you like a dog, a depraved pace set as he chases an impending orgasm.

"Taking you in your brother's house- aagh, shit," Logan grunts, nose nudging against the back of your neck as he inhales your sweat, "God he's gonna drop his swords on this fucking counter as soon as he walks through the door, not- not even gonna know your tits were smashed up against it. He's gonna get coke from that cabinet in an hour," Logan's voice is strained, moreso the faster he pumps his hips, and all you can do is cry out as he ravages your cunt, "He's never gonna know I made his sister cream up against it. Never gonna know I fucked my fuckin' babies into you here, aah- agh-I-!"

Logan bites, hard against your shoulder, catching some of your neck in the process and introducing yet another blindingly painful sensation that turns into sick, twisted pleasure between your legs. Your cunt is spent, barely capable of another orgasm after you'd already had two fucked out of you before, but it gives you its best shot as Logan's thick, warm cum gushes into you, immediately too much for your poor pussy to handle as it drips down your thighs instead.

Logan relinquishes your shoulder with a low groan, his breath coming hot and heavy as he pants, "You alright?"

"Yeah," You whimper, legs shaking as Logan holds you steady, "I- I don't think I can stand anymore."

"That's okay." Logan hums, gentler now that he's fucked himself calm. He peels you off of the counter, supporting your body weight as he half-walks, half-drags you down the hallway towards his bedroom, "Next round's on my bed, sweetheart. You won't need to move a muscle."

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and look for revenge, and you get it by fucking his dad! NSFW

contents: fem!reader. age gap, blowjob, praise, degradation, use of slut, slight dumbification, dirty talk, and possibly more. 2.6K words.

you should've known that dating a rich boy came with more than just the money—it came with a shitty boyfriend too. 

as you walk to his house, rain falling in your eyes, you curse every time he had you do his homework, his bills, even his fucking laundry. that's what you get for dating the spoiled heir to the massive gojo fortune.

you step onto the gojo estate's porch, wondering what possessed you to come all the way here in the middle of the night without an umbrella. thank god you still had the key your ex had given you, since he was too stupid to remember to take it back after he dumped you.

hands shaking from the cold, you slip the key into the lock and turn, a small smile dancing across your lips when it opens as easily as your ex's legs. he was probably out fucking another girl right now, if the pictures on his instagram story were any hint of his whereabouts.

you push the door open with your shoulder and dry your feet on the doormat. his parents are never home, and it's late enough for the staff to have all gone back to their quarters. besides, even if one or two were still here, they probably didn't know you weren't their spoiled brat's girlfriend anymore.

humming the post-breakup revenge song you'd been listening to for the past hour, you tie up your hair and look around. the only reason you walked all the way here in the middle of a dark, stormy night was for revenge, and you weren't leaving without it.

on the way to your ex's room, you stop in one of the bathrooms to dry off. rainwater slides off your body as you wring out your hair in the sink, water dripping down your wrist as you do so.

you walk the familiar path to your ex's room, rolling your eyes when you see a bra on the floor that definitely isn't yours. funnily enough, you aren't surprised. there's no hurt, no sadness, just disgust. your suspicions were right—he was fucking other girls while the two of you dated. 

a sigh slips through your lips as you look around his room. it's messy, even with the help from the gojo estate's numerous staff. they say bigger rooms naturally look cleaner, and yet your ex's room still manages to mirror his mind—filthy.

you're so immersed in the thousand ideas you have to ruin your ex's life that when a deep, sleep-ridden voice asks you what the fuck you're doing in his house, you nearly jump out of your skin.

you spin around, words caught in your throat when you come face-to-face with satoru gojo, your ex-boyfriend's dad and the infamous head of the gojo family.

it's more than shameful that the first thought you have is that shit, he's hot. you've met before, but it was only in passing. satoru's never around, and the extent of your relationship was a brief nod as he passed you in one of the many passageways in the gojo estate. in fact, you aren't entirely sure if he even knows who you are.

satoru gojo's well-known in japan—not only is he the reason the gojo family has its reputation, but he's made quite a name for himself by being the most affluent and handsome of them all. 

you've heard stories about him back in his prime. most sound too far-fetched to be true, but the photos of him in his twenties that resurface from time-to-time make good material for your late-night fantasies. 

and satoru's even more intimidating in person. he's easily over six feet tall with well-defined muscles, and he's the definition of a dilf. he's probably twice your age, but the glint in his eyes and casual arrogance in his stance makes him all the more attractive.

it's a shame his son is such a dickhead.

"are you one of my son's whores?" satoru asks dryly, eying the bra on the floor. you scowl and kick it away, a soft huff slipping through your lips.

"no, i'm— wait, he never told you?" you cut yourself off with the question, a hint of incredulous disbelief in your tone. 

satoru shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. his shirt slides up just enough to expose his abs, which are really fucking hot by any standards. "if you're asking about my son, he thankfully leaves me out of his sex life," he says amusedly. "so, who are you? and what the hell are you doing in my house this late?"

"i—" well, you couldn't just say you were here to ruin his son's life. "uh, i'm his... girlfriend."

satoru barks out a laugh, looking down at you through his long, white eyelashes. "really? you sure you're dating my son?"

you narrow your eyes and nod. satoru shakes his head, slipping one of his hands in his pocket and gesturing to the bra on the floor with the other. "either you aren't his girlfriend or you just found out he's cheating. which is it?"

well, you tried. "both." satoru raises his eyebrows at that and takes a seat on the chair across from his son's bed, exhaling as he does so. 

"so, sweetheart, what's the story?" he asks, a bored expression on his face. he leans back and spreads his legs enough for you to wonder what it'd be like to be in between them. 

not sensing that you really have a choice, you sit on the corner of his son's bed and start explaining. at first, you sugarcoat his son's actions, not wanting to sound like a whiny brat, but at one point he interjects with a sigh.

"i know my son," he says dryly, brushing his floppy white hair out of his eyes. "and i also know a liar when i see one."

"s' that so?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring the way satoru's eyes narrow at your side comment. from then on, you list every detail of just how shitty your ex was to you. you tell satoru how his son made you fold his clothes, how he dragged you to parties even when you swore you had homework, how he'd make you fu—

you stop there, not wanting to divulge every detail of your sex life. sure, your ex forced you to fuck him every night in every way he knew existed from watching porn, but that wasn't for his dad to know.

satoru, who's been listening intently for the last five minutes, studies your irritated expression thoughtfully. rather than comment on the way you suddenly stopped ranting, he asks, "so you're here for revenge?"

you nod, crossing your legs. satoru eyes you for another second before placing his hands on his knees and standing up with a soft grunt. "do whatever you want, but i want you out of my house in fifteen minutes. and whatever you do stays in this room. no fire."

satoru looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "is that clear?"

it would be easier to agree if satoru wasn't looking down at you with an expression like that on his face. it's somewhere between mild irritation and disgust—whether it's directed at you or his son, you're not sure, but he probably has better things to do than listen to some girl's breakup story. so you nod, and satoru starts to leave.

just before he steps out the door, you think of a really fucking insane idea—one that would absolutely shatter your ex. and for some reason, you say it out loud.

"you should fuck me."

oh my god.

satoru turns around slowly, hand clenched around his phone. "the fuck?"

you swallow, eyes wide and a stupid grin plastered on your face. "shit, i—" you were ready to apologize for just about every word you've ever said, but satoru holds up his hand before you can start, cutting you off.

he scoffs, blue eyes glimmering with either amusement or annoyance. "you really are a piece of work, aren't ya?" satoru narrows his eyes, surveying you critically. his gaze settles on the way your shaky hands, and you hide them behind your back self consciously.

"you want me to fuck you on my son's bed?" he says dryly, stifling a laugh. when you force yourself to nod, he grins. "not bad, sweetheart. not bad at all."

"i-is that a yes?" you hate yourself for stuttering, but it makes satoru laugh.

"sure, why not?" he says, walking over to where you're still sitting on his son's bed and resting a hand on your shoulder. satoru rubs the side of your neck with his thumb, cerulean eyes fixed on your lips. "might be about time to teach my son a lesson anyways."

satoru's agreement surprises you enough to make your mouth fall open, and soon enough, his dick replaces the empty space between your lips.

"shit, you're takin' me so good, baby," satoru groans, hand tangled in your hair as he pushes his dick deeper into your throat. "yeah, that's it, jus' like tha— fuck," he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh as you nearly choke.

he's big, way bigger than your ex, and you wonder how his dad's big dick gene skipped him. and even better, satoru's skilled too. he knows how to fuck you good, and you can tell that it's from experience, not from watching porn—unlike his lame excuse of a son.

"tell me, sweetheart," satoru drawls, looking down at you with a cheeky smile. "was my son half as good as i am in bed?"

when you shake your head no, satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "shit, now y're gonna expect every guy you fuck with to be as good as me. well, sorry 'bout that, because they aren't."

at least you know where his son gets his arrogance from. 

it's getting a little hard to breathe, especially since you have ten inches of dick shoved down your throat. despite all satoru's talk, you can tell that he's getting close to cumming down your throat—his eyes are twitching and his breaths are starting to become more and more shaky as you suck him off. soon enough, the coil in his stomach snaps and he cums, cursing and praising you as he does. satoru's grip on your hair tightens, and it's borderline painful as he tugs you deeper by the hair.

