#not even in a tongue in cheek way. just 'are you fucking stupid' or something similar

[kingkat12]

So Kate's (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dom/sub dynamics, foul language, humiliation, office misconduct, reader is a freak ouf

summary: being a brat has its consequences-- did you really think Mr. Godfrey was going to let that go with no repercussions? time to smarten up, and dress up too.

word count: 9,670

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a/n: I've been obsessed w Zendaya's shoes as of late, so you best believe I managed to squeeze in a chapter about Louboutins....... and we are FINALLY getting reader and Letha being cute besties again omfg so TIHI ENJOY<333

Handling pain is a skill.

However, there are some people that are born without the ability to feel pain, and that is often a lethal flaw-- if you don't feel pain, then you're actually more susceptible to injury, did you know? I didn't. After scouring BDSM forums all over the internet, I had quite frankly gotten obsessed with finding out everything I could, and the more I got into the pain aspect of it, the more I found myself unable to understand. 

I didn't like pain. Never have, never will like pain. That wasn't the part I enjoyed, or wanted, out of my odd relations with my boss. Although, it seemed I might be into the emotional pain of being Mr. Godfrey's secretary-- it certainly made my brain hurt and my cheeks burn, but in the most intoxicating way. Something told me that was a feeling I had been chasing my whole life, and now that I had it, I finally felt complete, and unable to let go.

But, back to it-- if you're unable to feel pain, then you're prone to unintentional self-injury, because you literally can't feel it when you get a paper cut, or when you've bitten your tongue too hard, or even broken your bones. Maybe it's alright to be in pain sometimes? Maybe it's fine to feel it in exchange for health? I had no idea. All I knew, was that I had managed to triumph over the worst pain a woman could handle; not my period, no, not childbirth, but--

Wearing So Kate's.

The classic stiletto by Christian Louboutin, famously worn by Zendaya and probably all of Hollywood.

I'm joking, of course-- I know there are much worse things I could go through. However, I had gotten a pair as a gift for finishing college, and originally, I fucking hated those pretty sons of bitches. They were gorgeous, elegant, classy, perfect, yet agonizing to wear. I couldn't walk for more than five minutes before my feet would beg to be beaten with a hammer in order to not be able to walk in them anymore. However, after about four months of wearing them around my apartment, making dinner in them, washing the dishes in them, doing my laundry in them, they almost started to feel like socks.

I had pushed past the pain, and gained something beautiful-- a wearable pair of Louboutins. 

And today, I finally dared to wear them to work. It wasn't like I was running track around Godfrey Industries, right? I could totally wear them without even noticing how ridiculously tall they were. I knew how to handle them, after all. I could totally fucking do this. 

Anyway, I needed something to distract me from the psychological warfare Mr. Godfrey was waging on me for biting his fucking thumb. Stupid, stupid girl.

Using my shoulder, I nudged the door to his office open and slipped in like a shadow, keeping myself small and unnoticeable. Hoping to get it over with soon, my first step was hurried, and that made the cup clink clumsily in the saucer; with a quiet hitch of my breath, I deliberately slowed, pressing my steps into silence. Thank fuck I wasn't a spy-- I'd get myself killed with my heavy damn steps. Or was it the Louboutins? 

One cube of brown sugar.

Not too much milk.

Stirred three times, exactly.

I always got Mr. Godfrey's coffee just right. I always made it with the utmost precision. If anything, I was the picture-perfect secretary right now (if you excluded the times I got off behind my desk, or the two times in my boss's office whilst he watched me). Had Godfrey Industries been a fair place to work, I wouldn't have any problems here. However, it wasn't-- this place was somewhere I'd guess the Anti-Christ would set camp, if he could choose. 

So, with my heart lodged in my throat, I continued making my way to Mr. Godfrey's desk, not daring to take my eyes off the coffee; there was no way in hell I'd spill any of it and give him more reasons to deem me incompetent. 

But just as he had done every day for the past week, Mr. Godfrey didn't look up. 

There was not as much as an acknowledgement, not as much as a glance. He sat behind his desk, back perfectly straight, one hand poised near his temple with a pen resting lightly between two long, slender fingers. His green gaze scanned some document with such intensity that it was almost theatrical, like he knew I was standing there and he was choosing, with full awareness, not to acknowledge me. Fucker. 