"shit, that was the best head i've had in a while," he groans after his breathing starts to go back to normal. satoru grins at you, shaking his head and pinning you on your back on the bed.

"you've already been fucked by a gojo here, haven't you?" satoru cooes, tracing your jawline with one of his fingers. "tch, i'll fuck you better than my shithead son ever could. show ya the reason we gojos have a reputation for our dicks."

and fuck, he does. after quickly making you cum on his fingers with the excuse of loosening you up, he roughly shoves his dick in your already-throbbing pussy with a grin. he's so fucking big that you've convinced he's gonna rip you in half.

"g-gojo, i can't—"

"sure y'can," he cuts you off, jaw tightening as you tighten around him. "fuckin' hell, you're just tight as a virgin. my son must be shit in bed, yeah?"

"mhm," you hum, tilting back your head and gasping for air as you feel your body heat up. "shit— right there—"

satoru grins, dipping his head and meeting your tear-lidded eyes. he's far from gentle—it's barely been a couple minutes and your back is already in the highest arch of your life, and it's hard to form coherent thoughts as satoru continues bullying his cock into your pussy.

you lose track of time easily—fuck, you forget there's even a world outside of whatever this is. at some point your tongue falls out of your mouth, lolling to the side as your eyes roll back—just a dumb slut for satoru; or at least that's what he calls you.

as you approach what must be the hundredth orgasm of the night, satoru asks you to say his name. it's almost embarrassing how much effort it is to say—he's fucked you dumb enough to the point where you're a babbling mess.

"shit, you can't even talk," satoru says with a grin, flicking your forehead playfully. "cute." he rests his elbow by your head and shoves his hand over your mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you talk too much anyways, princess. take a break."

you whine against his hand and satoru shakes his head, a faux pout on his face. "c'mon, it's not like you can talk anyways," he tsks. his next thrust is particularly rough, and you can't seem to remember who the name of the dickhead who got you in this situation—what was your ex's name again? does it matter?

"yeah i can" you mumble, voice muffled by satoru's hand. when his pout deepens, you can't help but giggle, a sound that soon turns to a squeal when he pushes the side of your face into the mattress.

"what's so funny?" satoru grumbles, dipping his head and pressing his lips against the hand seperating your mouth from his. satoru's glimmering eyes are fixed on yours as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. "fine then."

he pulls out, cursing under his breath as he presses his back to the headboard. satoru ignores the hm? that slips out of your lips and removes his hand from your mouth, resting it on his dick instead and stroking it with a smirk. "what is it, princess?"

"wha— why'd you stop?"

satoru lifts his other wrist, studying the watch on it and turning his hand so you can see too. your vision is still so fucked up that the numbers look like swimming otters, but you can vaguely make out the time.

"it's been fifteen minutes, kid. time to go."

your mouth falls open and you sit up, still breathing heavily. one second you're having the best sex of your life, and the next your ex's dad is calling you kid and telling you it's time to go?

"not fair," you mumble, pulling your legs into your chest and resting your head on your knees. "that was a stupid time limit," you huff, chest heaving. "i couldn't have done anything to him in fifteen minutes anyways."

satoru snorts, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. "i'd say we did something in those fifteen minutes," he says dryly, white hair falling into his eyes. 

"hmph."

satoru raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip as he continues stroking himself. you notice the way his abs flex and tense the closer he gets; something that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

"can't believe my dumbass son fucked up so badly with a girl like you," he groans after a minute, back resting against the headboard as he continues stroking his dick. "won't be seein' you around here again, huh?"

you blink, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as satoru eyes you intently. "what d'you mean?"

before satoru can answer, the two of you hear footsteps, and before either of you can do anything, standing in the doorway to his own room is your ex, a giggling girl on his arm. the faint scent of alcohol floods through your nose as they stumble in, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from laughing when your ex sees that his bed is already occupied.

"why the hell is my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend?!"

[luviisabella]

Remember when I was talking about Bakugou’s biceps, but it wasn’t sexual ? link 💘

Let me give you another list of reasons to loveeee Bakugou’s biceps.

18+ ⭐️

—

Your mouth was practically watering at the sight of your boyfriend chugging his gallon sized water bottle. He had just gotten back from the gym and was fresh in his gym clothes. A classic athletic black t-shirt and compression capris under basketball shorts… but what really got your attention was the way his biceps were practically bulging out of his shirt.

You were reading your book until you peaked over and now you’re stuck in a trance. Your thoughts were so lewd if anyone were able to hear them they’d be beet red.

He places his water down before sighing.

“Done staring ?”

And you immediately looked back down at your book.

He scoffed at your sad attempt to cover your face.

“Embarrassed you got caught or do you need glasses ?”

He was teasing you considering how close you shoved the book to your face.

“So what if I was ? I can’t stare at my boyfriend ??” You tried to defend yourself but God seeing him like this was sending you into another world.

He started walking over to you and was admiring a view of his own. You had your back flat against the couch and your head rested against the arm of it. You had your knees pressed together and your feet flat against the seating of the couch, not realizing the perfect view he had of your pink underwear or how he could clearly see the print of your pussy.

“Perv”

“Huh ? Like you weren’t just salivating over me drinking water”

You looked away and rolled your eyes before looking back at him. Not realizing how close he had gotten and was now pressing his knee a little to close to where your pussy was.

“Kats-“

“Tell me what you were really staring at”

Your face felt hot, like someone had poured lava as a face mask. You hesitated before answering him with an innocent look hoping he wouldn’t tease you about it.

“Your biceps…”

And he couldn’t help the grin that reached his face.

His hand gently cupping your knee before spreading your legs apart.

“Katssss” you mumble at him, knowing he’s gonna leave you overstimulated (not that you’re complaining)

“You know I don’t just workout to stay fit right ?”

He picked you up and carried you to your shared bedroom. Oh you were in for it now.

He gently laid you on the bed before pulling back to lift off his shirt and My.. God. The view was something crafted by Heaven and Earth.

You involuntarily reached your hand out to stroke his abs and he hissed in response.

“I’m sorry-“ you pulled your hand back thinking you hurt him.

“S’not you.. just a little sore” he got on his knees and pulled you closer to his face by your hips.

And you frowned, wanting him to rest..

“Then we don’t have to-“ “I’m sore not dead”

And before you could retaliate you moaned feeling the sensation of his lips against your clothed clit.

Oh fuck… now you really had a view

He was holding your thighs apart with his arms, his biceps pressing against your soft skin and you were nearly losing it. Just the sight of this alone was enough to make you finish.

He gently pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side and began lapping at your clit. You threw your head back against the pillows and let your fingers run through his hair.

“Yes ngh fuck katsuki yes yes yes”

You tugged at his hair earning a low groan from him. If only you could see the raging boner he had in his shorts rn.

Just from your breathing he knew you were close and started tracing circles against your clit, making sure to hold your thighs extra tight.

“F-fuck Kats’ m’ gonna cum m’ gonna cum”

He didn’t slow down, continuing his brutal pace on your pussy as you reached your high, but he kept going through your orgasm causing you to whine and involuntarily roll your hips against his face.

Once he was done he pulled back from you again and stood up, running his thumb against his bottom lip, a satisfied look on his face.

“Working out also offers good stamina”

—

“Should we find out if I’ve really been putting in the work ?”

(yeah bby that’s all yours)

[lockefanfic]

Last Chance

“Come over?”

You knew what the message meant, what she was asking for. What else could she mean, sending you that text at near midnight on a Friday night? 

The night air is crisp as you leave your friend’s apartment, where his yearly Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party was raging. It seemed to only get colder as you stood on the sidewalk waiting for your ride, and the Uber driver’s seeming reluctance to crank up the heat in his car meant that the ride across town to her apartment was almost equally as chilly. 

Her building was a lot warmer, thankfully, and when she opens the door and greets you with a smile she gives you all the warmth you need.

“Come in,” Chou Tzuyu says with a small wave of her hand and nod of her head. “Drink?”

“I’ve had plenty at the party,” you admit, “but wouldn’t say no to water.”

“Good choice,” she says with a sly smile, cracking open her fridge to pull out a jug. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

You watch as she pours you a glass, her back turned to you as you enter her small but nicely furnished kitchen. She’s wearing a short, tight t-shirt and what were probably the tiniest pair of green cotton shorts known to man. The fit left much of her midsection and all of her long, shapely legs bare, highlighting the wideness of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. You hadn’t thought it possible, but she almost looked as attractive with the flimsy scraps of cotton on her as she did without them.

She hands you your glass of water, tapping it with her own as you both take sips and step into her living room. 

“Had a real shitty week,” she says, unprompted, as though she somehow felt the need to justify calling you over on a Friday night, felt the need to justify what the both of you were about to do. “Kind of need to blow off some steam.”

“Fair enough. Work again?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh under her breath, leaning against the arm of her couch, where you join her. “Big project due next week that’s kept me at the office most nights. And…”

“And?”

“There’s this guy.”

You sigh, inwardly, hiding your reaction behind another sip of water. You feel a sting somewhere in the depths of your heart, one you do your best to keep hidden behind the barrier of nonchalance that you’d worked hard to maintain with her.

“Oh?” you manage.

“Co-worker,” she says, softly, after another sip. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘don’t date co-workers.’ But I’m pretty sure he’s into me, y’know? And I’ve been into him since, well, forever ago. But I’m so frustrated, because he won’t make a fucking move, no matter how many signals I send his way.”

“...and you’re into him?” you ask, even as the words hurt to say.

She fumbles a bit with the glass in her hand, staring down at it as though she were looking for the answer to your question in the transparent liquid that it contained.

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “I know I should really keep it professional, considering how long we’ve been working together and how much I rely on him at work, but… I dunno. I dunno what to make of it, that’s all. I just wish he’d call me or something, get it over with, one way or another. Was kind of hoping he’d ask me out over the holidays, but nothing.”

“Ah,” you admit. “Maybe he’s just not into girls that aren’t hot enough to be invited to  Inbetween-Christmas-And-New-Year’s parties,” you tease. “I wouldn’t be either, to be honest.”

Tzuyu smirks and gives you a playful swat on the arm, the smirk turning into a warm smile. “Thanks for coming over,” she says, softly. “I need this.”

“I mean, I had to leave an above average Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Year’s party because my moderately attractive friend across town needs my dick in her so she can get over some guy at work, but sure, I guess I kinda need it too.”

Tzuyu giggles - a soft, musical sound you never tired of hearing. 

She locks eyes with you for a moment, and in that split second you feel disarmed, as though she sees right through you, right through the humor and sarcasm and other defenses you’d put up to keep her from seeing the real you. You worry, for a moment, that she sees right through your sarcastic, aloof facade you forced yourself to wear lest she see how you really felt about her.

The moment is fleeting, though, and after she takes your glass of water and places it on the coffee table next to hers, the look you find in her eyes is altogether different. There’s hunger there now, and need.

She pulls you to your feet, wraps her arms around your neck, and your heart stops beating for a moment when your lips touch. 

Gentle, soft at first, as it always was, because despite being friends with benefits for a year or so and friends for much longer you both never quite got over that initial awkwardness, those odd, clumsy moments when you both knew what you wanted but weren’t quite sure how to go about initiating the process to get it.

You liked to think it was because you were both hopeless romantics at heart, and something within you both thought that sex without the feelings was beneath you, was something only indulged in by desperate single people who couldn’t get into a relationship to save their lives. Perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to be the one to admit, at least on the outside, that this was just for pleasure, that you were using a friend for an orgasm or two and that was it, end of story, we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

But the feeling quickly fades amidst the feel of another body pressed to yours, and soon the kiss becomes heated. Tongues dance, mouths open, your lips crush against each other. Your hands roam - yours around that tiny waist of hers, hers around your neck, fingers furrowing into the hair at the back of your neck. You pull her against you and her body molds to yours, warm and soft and pliant.

You break the kiss, eager to have more of her, your heart pounding now, so loud you fear she might hear it pounding out of your chest. She gasps as you dive into her neck, her hands weaving further into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. She tilts her head to the side, gives more of herself to you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. “Fuck. Need this.”

You devour her neck, finding and fixating on those sensitive spots where you knew she loved to be kissed. Your hands slide up her back and cup her ass and you’re thankful again that she decided to wear such a flimsy outfit that did little to hide the wonders of her body. 

She pulls away for a moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and she’s topless now, her hands working on your own clothes and divesting you of your button-up and t-shirt you wore beneath it. You come together again and the thrill of her soft, warm breasts pressing against your chest takes the breath away from your mouth for a moment, even as she covers your newly breathless lips with a kiss. The stiff peaks of her nipples press against you, tight and needy, sending a shiver up your spine.

You reach down, pick her up with your hands beneath her ass - and she giggles again as you carry her toward her bedroom. Her legs wrap themselves around your waist, her arms around your neck, but she weighs nothing against the need for her that gives you all the strength you need. She’s smiling and laughing and she’s everything you could ever want, right there in your arms.

She’s yours, and she’s not.

You drop her onto her bed, where her landing gives those small, perfect breasts of hers a delightful looking bounce. Your eyes find hers and for a moment, a split second, you’re afraid again - that she can see right through you, find the way you really feel about her beyond the hunger and lust and need. 

Because Chou Tzuyu is perfect - when she’s topless on her bed, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded, yes - but she was also perfect when you met her in your senior-level psychology lecture, perfect when you helped her move into this very apartment, perfect when you went out for dinner after she landed her first big job in her field; the very same one where she’d meet the guy she was apparently so very into, the same guy you most decidedly were not, the same guy you were apparently a substitute for on a lonely Friday night.

You need her - that perfect, tight body, the wide hips and full thighs, the round, perky breasts and the beautiful smile - but in ways beyond the physical. You need her beyond lonely weeknights and 2am weekend hookups. You need her for Sunday mornings at the grocery store where you both plan your lunches for the week, you need her for vacations in Fukuoka and Amsterdam and Vancouver. You need her for random, candid photos on your phone during a coffee date where she believes, ridiculously, that she were anything less than perfect in your eyes.

But she’s not yours - at least, not in the way you would like. She’s half-naked on her bed and you’re between her spread thighs and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you whole and somehow, someway, that’s not enough. It would never be enough. But it’s all you have. It’s all she can give you.

You bend to kiss her, and being past that clumsy, awkward initial phase, the kiss is heated, passionate. It’s also a short one, because the rest of her body beckoned, and you didn’t possess the patience or self-control to deny yourself what was yours to take. You indulge in the delights of Chou Tzuyu’s body because it’s a distraction from the feelings that you fear might take over if you indulge them, if you let yourself dream about what your life would be like if she weren’t just a friend, weren’t just a Friday night fuck.

You kiss a path down her neck, to her sharp, prominent collarbones, each soft peck eliciting a little gasp or hiss from her lips. When you reach her breasts she’s practically begging, back arched off the mattress, desperate to have your mouth on her. She loved having your hands on her small mounds, your lips locked over her nipples, licking and sucking. Smaller boobs are more sensitive, she’d said once, only half-jokingly, and you never forgot it.

You give her what she wants - what you both want. Your mouth latches on to one breast, lips closing over her tight nipple and sucking, licking, lightly biting.

Tzuyu moans - a long, languid sound of pleasure, her loudest of the night. You never tired of hearing the pleasure leaving her lips in long, wordless drawls. It was like music. It was a song that only she knew the lyrics to, that she performed only for you, and you never tired of hearing it play.

Your mouth and hand swap, your lips latching tightly to her other nipple while you squeeze the other one with an open palm, relishing the feel of the soft flesh beneath your fingers. 

You spend a little longer on her right breast, because you knew it was somehow more sensitive than the other one - just another of those small things you knew about her body that no one else did. Another fact about Chou Tzuyu that belonged just to you, that you held tight against your chest and treasured greedily. You loved knowing that you knew things about her body no one else did. 

You loved knowing that you were the only one who knew these dirty, filthy little things about her, and that you were the only man on earth she trusted with them. The thought of sharing that knowledge with another man - or even worse, of losing access to it altogether, having it taken away from you by some random asshole who didn’t know these things, hadn’t worked to learn them - made you feel something dark and upsetting, something between fear and anger.

Tzuyu is a moaning and sighing mess now, her legs wrapped around your lower back, her own back arching up and off the mattress in an attempt to offer more of her body to you. Her nails dig little spikes of pain into your scalp with each suckle you draw from her nipple. Her thighs part even further and you feel the warmth between them pressing against your belly, even through the green shorts riding up her hips. She moans and writhes beneath you and if you’d spent the rest of the night with her breasts in your mouth and under your palms you would’ve been satisfied with that alone.

But she has other ideas - wants more, craves more. The fingers she’s woven into your hair push you downward. You release her stiffened nipple from between your lips with a pop, gazing up momentarily to find her looking back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, a sigh on her lips. Their corners perk up in a barely noticeable, shy little smile.

Her tongue darts out, moistens her full pink lips, and you catch the unspoken request.

You bend your head again, returning your lips to her skin, starting a trail down her flat stomach, taking care to press a soft kiss on that cute belly button of hers. You open your eyes to watch her abs flex with every movement, delighting in the sight and feel of the tight muscle beneath the perfect, creamy skin. Hers was a body she’d spent many long hours in the gym and pilates studio for, and you were more than happy to make sure she knew how worth it it all was.

You reach her shorts, eventually - the flimsy strip of soft green cotton that was just barely enough to provide her with some measure of modesty. You take a moment to admire the way they sat on her hips, the way her full, flushed thighs look spread beneath them. She squirms under your gaze, her hips searching for friction, begging you to get them off her.

Your patience outlasts hers, because she’s the one to reach for the buttons keeping the shorts closed. You consider stopping her and undoing the buttons yourself, but there is a part of you that needs to see her undress herself for you, needs to watch her reveal her most intimate parts to you and you alone.

Thin, dainty fingers make quick work of the button, and she raises her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pulling them off her hips. You make way as she pulls the shorts off the long, endless length of her legs. She tosses them aside, over the side of the bed, where for all intents and purposes they cease to exist.

Her thighs remain tight together for a moment, only a few moments - and in those seconds her eyes are locked on yours, capturing and holding every ounce of your attention. Her thighs part, her legs spread and allow you back between them, but your eyes hold her gaze regardless. Her eyes tell you she wants you to relish the way she looks, naked and vulnerable, her body spread and laid out for you to take, to make yours for the rest of the night.

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you mumble, unable to really say anything more than her name.

She smirks, those wonderful lips of hers curling into a smile. Without further word she grasps your skull with her palms and gently pushes you down towards her waiting pussy.