With a subtle roll of my eyes, I cleared my throat; "Your coffee, sir,"

I put it down one inch from the edge, centered with the stack of papers to his right, just as he had instructed me to do during my first week here. It was perfect; I was perfect. I put it down with a trembling sort of reverence, my hand ghosting over it for a second, unsure, like maybe if I lingered just a little longer, he'd finally look at me. Maybe he'd say something, acknowledge me? I didn't need much at this point. I'd take anything, just a glance, a huff, a sigh, anything.

But... nothing.

The air between us stretched thin. I could hear Mr. Godfrey's pen scratch against the paper in front of him, could see the way his sharp jaw flexed once, twice, like my presence was physically bothering him-- and then, he moved.

I held my breath as Mr. Godfrey's hand reached forward, slow and unbothered. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, that this would finally be the morning he gave in and spoke to me again, even if it was just a snide comment or a thinly veiled insult-- I was so starved for his attention, I would've taken it like praise. I would've taken it with open arms, whatever it would be. Even if it was just a tiny 'this coffee sucks', itwould probably make my day, and maybe even make me orgasm on some higher level right in my Louboutins.

But instead, Mr. Godfrey lifted the coffee cup by its delicate handle, turned a fraction in his seat, and... dropped it into the trash bin beside his desk. The ceramic hit the bottom with a sharp crack, and I flinched. The sound echoed in the quiet room like a slap-- I stood frozen, watching the faint steam curl up from the bin, mixing with the scent of scorched sugar and shame.

I balled my hands into fists. 

Mr. Godfrey had been pulling this crap on me for a week now, and I knew that it was because I had bit his thumb. I knew it, deep in my gut. But after he had let me cum on his shoe (yes, I know, I'm deeply ashamed, don't you worry), and I bit him (because I was overwhelmed by the power he held over me, like any fucking newbie would be), he had stepped on me and called me a brat! Who the fuck does that?! If anything, I should be spitting in his OCD-coffee!

... Oh, that's a good idea, actually.

I wanted to spit down at his feet too, maybe even specifically on his right shoe, where I had gotten off. How dare he make me feel this way? How dare he play these games with my head?! At the end of the day, it was fucking childish, and at the end of the day, it... was getting to me. Ugh. Why couldn't he at least look at me?

I forced a swallow past the burn in my throat, and I nodded even though he couldn't see it. Or maybe he could? Maybe he was watching me through his periphery with that sick, surgical precision he had, cataloguing my humiliation like it was data, like it was proof that this was working?

Bastard.

However, in the midst of my frustration and anger, I recognized that I had missed the sickness of it all. The twisted feeling of being scorched, and feeling my skin swell in resistance to the burn. I stood in Mr. Godfrey's office a beat too long; way too long, actually. Maybe I was stupid enough to believe that if he got uncomfortable enough, he'd say something? I just needed him to speak to convince myself that I hadn't imagined the whole thing, that I hadn't invented the way he had pressed me down onto this very desk, the way he had looked at me, and the way I had unraveled in his hands like a silk ribbon--

But Mr. Godfrey didn't change his mind. He wouldn't-- not for me. He didn't look at me, nor did he give me anything as much as a hum. Instead, he merely raised his hand and gave a short, dismissive flick of his fingers, a wordless, effortless command for me to leave, the same way one might shoo away an insect buzzing too close to their ear.

The flick of his wrist felt like a phantom bruise, and as though I had been slapped, I turned around on my Louboutin heels and marched out of Mr. Godfrey's office, stomping my every step to his floor. Hopefully, I'd leave a large scratch or two. 

How long would this war last? What did I need to do to get him to sign a peace treaty?

Ugh.

This day sucked.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

.... Okay, fine, maybe this day had some redeeming factors after all.

"--He's really sweet and all, but I feel like he can sometimes be too sweet. This isn't high school, y'know? I don't like going on dates with him and feeling like I'm going to prom every time!" Letha swirled the rosé in her wine glass, tutting the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth with disapproval. "What the hell happened to normal men in the 21st century? What happened to them, seriously? Where did they go?"