Her cunt is beautiful, like the rest of her - flushed and pink and glistening in the soft light of her bedroom, the insides of her thighs already moist with her juices. You bend down and give her a long, slow lick from the base of her opening to the top. The taste of her floods your palette just as the sound of the gasp that leaves her lungs fills your ears - a sound that is quickly muffled by the closing of her warm, moist thighs around your cheeks and face.

You do it again, give her another lick from bottom to top, then a third. You swirl her juices around on your tongue, relishing the taste of her. She’s squirming now, writhing, waiting for you to really commit to pleasuring her, her back arching and her nails digging more incessantly into your scalp.

You take a glance up at her - a viewpoint that you were truly blessed to bear witness to - past the flat planes of her stomach, between her heaving breasts, and finally to her face, flushed and pink, lower lip tucked under teeth, eyes fixed on you. She does it again - communicates her need without words, telling you, begging you, to give her the pleasure she so desperately needed. 

And so you do, bending and closing your lips around the tender bud of her clit, your tongue darting out softly, gently, avoiding the sensitive nub and instead licking around it, tracing soft, slow circles around it, just the way you knew she liked. 

The wordless song that has been leaving her mouth all night hits a higher tone, another octave as you work her over with your tongue. Everything intensifies for Tzuyu - the pleasure coursing up her spine, the wetness between her legs, the volume of the moans leaving her mouth. Her head falls back, eyes shutting, mouth now permanently ajar.

It intensifies for you, too - the pinpricks of irritation her nails are digging into your scalp become painful nails, the wet warmth of her thighs closes ever more around your cheeks, and the slick wetness of her cunt increases, making your lips and chin slick. You continue to swirl your tongue around the tender flesh surrounding her clit, neither increasing nor decreasing in pace - simply maintaining your current one, knowing from experience what made her body work, what would give her the most pleasure.

Tzuyu becomes a mewling, quivering mess beneath your tongue. The moans and profanities leaving her lips continue unabated. She forces herself every now and then to open her eyes, glance down at the top of your head nestled between her spread legs, the mere sight of you there, in her most intimate area with your lips around her clit, enough to send yet another spike of pleasure up her spine and into her addled brain. 

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” she manages to gasp, her brain barely able to form recognizable words out of the stream of sounds leaving her mouth. “Fuck, keep going.”

You knew where exactly where she was, what level of pleasure she was experiencing - knowledge that was the product of many a night doing exactly this, pleasuring her just the way you were now. You knew that she was right there, dangling on the precipice, and that she needed just that one last nudge, one last push.

You slip your right hand from where it was wrapped around her thigh, sliding it beneath her, bringing your fingertips to her drenched opening. She gasps as she feels your fingertips at her thus far neglected entrance, knowing what it means, knowing what is about to come. You can almost feel her pussy writhe and ripple around your fingers, now a knuckle deep, urging you, begging you deeper.

“Please,” she gasps, and you oblige. You slide your index and middle fingers inside her, palm up, and the effect on her body is immediate. Her moans cut out, her entire body goes rigid for a moment, as though shocked by lightning. The silence left by the cessation of her moans leaves only the sound of her body writhing on the bed to fill your ears, along with the wet slickness of your fingers moving inside her.

Throughout it all your tongue is swirling around her clit, merciless, unwavering in its pace and depth and pressure. Your fingers are ones pushing her, upping stakes, sliding slowly deeper inside her slickness, curling upward, searching, finding, then teasing.

It takes only a few seconds of your fingertips grazing that most sensitive part of her before Tzuyu orgasms, taking herself by surprise almost as it did you. Her world explodes, her body goes stiff, her eyes shut and for a few wonderful moments all she sees is stars.

You almost have to fight to hold her down with your free hand flat on her tense belly lest your mouth lose contact with her spasming cunt. You fight to keep your tongue and fingers moving, if at a slightly slower pace, letting her ride it out, letting her feel and relish every second of the pleasure coursing its way through every fibre of her being. She’s quiet through it all, mouth frozen in a silent scream, which was rare - she was usually one to announce and talk through her pleasure, but here she was, rendered unable to even moan.

“Fucking hell,” she spits, sometime later when she is able to form words again. Her body is suddenly boneless and sinking into the mattress, utterly drained. Her thighs finally loosen around your head, much to your chagrin, because you’d grown fond of the sticky warmth you’d found between them.

She pulls your face up toward her, and you delight in the tour you’re given of her breathless, sweaty body beneath you as you crawl up the bed until you’re face-to-face. When you reach her lips she captures yours in a tight, passionate kiss, her tongue finding yours and tasting herself on its surface.

“I need you now,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours. You need her too. You always have, truth be told, but perhaps not in the same ways that she needed you. You want to say something, lying here, inches from her face, her eyes needy and vulnerable. But the words never come. The moment passes.

Before you can react any further her hands slide from your head to your shoulders, where she gives you a gentle push onto your back on the bed. She rolls atop you, straddling your hips.

There’s a coy smile on her lips as she undoes the belt at your waist before undoing the button and fly of your jeans and pulling them down your hips. She lets out a soft giggle as you raise your hips and pull the clothes off your legs as though they were on fire. This is all a game to her, a release, a fun, if momentary, distraction. The realization of that stings a little, somewhere deep inside you, where she can’t see the hurt she’s caused to you.

When you’re finally as naked as she is, she straddles you again. Your eyes find hers, as they always did, drawn to them, magnetically, as though you could always find what you needed in them. The small moment of levity and amusement she gained from watching you desperately undress disappears, replaced again by need and desire. 

Her tongue slips out between her lips when she gazes down and sees your cock, hard and aching. Her hand reaches out to grasp it and you feel the air rush out of your lungs at this first intimate contact. She brings your tip to her entrance, dragging the head up and down through her lips, lathering it with her slick juices.

You want to say something, want to tell her how utterly captivating she looks on your lap, your cock at her entrance; you want to tell her how much you wish you were about to fuck your girlfriend or your wife and not just a friend; you want to tell her how the very thought of another man being where you are, right now, upsets you more than you had any right to be.

The moment passes - again. You slide inside her, and suddenly words don’t exist any more.

The sight of Chou Tzuyu impaled hilt-deep on your cock is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, like nothing else you ever will. She’s feminine perfection, right here, on you, wrapped around you. 

Her head is tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration. Her breasts are perfect and round and her nipples taut. Her abs flex - defined, toned. And her thighs - perfect, full, flushed. She’s more than you can take. She’s more than you can keep.

It’s a feeling that is only intensified when she begins to move, begins to use those strong, firm thighs and hips of hers to move herself up and down your cock, slowly, with soft, measured movements. She lets herself get used to you, get used to that delicious stretch of you inside her. It’s painful, in a way, how slowly she’s moving - it takes more self-control than you’d care to admit not to just hold her hips down and piston into the wonderful slickness of her cunt.

But hurting her was the last thing you wanted. If only she’d known how much she was hurting you. You wonder if she would stop if she knew. You wonder if she would even care.

Eventually she ups her pace as her body molds itself around you. She’s beginning to sigh and gasp now, mostly on the downstroke as your cock slides inside her, spreading her apart and stretching her out, sending shocks of pleasure throughout both your bodies with each entry. Your hands are firm on her hips, resisting for now the temptation to reach up and play with her softly bouncing breasts, or pull her back down onto your cock with more force. You’re content, feeling her, watching her take her pleasure from you.

Watching her use you.

Tzuyu feels your eyes on her, roaming her body, drinking in the sight of her. One hand reaches up to her breasts, capturing one, teasing the taut nipple for a moment with long, dainty fingertips, giving you a show. Eventually she brings both her hands to her scalp, gathering her hair, pulling it above her head and holding it there. She’s a vision, then and there - her hands above her head, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as she continues to ride you.

“Jesus, Tzuyu,” you spit, the profanities tumbling from your mouth before you even knew you were speaking them. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She lets her hair fall from the top of her head in a chocolate waterfall. Her hands cup her own breasts, fingertips playing with her aching nipples.

“You like me like this, baby?” she hisses, a question she knows the answer to. “You like me like this, bouncing on your cock, all tight and wet for you?”

“Fuck, yes, Tzuyu, fuck.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, before her lower lip curls under a perfect white tooth. She lets something deep and guttural escape her throat behind her bitten lip.

She bends over you, hands on either side of your head, hair framing a face twisted in pleasure.

She ups her pace, riding you fiercely now, hips slamming down onto yours at a pace that is almost violent. Your hands grasp her thighs, fingers clawing into the soft flesh, feeling the muscles beneath them work to throw their owner against you over and over and over.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, and you oblige.

You thrust upward to meet her, timing each movement of your hips to match with the downstroke of hers, and soon you are slamming your bodies against each other at a merciless pace.

Tzuyu shrieks - loud, sharp. She swears and spits and she’s becoming a loud, mewling mess atop you, but throughout it all she manages to keep riding you, keep bouncing that perfect body of hers atop your cock. Her cunt pulsates, squeezes you like a velvet glove. She’s so wet, leaking with so much arousal, that every slamming of your hips against each other is muffled by the wet stickiness that has coated much of your lower bodies.

“Oh god, oh god, I-” she begins, each word punctuated with a thrust of your cock into her cunt. “Oh fuck, I, so good-”

You watch her, watch that perfect face of hers twist in pleasure, watch as that perfect body of hers takes your cock. Your brow furrows and your hips burn with the effort but you feel none of the fatigue, none of the weariness of the physical effort. All that matters is her pleasure. All that matters is making sure she-

“Cumming-” she hisses, just barely before she does. 

Her eyes shut, body stiffens, just as it did when she came on your mouth - and her cunt tightens wonderfully around your cock, pulsating, squeezing. You bury yourself inside her to the hilt, wanting to feel every second of her orgasming around you. You can feel the shocks of pleasure radiating from her, reaching her limbs, flooding her brain with sensation. 

When she remembers to breathe she lets out a long, drawn out breath. Her arms, shaky, finally give way and she collapses atop you, head next to yours. For a few long seconds she does nothing but breathe heavily against you, the gasps and sighs that leave her mouth loud against your ear. Your hands roam her sweat-slick back, fingertips tracing a path down her spine and pulling a soft sigh from her tired lips.

“God,” she says into your ear. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”

You loved and hated when she called you that. It was a pet name for lovers - and she only used it during sex. She only ever called you by your first name anywhere outside the bedroom. Another reminder of the boundaries. Of the limits.

“You feel amazing, Tzuyu,” you say, truthfully. Her cunt is still pulsating softly around your painfully stiff cock as the last waves of her orgasm leave her body. The warm slickness of her around you made a pleasant distraction from your emotions. Pleasant, but not easy.

You feel her lips curl into that sly smile of hers again against your cheek. She plants a few kisses under your ear, tracing a path along your jaw, until she finds your lips. Her hips begin to move again, side to side - not taking you in and out of her body, but just moving you around, swirling your stiffness inside her.

“Your turn, baby,” she whispers, half-lidded eyes locked on yours. “How do you want to cum in me?”

You’d had her in every position imaginable over the time you’ve been fuck buddies. But you always enjoyed one of them more than the others.

“Want you from behind-” you begin. “-Tzu.” you finish, resisting the temptation to call her ‘baby.’ Some small, bitter part of you felt she didn’t deserve to be called that, not if she was going to tease you, hurt you with its use, make a weapon out of it that she wielded carelessly, inconsiderately.

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice your momentary hesitation - maybe she was still recovering from the high of her orgasm, or maybe she was too focused on gyrating her hips around the stiffness still hilt-deep inside her.

“Alright, baby,” she says, again, the word stinging even if it was laced with the sweet honey of her voice. The smile on her lips is proof of how oblivious she is to the damage she wreaks with each wreckless use of it. 

You didn’t blame her. How could you? How could you expect someone to know what you felt internally when you continually denied it externally?

You’d promised each other, when you first started this little arrangement, that you’d put an end to it if either of you found yourselves with anything even remotely resembling feelings for the other. But how could you end it, when you’re in her bed and you’re both naked and she’s wet and ready and on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at you, slick pink lips opening to say-

“Come take me, then.”

A stronger man would have ended this a long time ago. You were not that man, not today. You doubted there were many men in the world with that level of strength.

You bring yourself behind her, admiring the sight of her - perfect, as she always was, perfect in every sense of the world. She’s creamy skin and a tiny waist and those hips and thighs, my god, those hips and thighs. She’s there and wet and ready and wanting and who could say no?

You bring your tip to her opening, parting her lips with your head, swirling it, swiping it up and down her slick flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure into both of your bodies. She sighs and her back arches delightfully, the dip of her spine sharp and prominent in the low light of her bedroom. She mewls and sighs, her hips pushing back against you, needy, wanting.

“Fuck, baby, come on,” she sighs, she begs. 

You loved her voice, soft and light, like silk spun into air - but you loved it most when it was begging, needy.

Her hips continue to push against you, the round cheeks of her ass pressing against you, trying to pull you inside her herself. “Please,” she continues, airy and breathless. “Put it in me. Don’t you want my pussy? Don’t you want me?”

You did. You wanted her, but in more ways than this. Chou Tzuyu is on her hands and knees in front of you and she’s dripping wet and begging and somehow it’s not enough.

One of her hands slides down her body, and her fingertips part the slick lips of her pussy. She’s glistening and pink and pure distilled need, right there, right here, ready for you to take. 

And she doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, is blissfully oblivious to everything but the emptiness between her legs. All she wants is a fuck. That’s it. That’s all you are. You’re everything and nothing, all at once.

“Look how empty I am without you inside me, baby. Come fill me up.”

You slide inside her - how could you not, after hearing that? She’s so tight and hot and wet, and you forget, momentarily, everything other than the feel of her cunt wrapped around you.

You fuck her - hard, firm, your pace fuelled more than you would care to admit by a darkness inside you that you weren’t proud to admit to. Jealousy, of some man you’d never met, some man who made her feel like you never could? Anger, at her, for not seeing how you felt about her, how amazing you could be together?

Whatever it was, it was ugly and came from a dark place, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But you fuck Chou Tzuyu with it running through your veins - fast, hard. And she sighs and moans and thinks you’re just especially turned on today, want a harder fuck than usual. She doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know that you’re using her body the way you are, as an outlet for your frustration and anger as much as an outlet for your pleasure.

You reach forward, running your fingers through her hair with a surprising gentleness, even as your cock hammers in and out of her body, rocking it, pounding her.

Then your fingers close, pull. She yelps, gasps.

Her spine arcs sharply backward as you pull backward on her hair. You use her hair like a leash, pulling back as you thrust forward. Tzuyu can do nothing but take it, her body given to you fully. The spasming and quivering of her cunt around you is evidence of her acceptance, her submission. 

Your hips slap wetly against her ass with each hard thrust you make into her tight, slick pussy. The bedroom fills with it - flesh hitting flesh, wordless sighs and moans that turn into begging, profanity, name calling - the lewd soundtrack of sex.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tzuyu manages, “You’re so fucking deep, fuck, more, fuck me more-”

You shut her up. The hand pulling her hair wraps around her scalp, pushes her face down onto the bed. You pin her down, your palm flat against the back of her neck and upper shoulders. Throughout it all you are fucking her, using her, just as she uses you, even if it’s for different reasons, with entirely different depths of emotion.

Her mouth muffled against the bed, she’s unable to say or do much more. And you prefer her this way, because every word she says - even the ones that spur you into fucking her harder, faster, deeper - will only make it harder to leave her when you’re done.

Not that you needed much motivation to fuck her the way she liked - hard, deep, but not wild or uncontrolled. You maintain your pace, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed and tightened rhythmically around you. Tzuyu knew how to communicate with her body, knew how to tell you exactly what she wanted without words.

You watch her beneath you, relished the sight of her helpless and unable to do much of anything but take your cock again and again. Her moans and sighs are muffled by the cotton of her bedsheets, but you heard enough of them to tell you you were hitting just the right spots inside her. She’s under you and she’s yours and you do your best to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around you.

You feel that feeling in your core, the telltale building of pleasure in your gut that heralds your impending orgasm, tells you to fuck her harder and deeper and bury your cum inside her. She must have felt it too, somehow, in the slightly more erratic rhythm of your thrusts, or the tighter grip of your palm against the back of her neck.

Tzuyu turns her head enough to clear her mouth of the bedsheets, despite your palm on the back of her neck.

“Fucking cum in me,” she hisses, “Please cum inside me. Make me yours.”

The perfect words, on any other night - but on this night they only hurt you. 

Because she isn’t yours, might never be. Tomorrow, she might be another man’s. Even as you thrust harder and harder and your orgasm comes closer and closer all you can think of is how empty this feels, how even if she’s under you and taking your cum she’s not what you want her to be, what you need her to be.

But for a moment, a fleeting, blissful moment, you forget all that. Your hand leaves the back of her neck to join the other one at her hips, pulling her hips back against yours as you crest your peak, burying yourself inside her and letting go.

She moans as she feels you pulse inside her, each movement of your cock signifying another rope of warm, thick cum that fills her thirsty, needy little cunt. You give her a few more short, sharp thrusts before you bury yourself inside her for the last time. She’s so fucking full of you that your juices begin to overflow from her stuffed pussy, around the lips still tightly wrapped around your shaft, down your balls and her flushed thighs.

Time freezes, becomes irrelevant, and for a few blessed minutes you forget everything about the way you feel about Chou Tzuyu.

When your senses return and your brain has recovered long enough to process thought, the first thing you’re aware of is her voice.

“Fuck,” she’s saying, “God, that was… god.” And then she’s saying your name, and it makes you wince, as though hearing her say it caused you pain. 

You slip out of her, and she winces herself - although hers is borne of the emptiness you’ve left inside her and not out of any deeper emotion. She makes no effort to get off her hands and knees, staying frozen there, her ass in the air like some lewd testament to the sinful acts you’ve just committed. You watch, absent-mindedly, as your cum drips from her well-fucked cunt, down her thighs, staining her bed.

Eventually she falls onto her side, facing you. You’re sitting there, on your knees on the bed, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy. She’s so perfect, so desirable - and you curse yourself for the millionth time that night that you lacked both the wisdom to find the words to say and the courage to say them.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the guy she wants, not the one she’s waiting for a call from. And that’s when it hits you, dark and ugly and painful - you wonder if she were pretending you were him this whole time, pretending it was his cock fucking her, making her cum, cumming in her, using you like some fucktoy replacement for the real thing.