I could only laugh, glancing down at my Louboutins as she continued complaining-- lunch with Letha was always amusing. She also worked for Godfrey Industries, but much higher up (nepotism alert), and therefore always had access to my schedule. Even though she worked remotely from inside some mansion her father bought for her as her graduation present, she could therefore calculate when she could swoop by the lobby on the first floor and ask for me to be called down for lunch; the Godfreys were all smooth like that. 

Letha was the one who had gotten me my Louboutins for graduation, and Letha was the one who got me the interview at the company-- I could trust her. If anything, I needed her opinion on what was happening between me and her cousin, without her knowing who I was talking about. However, I needed to get to that somehow, eventually. "I don't know," I answered, placing my elbows on the table and putting my face in my hands. "But I promise you, you could find someone way crazier than someone who wants to date you the old-school way." Much, much crazier.

Letha sighed, cocking her head to the side as she looked back at me with those classic Godfrey-green eyes. It was almost scary how similar they were to Mr. Godfrey's-- well, of course. They were cousins, after all. Maybe I could keep looking into Letha's eyes for the rest of my life, and that'd relieve the withdrawal symptoms I was having from my boss no longer looking at me? Yeah, that sounded like a good plan. 

"You might be right," she purred, steepling her fingers as well, mimicking me. "Or maybe I just find it repulsive that he's into me? I've been scouring the internet, and that's what comes up most of the time."

I shrugged; "I don't know, Lee. Maybe you should bring that up with the guidance counsellor, just like in the good old days?"

"Ha-ha," Letha rolled her eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "But I think my main issue with this guy is that he seems genuinely nice. Big difference from Chad-- do you remember Chad? That asshole didn't even bother to pay for dinner when we flew to Aspen together!"

"Of course I remember Chad! But him not buying dinner for you doesn't really indicate whether he's a nice person or not, though?--"

"Come on! It's enough to show he was a shitty boyfriend!-- Oh, wait, yeah, that one's mine," 

Our conversation was cut off when our food arrived, and as we exchanged polite smiles and short thank you's, I couldn't help but notice the look in Letha's eyes when she scanned our waiter; it was almost flirty, yet openly hungry. She brought her hand up to her shiny blond locks, twirling it around her finger as she locked eyes with the guy, blinking sweetly, innocently-- I had to do everything in my power to not groan or laugh. It was crazy how this sort of stuff always worked for Letha without fail, because as predicted, our cute waiter left the table with a pink tint colouring his cheeks.

Godfrey-green eyes met mine once more with a playful smirk. "I love the waiters here," she purred. "That one's my favourite. He's particularly yummy!--"

"Okay, enough!" I grabbed my cutlery, suppressing my giggles. "You were just talking about the guy you're actually dating. What was his name again?"

A rather pregnant pause ensued. Letha swallowed, clearing her throat with suspicious anxiety. "Well, I call him Barty..." she mumbled, barely audible.

Wait. Immediately, I put down my fork. "No," I breathed, stunned. "Lee, don't fucking tell me his name is!--"

"He's from old money!" Letha whined, placing her glass next to her plate. "Of course he'd end up with a name like!--"

"Bartholomew?!"

"I know!" With a cry-like sigh, Letha grabbed her fork and stabbed her salad, visibly upset. "Okay, now it's decided. I should definitely break up with him."

I bit down on my lower lip, crossing my legs at my ankles as I hoped to regain my composure and hopefully not be too harsh with Letha's endeavours. "Again, I don't agree with that. Maybe he has a crazy name, but at least he seems normal! There are much worse men out there, believe me. Seriously, maybe you should stick around and take it slow, this time?" Believe me, believe me.

Letha stabbed another cherry tomato with such force you'd think it had personally offended her. "I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled. "Ugh... Bartholomew just sounds like the kind of name you moan by accident when you're trying not to finish."

I choked on a piece of salad. "Jeez, Letha!"

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're... not," I muttered, trying very hard not to imagine anyone whispering Bartholomew in a sexual context. Ew. Could not be me. "But I'm also begging you to change the subject."

Letha smirked, clearly pleased with her joke. "Fine, but I'm not wrong about him. He wears Balenciaga shoes unironically. You know how I feel about men who dress like they're about to blow Kanye West in the middle of January!