You turn away from her, as though the very sight of her were somehow painful to you, despite the fogginess of your post-orgasm haze. Before you know it, you’re climbing off the bed, finding your pants on the floor, throwing them on.

“Are you-?” she begins, her words soft as you find your t-shirt and button-up, throwing them on.

“I, uh, I have to get back to the party,” you stammer, hoping she would buy your flimsy excuse for an exit. But you had to leave, had to do anything to get out of that room. The thought of losing her, the thought of this being your last time together - it hurt, it was too much, and every fibre of you screamed to get away from it.

“Oh,” she says, softly. You turn to find that she’s sitting up on the bed now, her arms wrapping around her knees.

“There’s, uh, my friend, he, he introduced me to this girl,” you mumble, fabricating a story, trying to come up with some way to hurt her, just as she’s hurt you. “I told her I’d, uh, get back to the party. She likes me, I think,” you add, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

“Right,” she says, surprise and something else in her low voice. Her knees come up closer to her chest. “So, um, hey, about that guy-”

“Good luck with him,” you spit, cutting her off, afraid of what you might hear if you let her continue. “Uh, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a short silence, one that drags on for longer than you’d like. You don’t look up at her, unable to muster the courage to do so. You fumble with your shirt buttons, fingers numb.

“Sure,” she says, finally. “I… I think I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Right. I, uh, I should go. I’ll. Uh. I’ll talk to you later,” you say, as you turn towards her bedroom door.

You think you hear her say something, a couple of words.

Your eyes finally look up at her, but she’s looking away. You look for confirmation on her face, but she’s turned away from you, and her expression is unreadable. She suddenly looks small and vulnerable.

“Did- did you say something, Tzuyu?”

“Nothing,” she says, a hand pressed against the side of her face, her eyes shut, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache. But just as quickly it appears, it’s gone, and Tzuyu manages a weak smile, even if there’s no happiness or mirth in her eyes. “It’s nothing. Be safe getting back to the party, okay? And don’t forget your jacket - it’s cold outside. Let me know when you get there.”

“I, I will, Tzuyu,” you say, words shaky, unsure. “See ya.”

You leave her, leave her hot, stifling apartment.

The night is cold.

Author’s Note: High five to you if you guess what she said.

[dark-and-kawaii]

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆ — Summary: Pinning your body to his desk, Nanami fucks you like he owns you ♡

Nanami wrapped his tie around your delicate neck, constricting your breathing as he slid his cock inside you from behind. His thrusts were deep and slow, pulling on the fabric around your neck every time he bottomed out. The feeling of him stretching you out so perfectly while choking the air from your lungs had your body in an absolute frenzy- your eyes and mind fuzzy~.

“You’re so beautiful with my tie wrapped around that pretty little neck of yours.” His voice was raspy as he leaned forward to plant a kiss on the nape of your neck, pulling harder on the tie as his lips met your skin.

The rough fabric of his suit scraped against your exposed flesh, causing an indescribable sensation all over your body. Your mind was in a haze as you were getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen, your brain unable to concentrate on anything other than his cock massaging- stretching your tender sweet spot, your poor cunny being abused in all the right ways. He had you right where he wanted you.

“F’Kento~ ♡ F-Feels l-like m’m melt’ting~~♡♡” Your fingertips desperately clawed at his desk, your breasts smooshed up against the cold wood, chafed from the friction caused by his fast and hard thrusts, “M-y nip-ples~♡” Drool was trickling down your chin, your tongue hanging out of your mouth as you tried to form a sentence, “My- nipples, ru-bing~A-ahh ♡ A-h, FUCK~! ♡ Mmm... N-not s-so ha-aard~~♡ Pleaseee, Keennn~ ♡♡ I-I ca-“

You felt his hand grasp the back of your neck and roughly shove your head down against his desk, your cheek pressing into the surface, your drool seeping onto his paperwork, “You were saying something, dear? You want me to go harder? Is this what you were asking for?"

Nanami was merciless, pounding into your cunt almost desperately, as if his life depended on it, “You’re strangling hah- my cock so nicely, my love, I can hardly move.”

The veins in his hands and forearms were popping out with each thrust, beads of sweat dripped down his neck, dampening the collar of his dress shirt.

Grabbing your chin, he craned your head to the side so that he could get a better look at his fucked out darling. A trail of saliva connected your bottom lip to the papers below you, your tongue lolled out like some sloppy whore who hasn’t been fucked in ages... It took everything in him- his nail biting into your skin so that he didn’t blow his load right then and there… you were so fucking beautiful. His sweet little wife~

Nanami crashed his lips against yours, hungrily kissing you, his tongue sliding past your lips. You were so close. His cock was throbbing inside you, his pace becoming uneven as he chased his orgasm.

“Fnn~ ♡ Mn’~♡”

With one last tug on the tie around your neck, you came hard, clenching tightly around Nanami's cock.

His hips stuttered as his hot cum spilled inside of you simultaneously, a low grunt escaping his lips.

He let go of his grip on the tie, the fabric loosening around your neck. His hand slid up your throat and his fingers gently caressed your face.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?.”

You smiled lovingly at him and snuggled into his warm hand, planting a small kiss on his palm, “You didn’t, my love. You could never.”

Your chest was still heaving as you caught your breath, your head spinning from your post orgasm high.

Nanami's eyes wandered down to his cock, which was still inside of you, his cum dripping out from around the base. He carefully pulled out, admiring the view as his seed leaked from your pussy.

His lips were parted slightly, a blush creeping up his neck, his gaze fixated on your swollen lips.

He reached over to his desk drawer and pulled out a handkerchief, kneeling down behind you to clean you up, wiping up the mess between your legs.

You were absolutely spent. The events of the night had taken a toll on your body.

“Kento, could you… Could you carry me to the bath…? I- I don't think I can walk.” Your legs shook as you spoke.

He chuckled softly, "Of course, darling.”

[hurlingdown]

                     DRESS . . . TO IMPRESS ?

synopsis. in celebration of the most wonderful time of the year, the one piece men have prepared extra special gifts for you. zoro, law, luffy, ace.

tags. dom! reader, implied top! reader. christmas fluff, crossdressing, big muscly men in skimpy skirts, law in a nurse outfit, lingerie, heavy petting, dirty talk, kissing, horribly written crack (i inserted my humour into this), mentions of sex, fingering, cock-warming, rimming etc, don’t read this seriously, it gets progressively worse, spending the holiday season with them <3

a/n. this is my christmas gift to the one piece fandom. enjoy lol.

“merry christmas,” zoro grunted, and you felt a little dizzy from the overwhelming endorphin rush that went straight to your head and somewhere else. 

because this… this was something you would have never anticipated for a christmas gift. this was zoro you were talking about. the epitome of stoicism. had he been just… pretending all along? you would’ve expected something like an earring, maybe, to match his three. a love letter was simply out of the question… though a bouquet of poinsettias wouldn’t be over the top, if he had consulted nami in the first place. but this? this was just… breath-stealing. 

you watched as your lover rolled onto his stomach in his scanty outfit to show off the crystal pink plug that he had stuffed into his puffy rim, shooting you a coy glance over his shoulder. “well?” he hummed. “do you like it, babe?” 

“yeah,” you breathed out. “i love it. you look gorgeous. i think… i think i just fell in love with you all over again.”

he coughed, a blush rising to his cheeks, and yeah, this was something you were more familiar with—not the balmy heat shrouding your face, the dry crawl of your throat whenever you so simply looked at him, the hint of sweat building at your temples at the thought of doing nasty, sinful things to him. 

was he even real? were you dreaming? you better not be, because this was a meal you were going to spend your good time ravishing. 

“well, merry christmas to you, too,” you murmured lowly, climbing onto the bed after him, and he bit his lip with a shiver, raising his hips slightly to present you your christmas gift. you wasted no time in laying your hands on him, squeezing at the skin-tight fabric over his luscious thighs, giving his cushiony ass a small slap before smoothing over the warm ache. 

“gonna eat you out until you’re wet and sore, baby,” you told him, “and then i’m going to finger you while we binge watch shitty christmas movies together on the couch.” you licked your lips, pretending to think about what you were going to say next. “actually... might as well have you cockwarm me while we’re at it. and once we’re done with that, i’m gonna put it in your slutty hole and fuck you ‘til you start crying, okay?” 

“and after that too,” zoro mumbled, shifting onto his back and pulling you down for a soft, wet kiss that sent butterflies roaring in your stomach. 

TRAFALGAR LAW

“traf, sweetheart, have you seen my—oh.” 

“get. out.” 

“what are you wearing…?” 

“are you deaf? i said get out!” 

“hold on, okay? it’s not like i haven’t seen you naked before! just… is that a nurse uniform?”

but this was different from being naked. this was far more embarrassing. law looked at you with narrowed eyes, tone sharp with accusation that bordered on hurt. “what? you don’t like it?” he nervously bit his lip, pulling down his skirt and squeezing his legs together as though it would hide the very obviously aroused state of his crotch. 

“i do! how could i not? you haven’t even let me say anything yet!” you swallowed, feeling saliva seep into your mouth at the erotic sight before you. “you look so fucking hot, you have no idea. i love it, traf. i love it so much—” 

“okay, okay, i get it.” he huffed with feigned irritation, a small breath of relief escaping him as he shyly glanced at the floor, hands still clutching at the fabric of his dress. “m-merry christmas.” 

you took a few tentative steps forward until you stopped in front of him, and he frowned and turned away, heat rising to his cheeks. “don’t look at me like that. it wasn’t my idea, just so you know…” he swallowed when you put your hands on his bony hips and squeezed, subtly exploring the rest of his outfit with your eyes, and he sighed, relaxing a little. “hey, say something…” 

“sorry,” you chuckled, meeting his gaze again. “you’re just… beautiful. i love you. i love the fit. it looks so good on you… thank you for the christmas gift, love.” 

“and where’s mine?” he said, attempting to distract you from the deep flush on his cheeks. he slung his arms loosely around your neck, giving you an almost pouty look, to which your heart clenched at. “... don’t tell me you didn’t bring me one.” 

“oh, but i did.”

. . . you swore you tried so hard. but you could feel it creeping up on you, like a silhouette, surreptitiously tugging at the corners of your lips. fuck it. you just couldn’t hold back your smirk. you thought you were just absolutely brilliant, coming up with this idea of a gift. you knew he would love it. you just knew. 

“eyes on me, baby.”

maintaining sensual eye contact with him, you gently laced your fingers with his, pressing each of his knuckles to your lips in tender kisses. then, with a gentle smile, you guided his hand down, slowly, slowly, until it was fully pressed against the front of your trousers, right where the zipper was. you nudged your hips towards the cup of his palm, faking a moan.

“there’s your gift,” you murmured seductively, and watched giddily as his golden eyes widened in shock and arousal before a sharp, splitting pain on the side of your face knocked you out. 

“pervert!”

you laughed victoriously as you went down. like he wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black with that cute little outfit of his.

MONKEY D. LUFFY

“merry christmas!” you heard a deafening guffaw before something crash-tackled you from behind, and you fell onto the floor in a heap of rubbery limbs. 

“luffy!” you choked out a laugh as your lover wrapped himself around your ribs, still unwilling to let go. “baby, i can’t breathe.” 

“oh. sorry!” he retracted his arms and legs, getting off you with a spring. you sat up, and that’s when you saw what he was wearing. a cute christmas skirt and matching leggings, and he looked so ridiculously adorable you had to do a double take. he frowned at your flabbergasted expression, leaning in to inspect your face. “huh? did i break you? i promise, i didn’t mean to hit you that hard! wait, why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” 

he pat your head, as though that would fix things. you squinted at his carefree smile. hold on. what the absolute shit. was that lipstick? 

“luff,” you took a deep breath, trying to steady your heartbeat. “who dressed you up?” 

“nami, duh,” he sung, giving you a little twirl to show off the fit. you already knew the answer—you just had to double confirm. crap. just how much money did you owe her now? a thousand berri? two thousand? to be fair, for this quality of work, you’d pay her a fortune. “nami said you’d like it. well? d’you?” 

“yeah,” you murmured, half in awe, half in devastation, because this was a really bad time to get horny if luffy wasn’t in the mood. “you look really pretty, baby. i love it a lot.” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the horny. but it was just so hard to stop being horny all of a sudden. every time you closed your eyes, all you could envision was the horny: him in that skimpy christmas skirt, a bright flush on his cheeks, sprawled out on the bed underneath you… 

the soft press of lips against your cheek made your eyes shoot open. “huh?” 

the red colour on his lips was now slightly smudged, and you raised your hand to gently touch your now stained cheek in realisation. “oh…” 

“you looked consti- constipated sittin’ there!” luffy explained, in a much louder voice than usual, a thick blush covering his face. “i had to, y’knoow, help you out… in case you were having a hard time…” 

and well, there goes your horny.

PORTGAS D. ACE

“darling! you’re home!” you watched as your lover clumsily hobbled out of the bathroom, swathed in the most colourful gift-wrapping paper you had ever seen from chest to heel. “merry christmas!” 

you blinked. were you seeing things? “ace, honey,” you started, slowly, with a laugh. “know that i’d love it either way, but… are you supposed to be my gift?” 

“well, yeah, sort of.” he grinned, trying to make his way over to you in awkward steps. he winked, keeping himself just out of arm’s reach when you tried to pull him into a kiss. “just watch. you might even be surprised.” 

he raised a finger mischievously, and you watched as the tip of it caught on fire. he continued smiling his infamous ‘up-to-no-good’ grin, carefully bringing the small flame near his clothed chest. you raised your eyebrows, unsure, because as much as he was immune to fire, the gift-wrapping probably wasn’t... and the furniture in your house definitely wasn’t. 

“watch…” ace stressed with a hush, dramatically pressing his blazing finger onto the wrapping paper, to which it burnt a hole right through, orange flames immediately clinging on to the circular edges, rapidly widening the puncture. soon, his entire so-called ‘outfit’ was on fire, and you were starting to get alarmed when an eye-catching dark red slowly emerged from the burgeoning flames, strapped right across his chest. 

you choked. was that… a bra? 

“ta-da!” he shouted, opening his arms in full display with what could only be described as pure mirth. “fireproof lingerie!” 

what the fuck. you stood there, gaping, unwilling to believe. the rest of the flames gradually died down, revealing a gorgeous pair of red lace lingerie that hugged his crotch and chest in all the perfect areas, showing off his muscled figure, broad in the shoulders but tight in the waist, with thick hips and strong thighs. you could feel yourself salivating post-shock. 

“baby, you look really, really sexy, but…” you began, swallowing down your laughter. “forget it. why am i even surprised at this point?” ace grinned, albeit a little more sheepish than usual, rubbing at the back of his neck as you checked him out unabashedly. “ah, damn it. you look like a whole feast. i’m going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you tonight…” 

“ain’t that the purpose,” ace purred, shooting you a naughty glance through his lashes. “come and get me, hot stuff. and hey, guess what? we won’t have to worry about me accidentally burning my clothes off this time.” 

and needless to say, the both of you had a very merry christmas that night, indeed.

masterlist!

MERRY CHRISTMAS! SORRY IF YOUR BONER DIED 💓🫶

[vmpireslut]

pretty boy ren who just wants to devour you whole, literally. ♡ sucking your toes, biting you . . he’s soooooo pussy drunk over his cute little girlfriend. nsfw! minors do not interact or i’ll get you! this was supposed to be a short drabble, buttttt i got carried away. oops.

carnal.

𐙚

"renny, you gotta slow down!" manicured fingers feebly attempt to slow the man's cruel pace. choked sobs fall on deaf ears, calloused hands clinging to the back of your weak knees. pressing your legs back until baby-pink painted feet hang over his broad shoulders. eren's nothing short of fucking mean as he folds and squishes you against the car door, each fluid roll of his hips reverberating your head against the door with a thump. you can feel his fat cockhead scraping against your cervix. it hurts. and his hands are gripping you so tight you feel like you might break. he forgets how heavy he is, leaning all his weight onto you as he slides into your soppy pussy.

and despite how much it stings, you love it. you love him. every thrust brings a new wave of pleasure that makes your head spin. you can barely breathe, the air punched out of you every time he pushes in. salty tears stream down your face as you cling to the man for dear life. and just when you think he can't get any rougher, eren forces you even further against the car door. "stop runnin’ baby, you can take it.” the wet squelch of his dick sliding into you almost too embarrassing. your legs shake, pussy pulsing around his thick length. painfully, you're cumming. again. you don't know how many times you've cum at this point. eren drives you through it, groaning and muttering sweet words. the way he's fucking you, you'd think he was the one who just came. nails scratch against his sweaty back, body shuddering with the effort of keeping up with his brutal pace.

he slaps a hand against the car window, pushing off you and fucking his dick as far as he can into you. you feel him in your stomach, the slight bulge in your stomach a testimony. you mewl, legs trembling as the brunette continues to abuse your cunt. you're tired. everything hurts. "i know you're sleepy baby, just a little more. i-fuck, i swear." his words are barely intelligible, a string of curses, promises, and praises falling from his lips. the way his face contorts is beautiful. his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes screwed shut, and mouth hanging open as his thrusts grow sloppy. "oh my gosh," you're whimpering as he wraps his lips around your big toe, tongue swirling around the painted nail. the sensation is odd.

but it's not enough to deter your pleasure. if anything it heightens the feeling. the warmth that spreads through your body is overwhelming. your heat squeezing his cock, the muscles spasming as you cum again. he swears he could eat your pretty ass up. gently, pecking sloppy wet kisses on your feet, giving each foot the same attention. he kisses from the top of your toes to the golden ankle bracelet adorning your leg, you smell so good. "pretty as fuck," he's slurring, pussy drunk as he fucks you. you know he's close, the way he's babbling and whining.

eren has never been a biter, well, until tonight. he’s sinking his teeth into your calves as he holds your bottom half up, a poor attempt to stifle his moans. they were so loud they could almost drown out your own. you had never heard him so desperate before. your hips were moving on their own accord, rolling in tight circles and pressing back against him. he was desperate, and that only egged you on more. his nails dig into the soft skin of your thigh. “shittttt, my pretty baby lettin’ me use her sooo good.” his voice now cranked an octave.

the man is cumming shortly after. the feeling of your tightening walls pulling him to the edge. hot ropes of cum fill you. he pushes in as far as he can go, cock throbbing as he empties his balls. you can't tell what the hell he's saying anymore. his words are garbled, slurred together and almost incoherent. the only word you can make out is baby. it's a chant, the brunette calling you that over and over again. eren finally stills, his cock pulsating with the last spurts of his orgasm. the compact space is silent aside from the sound of labored breathing.

it's not until a few minutes later, after your heart rate has gone back to normal and your body isn't on fire anymore that eren slowly pulls his spent cock out of your pussy. cum leaks out, the pearly substance dripping onto the car floor. you feel so empty without his fat cock inside you. gently, he sets your feet back down on the car floor. he grabs his boxers off and wipes your leaking hole. the white fabric is covered in your juices and his cum. but he doesn't give a fuck, tossing it into the darkness. promising to clean it later. he tucks himself back into his sweatpants and looks down at you, eyes raking over your body.

his heart aches at the sight. puffy red eyes. a blotchy tear-stained face. pouty lips swollen from being bitten. a sheen of sweat covers your body, his fingerprints littering your waist. you look fucking ruined, and he can't help but smirk at the damage he's done. "erennnnn," you whine, reaching your arms out to him. the burly man obliges, his large body hovering over yours. "what?" his tone is teasing, lips pulled into a smirk.