Ew, ew, ew! "Yeah, but you've dated worse!"

"And that's not a comfort!"

I ended up rolling my eyes, letting her spiral while I pushed my salad around my plate. This restaurant was glossy and cold in that exclusive way, and I knew I had to eat my food until its last crumb to not offend the head chef or something--- with its white tablecloths and modern chairs, this was the kind of place that pretended it wasn't trying too hard, even though you knew a thousand-dollar lighting consultant had planned the ambience. It was a typical Letha-place to dine. The wine was crisp, the water had cucumber in it, and someone was definitely eavesdropping from the next table over.

Still, it was better than the office, where Mr. Godfrey was ready to make my life pure hell. 

"Well," Letha said suddenly; "At least your love life's probably better than mine. I haven't seen you in a while, so I expect a good fucking update! Who are you dating at the moment? Does your guy also insist on intense eye-contact during sex? Sickeningly long cuddles afterwards? Ugh, I could barf..."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth-- I set it down gently. Eye-contact? If only. Physical intimacy? I wish. Sex? Oh Lord. I cleared my throat; "Actually, about that..." Your cousin is into some form of office sadism and has seen me cum multiple times. Did I tell you I came on his shoe last week? "I know you have more experience than me regarding relationships and men, so I need your opinion on something."

Immediately, Letha's ears perked up, and she beamed at me from across the table. She grinned like a cat who had just heard a mouse blink; "You're seeing someone?"

"Oh, hardly,"

"You're... sleeping with someone, then?"

"Not really?"

"What?" Letha chewed on a cherry tomato as her brows drew together. "How can you not really sleep with someone? Do you, like, exclusively dry-hump or something?"

"I'm-- yeah, I don't know what the fuck this is," I scooted closer to the edge of the chair, lowering my voice so that the rich aunties next to us wouldn't hear me. "It's not sex, but it's not nothing... it's much deeper than that."

Letha blinked, putting down her cutlery with urgency before leaning closer. "What do you mean?"

"There's-- there's this guy," I whispered. "And I feel like he's literally inside my head! It's like he knows what I'm thinking, like he knows my nastiest thoughts, and it's freaking me the fuck out because he uses it against me!"

Letha looked like she was about to explode like those birds in Angry Birds, barely able to contain her excitement. "I'm listening,"

"No, no, this is not a good thing!" I tried, fiddling with the napkin nearby. "He knows what I want before I even know it, and... these past few weeks, I've done some really crazy shit, and I just-- have you ever let someone control you?"

Letha's plush lips parted slightly, eyes scanning my face with confusion. "That sounds really... kinky,"

"Yes, but have you ever?"

"... No? I don't think so,"

"Are you sure? Has a guy never, like..." I couldn't even say it out loud. I glanced at the nosy ladies next to us who were trying to eavesdrop, and they quickly turned away from us and our conversation. Sighing, I turned back to Letha-- how was I supposed to avoid making it obvious that I was talking about her intimidating (and ridiculously hot) cousin? "Have you ever, like, for example... humped guy's a shoe?" Maybe it was a normal thing? Maybe I just wasn't experienced enough?

But then, Letha practically jumped in her seat, gasping; "Humped a shoe?!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Oh God. "Lee, please, I!--"

"I need to lie down!" Letha exclaimed, blissfully stunned. "Preferably in traffic, because this is so much juicier than Bartholomew! What the fuck have you been up to, seriously?! Who are you, and what did you do to my best friend?"

"--I didn't know what I was doing, okay? It just happened, and now I can't look at him without thinking about it! And even worse, he won't even look at me anymore! 

Letha had both hands over her mouth, but I could still see the unhinged smile hiding behind her fingers. "Oh my god. This is... this is the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life," she whispered, barely containing herself. "You humped a shoe? His shoe?!"

"He told me to!" 

"And you just did it?!"

"I told you, I've lost my mind!" I stared down at my plate in shame; I knew I had gone mad when a piece of lettuce started to look judgmental of me as well. "Forget I said anything... Seriously, just forget it."

"Right..." Letha's voice was now a reverent hush, like she was observing a religious moment. "So, you're saying he won't look at you anymore?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

"Maybe he's ashamed?"

I cocked a brow; why was she suddenly sounding like she was actually helping me? "Nope,"

"Well, to me it sounds like he might be toying with you, then," Somehow, Letha had calmed down, and was now casually back to eating her salad. "If he's the type of guy that tells you to hump his shoe and then ice you out, he's playing a game."

"... Oh?"

"Definitely," She tilted her head and flashed me her pitiful, green eyes. Gorgeous. "And I don't know too much about this sort of stuff, but if I were you?" Her voice dropped, soft as a dare, yet served with concern; 

"I'd learn how to play the game."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a woman waiting for Mr. Godfrey. 

I stared at her from where I sat behind my desk later that day, wondering what on earth she was here for. She had been waiting patiently outside his office for about fifteen minutes, refusing to sit down on the designated seats, and it had now gotten to the point where she was clearing her throat and squirming uncomfortably because of her heels. 

They weren't very tall, yet I guessed they were a pair of those kitten heels that felt really comfortable in the morning, but became absolute killers by the end of the day. 

However, she was gorgeous. With legs that could probably reach all the way to China, she was statuesque, poised, and everything I'd guess Mr. Godfrey was usually into. Something in me burned when I realized that he'd be alone in his office with her, and images of me throwing my computer at her and ruining her beautiful face flashed before my eyes-- I shook my head, hoping to get the thoughts out of my head before I continued smashing my fingers against the keyboard to hopefully complete the weekly report I needed to hand in soon. The harder I clicked the buttons, the more I felt my aggression relieve itself-- God, how I wished I could relieve myself my usual way, yet Mr. Godfrey had installed something in my brain that wouldn't let me. For some reason, I couldn't physically bring myself to go against his words, and that scared me more than anything.

Ms. Long-Legs cleared her throat again, making me wonder whether it was a tic, before she approached my desk for the fourth time today; "Are you sure that he remembers my appointment? I was scheduled for 13:45, and I have been waiting for fifteen minutes! It's almost two o'clock now!"

With a long, dramatic sigh, I glared up at the woman; I couldn't bring myself to be nice to her, knowing she'd be alone with him shortly. Would she also be asked to hump his shoe? Did she get off in front of him too? "Mr. Godfrey is a very busy man," He's not running a business for fucktards, after all. "He will be with you shortly." And you can shove your cock up your ass.

Was he maybe toying with this woman too? Was he making her wait because he knew this would drive her crazy? It seemed he had a pattern.

She scanned me up and down, sensing my hostility. "And you're sure he knows I'm here?"

... Something told me she had been a part of the Godfrey circus longer than I. 

Bitch.

I blinked, angered. Because this, I wasn't actually sure about. Mr. Godfrey's blinds were rolled down. Therefore, I had sent him an email about this ten minutes ago, yet he hadn't answered any of my emails the past week, so... ugh, I knew what I had to do. With a sharp breath and an unprofessional roll of my eyes, I got up from my seat, expertly poised in my high heels. As I graciously made my way past her and her pained feet in Louboutins that were nowhere near a heel-height threshold she could handle, it made me feel on top of her in some evil way. Better than her. Why would Mr. Godfrey want someone who couldn't deal with some pain?

Hoping to hide my anxiety from the woman waiting for him, I knocked thrice on Mr. Godfrey's office door. 

No answer, of course.

I glanced over my shoulder-- Ms. Long-Legs was still watching me like I was an idiot. Frustrated, and keen not to be seen as incompetent, I knocked again, this time a bit harder. My stomach knotted with anxiety, because I knew the woman was still staring, arms folded, one foot angled awkwardly as if trying to relieve the pain in her heel. When I didn't get any answers again, I pressed my ear closer to the door, feeling as though I was breaking all the laws in the universe. 

I quickly pieced together that Mr. Godfrey was on the phone; "--No, I said I don't care who signed off on it, you run it past me first, that's the entire goddamn point!--"

Then, the door flew open.

It was clear that Mr. Godfrey had dragged his hand through his hair multiple times; it was a mess.  The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and the anger flaring in his green eyes was unmistakable. However, despite all of it, he looked handsome as ever-- bastard. 