"you gotta tell me what you want baby," you huff, brows furrowing. "you already know," you're pouting, arms still stretched out towards him. eren is smiling cheekily as he leans over, lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. his fingers brush against your cheek as he cups your face, tongue swiping along your bottom lip. you moan into his mouth, sore body arching into his touch. "didn't know you had a foot fetish renny.” you tease against his lips, eren can't stop the laughter that falls from his lips, eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. flushed cherks and a grin on his lips. he really is so handsome. you're delirious.

"i don't," he kisses his teeth, "just love your feet."

[celestiamour]

MEOW MEOW MEOW SE-MI SMUT X F!READER PLL,ZZPLZLZZ IM ON MY KNEES PLZ

ft. se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ an examination of piercings turns into something more┊0.8k words

contains: smut!! dom se-mi & sub reader┊tongue piercing, receiving oral, one mention of needles, innocent reader, se-mi is older & called “unnie”

➤ author's note: glad to see the girls getting just as much love as the boys in my inbox

“did they hurt?” you asked, gently holding your friend’s face in your hands and admiring her like a newly discovered painting from the renaissance era. it was mesmerizing how the light shone off the metal, and you couldn’t stop staring, even going as far as to run your finger over the little star of her nose piercing in awe without thinking. it was so damn cute how fascinated you seemed to be by these decisions she made nearly a decade ago in her teenage years.

normally, se-mi wouldn’t have let anyone put their hands on her and would probably punch them if they went anywhere near her face. yet here she sat in her bed allowing herself to be adored by you. she wondered if this was how cats felt when being coddled by their owners, the spoiled white persian kinds you see in movies with diamond collars and more toys than what they know to do with. “no, it was just like a pinch.”

“i couldn’t imagine that— having a needle pierce my skin, i mean,” you shivered. “my ears were pierced when i was a baby, but even then, they’re a little crooked because i wouldn’t stop crying.”

she giggled at the thought of it. “it’s not the needle that’s painful, it’s the healing process. the days after i got my tongue pierced were the worst, i couldn’t eat for days.”

“you have a tongue piercing?”

humming to confirm, she cheekily stuck out her tongue to show off the metal pierced through the muscle, even flexing it to flaunt the jewelry. it was extremely amusing to see how flustered you were becoming even though you tried not to show it.

“why did you get it pierced when it’s not even visible all the time?”

“cause it feels good for…”

“feels good for what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head in a way that made her want to eat you alive.

“well… it’s kinda hard to explain, but i could show you if you like…”

you didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was talking about at first until you found yourself flipped on your back with your shorts dragged to your ankles along with your panties and her head in between your shaking thighs, sliding her hot tongue between your folds and savoring the taste collecting on her palette. this wasn’t something best friends did, but you made no attempt to push her away and allowed her to do as she pleased.

“s-se-mi unnie…” you whined out, fingers finding and tangling with her dark locks yet also doing the contradictory action of wiggling your hips away. you’ve never felt this way before, knots twisting in your stomach and fire spreading under your skin as you try to wiggle away from the foreign sensation that felt too good to be real.

“ah, ah, ah, don’t run from me, you taste so fucking sweet.” her grip on your legs tightened as she pulled you closer to her, swirling the cold pierced metal across your throbbing clit and enjoying your moans like music. “i wish we had done this sooner, don’t you? god, i don’t think i could ever get enough now that i’m here.”

you couldn’t even verbalize a proper answer with nothing but pathetic whimpers falling from your mouth, eyes flickering between her and the ceiling as they rolled back with tears threatening to drip down the waterline. did things like this always feel so good, or was se-mi simply an expert who knew your body better than you did yourself with age and experience? silly little questions you would ponder if you weren’t getting your brains fucked out by just her tongue, making her wonder in return how you would handle taking her strap when you were already going crazy like this. (you have no idea how long she’s been fantasizing about having you like this, sitting in this very bed thinking about your soft skin and lips against hers with her hand crammed in her pants.)

“fucckk, ‘m gonna- ngh!!” god, you didn’t know the word to match your oncoming orgasm, you just knew a peak was about to be reached thanks to her talented tongue.

“you’re gonna cum baby,” she chuckled. “don’t be scared, just let yourself go for me.”

suddenly her plush lips wrapped around your delicate pearl and sucked hard, and like activating a button, you cried out in pleasure and unraveled all over her face, back arched and hands tugging on her hair. she gladly licked up the messy remnants with a smirk, proud to have made you climax in less than five minutes.

“you did soooo good for me baby,” she drawled and pressed a few sloppy kisses on your twitching cunt as a reward, “think you can give me one more?”

[wonryllis]

✴ ONE OF YOUR GIRLS TONIGHT.

❛ 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾.

FEATURING. sim jaeyun & fem!r GENRE. smut! they are fuck buddies and jake is sort of a fuckboy, dom!jake, obsessed but no commitment WDCT. 700 SONG───oftg

WARNINGS. SMUT PG18 ofc, choking, nipple play, unprotected sex, clit rubbing, rough sex, illusions to multiple rounds, brief dirty talk, bit of manhandling yeah. ( D𝒾RECTORY? )

jake sim’s favorite— you took pride in it. his little cum dump, the only one he fucked raw, the only one whose name he moaned out loud when he came— so much pride, you were blind to all the ways it was so wrong.

“fuck take it just like that,” jake grunts, the sound of skin slapping and your cum mixing with his in filthy squelches echoing in your ears in a numb ringing.

his hands grip your throat tight enough to keep you in place as he pistons in and out, fast and hard. forehead against yours, mouth fallen open in quick pants and dirty praises. his eyes narrow, brows furrowing while looking straight into your pretty brown orbs,“keep your eyes on me,” he grunts again, feeling his climax creeping up on him.

“you're always so tight, so warm— fuck oh god, makes me wanna fuck you till i physically can't anymore,” his words waver, tone going down as he struggles to hang onto to the edge.

“my pretty little slut,” one of his hands leave your throat, trailing down to fondle with your nipples. your evening gown torn on the side from the sheer force he used when he had pushed it down to pull out your breasts. as always. he just never seemed to have any kind of patience when he needed his cock to be inside you.

asking you to be his date for a charity gala, buying you the perfect dress and a matching lingerie set to go with it. touching you shamelessly the entire night before ripping it all off and pounding your brains out at his penthouse later. sometimes only lasting till you get inside his car— the need to have you so strong, he can't help but have to watch you cum at least once, either on his fingers, his mouth or if he's too worked up: on his cock, before he can even think of of driving off.

jake's fingers are rough as they touch you, shivers running down your body at his squeezes. jolting and jerking when he slips them over your clit, rubbing harshly. desperate to make you cum with him. the hand still on your throat moving to grab your jaw, squishing your cheeks together.

the way your face srunches up with pleasure, he can't take it anymore. overflowing with the urge to stuff you with his cock so deep you can't think of anything but how good he fucks you.

and so he does exactly that, grabbing your waist and throwing you onto the bed with your back against the mattress. slipping his cock into you in one brutal thrust and then pushing and holding your legs up over his shoulders by the back of your knees. it felt insanely hot and heavenly, the way you clenched again and again, gripping him so hard; he succumbed.

“shit shit shit— i’m cumming— fuck—” jake’s hips buck forward in jerks as he cums, his head thrown back while he groans and curses at every hot spurt of cum hitting against your walls.

he grabs your thighs in a bruising hold as soon as his high starts to eeb away, hammering into you at a pace that feels borderline hurtful,“can't ever get enough of you—” thrust. “it's fucking impossible—” thrust. “even if you milk me dry,” thrust. fucking you through your third orgasm of the night with no intentions of stopping any time soon.

imagining you everytime he is down with another girl, moaning your name and picturing your face when he cums in them. it would be an understatement to say you are his favorite.

jake is obsessed— addicted, to you, your pussy and to fucking you raw but he just can't commit. that's not him. it has always been so wrong but it felt so good.. neither of you could think of giving up this twisted relationship.

choke you and fuck you till you pass out. use you till his heart's content and fill you up to the brim. pepper your face with kisses and your neck with hickeys. and then disappear the next morning— out of reach until he needs you again. this was his kind of love.

taglist . . open ! @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp @laylasbunbunny @riribelle @ancnymcnzjy