I blinked up at him, staring; up close like this, I could smell his cologne, probably with hints of his aftershave as well. Just as I started to feel pink mist seeping out of my ears, I cleared my throat, hoping to get his attention through his scattered energy, and--

Oh.

He looked at me.

Mr. Godfrey looked at me.

For the first time in about a week, eyes wide with frustration with the person on the other side of the phone he had pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, he looked at me.

"Sir," I tried, nodding towards his guest. "Sorry to disturb, but you have a-- a visitor... she was scheduled for 13:45."

Visibly annoyed, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes landed directly on her, and immediately, his expression faltered. It was momentary, like he was horrified to see her, and his jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the beautiful woman waiting to get a moment of his precious time. "Right," he breathed, probably debating whether to jump out the window in his office, or if it'd be easier to shoot himself with the gun I knew he had in his third desk drawer. "And you are?"

The woman straightened up; "I'm with HR. We met a few weeks ago,"

HR?  What the fuck had he done, now?

Mr. Godfrey sighed, relenting; "Come in, then,"

Ms. Long-Legs straightened immediately, her discomfort forgotten in favour of the crisp swish of her designer skirt as she strutted past me and into his office. I remained outside, still holding the handle, uncertain whether to close the door behind her or not, until Mr. Godfrey made the decision for me-- he slammed it shut in my face.

The blinds stayed up this time, and for a second, just a second, I saw him-- Roman Godfrey. Not the suit, the tyrant, or the freakishly composed bastard I'd come to hate and want at the same time, but the man; pale, quiet, and rattled.

He was visibly uncomfortable, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over himself, as though that would somehow protect him from whatever the woman was there to tell him. I watched as his eyes narrowed and fixated on the way Ms. HR shifted in her heels in hopes of relieving her discomfort.

Then, through the blinds, I watched as his gaze flicked to mine.

My heels.

His lips parted, just slightly. Was he maybe thinking about the difference? The way I looked like I could be in these hell-bringers for hours, yet the other woman couldn't even hold herself for fifteen minutes? High, thin stilettos, black patent; perfectly balanced. I hadn't shifted once-- I didn't need to, and I wouldn't. I could stand in these all day.

But Mr. Godfrey didn't seem to allow himself to stare on any further. Without a word, he stood up with a sharp clack, and approached the blinds-- I couldn't read him when we locked eyes, and I didn't have any time to, before he snapped the blinds down again. 

Ugh. I couldn't see anything now, so I did what any dangerously curious person would do; I stayed frozen and pressed my ear up against the door, just close enough to hear.

"I'm here about the complaint filed last month by your previous secretary," came the woman's voice. Cool, measured, practiced, HR; that was what she was. Not a girlfriend, not a sub, but an executioner. Thank fuck. "I assume you've read through the preliminary documents. There were some... disturbing claims. Specifically about a personal dynamic between the two of you that was allegedly coercive."

A sharp scoff followed from Mr. Godfrey, almost a laugh. "She begged for that job back after I fired her," he huffed. "There was even a whole fucking scene the day I interviewed for my new secretary! If anything, she should be the one in trouble right now! There was nothing coercive of the sort, and I'm even suing her for saying that crap, ask my paralegal!"

"That may be," the woman replied, cold. "But the concern is the power imbalance. The possibility that you encouraged certain... behaviours."

Mr. Godfrey snapped back, raising his voice; "That's bullshit! She was undeniably nuts, you must've realized that during your talks with her?!"

"-- Mr. Godfrey, please, this is simply a formality! You must understand that!"

"I do!" he hissed. "And you've done your job, so are we done? Can I go back to doing mine?"

"If you're asking if I'll be filing a formal report, then no... But this will stay on record,"

Mr. Godfrey groaned-- I didn't need to see him to know that he was rubbing his temples. He did that whenever he got properly annoyed. "If every woman I'm going to work with is going to try to squeeze this company for my money, then I'm compelled to only hire men! But I can't fucking do that because of your fucking inclusivity regulations!"

"Mr. Godfrey, I suggest you stop speaking!--"

"This is my company! If my previous secretary is going to press with crazy claims, then I expect you to be on my side!--"

"I am not here to shield you, sir! I am here to protect your employees, and quite specifically, your young, new secretary who frankly looks terrified of even being in your vicinity!"

Something thudded inside the office-- maybe a drawer slamming, or a fist. I couldn't make it out. In an instant, I scurried to my desk, sitting down with the utmost hurry. So, my suspicions had been correct; the previous secretary had definitely been his sub. Why couldn't Peter have told me this? How many people knew? With trembling fingers, I tried to go back to working on the weekly report-- I had to submit it in about ten minutes, and I realized all I needed was Mr. Godfrey's signature. Fuck. 

Then, I heard harsh footsteps nearing. The door to Mr. Godfrey's office whipped open with a gust of air, and the man himself stormed past me like I was invisible. 

The HR woman stepped out shortly after, smoothing her skirt and offering me a polite smile; I could see the evil glee behind those gorgeous eyes of hers. I didn't return it. Bitch. 

For some reason, I felt beyond angered by what I had just witnessed. If Mr. Godfrey was being hounded for something that was consensual, that was simply unfair. I would never do that to him. I would never, ever, even though Letha confirmed that my afflictions were irrational, even though I knew it was irrational-- in a hurry, I grabbed the weekly report from my desk and rushed after him.

I wasn't terrified of Mr. Godfrey; I needed him to know that. If anything, I wanted him near at all times. The HR bitch had no idea what she was talking about!

That was why I was now on my feet, heels clacking sharply against the marble as I chased after him. "Mr. Godfrey-- sir-- wait!--"

But didn't stop; he wouldn't. He was a storm in motion, cutting through the office like it offended him just by existing. A few people looked up as we passed, some quickly ducked their heads back down behind their screens, and others openly stared. I didn't care; all I saw was the back of his head, the sharp angle of his jaw as he strode ahead of me, fists clenched so tight the tendons in his forearms stood out.

"Mr. Godfrey!" I tried again, clutching the paper against my chest. Maybe talking about the report would make him see that I wasn't scared? I had no idea what I was thinking. "I just-- I just need your signature on the!--"

In an instant, he stopped so abruptly that I nearly crashed into him. Mr. Godfrey turned around, eyes blazing, lips parted with fury-- and before I could take a breath, duck, save myself, he shouted at the top of his lungs; "What do you want?!"

The hallway went silent. Several doors cracked open. Somewhere, a printer stopped mid-page. All I could hear was the thundering pulse in my ears.

I blinked up at him, stunned.

"What," he spat, "is so fucking urgent that you need to chase me like a lunatic down the goddamn hallway?!"

I froze. "Sir, I-- It's just the weekly rep--"

"I don't give a shit about the weekly report!" he barked. "You think I'm in the mood to babysit your paperwork right now?! Don't you see I have more important things to deal with right now than your incompetence?!"

My ears were burning red from the humiliation, but this wasn't the kind I had previously liked-- this felt like torture. I couldn't yell back, couldn't oppose him, not in front of the whole office. My body betrayed me, and I felt my eyes well with tears; did he think I was incompetent? Was that maybe all this week had been about, that I just... wasn't good enough? 

Had I imagined everything?

Mr. Godfrey wasn't done. "Oh, don't stand here and look like a victim! I told you to stop stuttering, and to wipe those fucking tears you always have! And still, week after week, you hand in your work like I should be grateful you managed to use a stapler!" he yelled. "If you need my signature on bullshit like the weekly report, learn to forge it, and save me the fucking waste of time! How incompetent is it possible to be?!"

A lump rose in my throat, and I pressed my lips into a straight line, not wanting to give away the way they quivered with my building tears. 

But then, Mr. Godfrey's voice dropped, and he got all up in my face-- to truly cross the line, he pressed his finger into my shoulder, giving me a harsh shove in hopes of me losing my balance; I didn't. Not in my fucking Louboutins. I didn't dare to look at him, and I screwed my eyes to the floor. 

"Fix it," Mr. Godfrey hissed, low and lethal. "And get out of my fucking face."

With that, the scratch of the heel of his shoe violated my ears before he stormed off, yelling something I couldn't catch at the rest of the employees who were watching. 

My hands were still gripping the report, wrinkled now and damp where my fingers had started to sweat. My vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled over and fell, one after another, down my cheeks and onto the paper. I didn't even wipe them away. I just stood there, crying silently like some stupid little girl who couldn't even handle a bad grade. How could I have been so thoughtless? How had I manage to convince myself that Mr. Godfrey was into me, when all along, he was just a plain fucking sadist?

Letha's words stung me as I stood there, frozen, staring at the floor, and specifically at the marble that shimmered faintly beneath the artificial lights. Somewhere behind me, someone coughed. A keyboard clacked. A door eased shut. Life went on, yet I couldn't move. How was I supposed to play Mr. Godfrey's game? 

Then, a voice cut through the blur, urgent but soft; "Hey-- hey, hey," A warm hand appeared on my arm, and I instantly knew who it was. 

Peter's handsome face was a mix of worry and fury, his brows drawn tight as he stepped between me and the eyes of the office. "Come here," he murmured, shielding me with his body. "Don't just stand here, come on."

I shook my head and tried to push him off, tried to regain my dignity, but he wouldn't let me; "Don't argue with me right now," Peter said, gentle but firm. "Look at the state of you... Jeez, you're shaking. You're coming with me."

Like the saviour he was, he ushered me toward his office, blocking the view of every curious face that dared look up, his hand never leaving the small of my back. He opened his door, pulled me inside, and shut it behind us with a soft click. "There you go," he murmured, guiding me into the chair across from his desk before leaving to close the blinds. 

The moment I knew no one could see me, I allowed myself to unravel-- the sob clawed out of my throat before I could stop it, and I bent over my knees, hands clutching at the short skirt I had specifically worn for Mr. Godfrey, just trying to hold something, anything. My pride, maybe?

Peter was already crouching beside me, his sigh falling warm against my knee. He didn't touch me, didn't shush me-- he just stayed still and let me fall apart. "Hey," he eventually said, voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't get to talk to you like that."

I shook my head, but I couldn't speak. The tears kept coming, thick and hot, soaking my lashes until the whole world looked smeared. My ribs hurt from holding it all in, and now it poured out with everything I had been hoarding for a whole week.

Peter shifted closer, eyes round with concern. "You're not stupid," he said, softer now, reading my silence. "And you're not bad at your job. Roman just needed someone to bleed on, and you were standing too close... It's not your fault, kid."

I let out a shaky laugh; my tears were shockingly salty as they spilled over my lips. "I'm so pathetic," I whispered, voice breaking. "Crying in your office... Over him."

"No, you're not pathetic," His voice was steel now; "He's the pathetic one, for taking his shit out on someone like you."

Someone like... me?

The phrase echoed. Someone like me. Someone who still wore short skirts because she wanted the attention, someone who played pretend-submissive in her head like it meant something, someone who thought she could turn lust into safety, or longing into control. Someone delusional. Someone small. Someone pliable. Someone discardable. Someone unimportant. 

"I just thought he--" I stopped, swallowing another sob. "I thought he liked me." Stupid, stupid girl. Why would anyone like someone like me? Especially Mr. Godfrey, who could have anyone he ever wanted.

Peter's silence was heavy. It wasn't cruel, wasn't judgemental, but full of all the things he didn't want to say too quickly. "He did-- He does," he tried. "But not in a way that's good for anyone." Peter looked at me, earnest, eyes kind in a way that only made it worse. "I can't say much because of legal reasons, but the way he handled the last secretary wasn't... it wasn't okay. None of it was alright."

He shifted, gently placing his hand on my knee; something about it made my skin pleasantly buzz. "Look... This is a guy who grew up being told he was a God. He's been bathed in wealth we can't even begin to comprehend, and his mind is all screwed up because of it, so anything he says, comes from his sheltered little dream-land. He doesn't understand consequences. He doesn't understand that you're sitting here, upset. Imagine it like... like he's constantly in a moderate bubble of psychosis. Life is not real to him, so you can't make him real. Roman Godfrey is the virus in your computer, and it's time that you either tossed the whole thing out or built a firewall,"

I blinked at him, my heart aching in some small, tender way I wasn't prepared for. "But... I like my computer," I whispered. 

Peter reached out with his free hand, slow, careful, and peeled the wrinkled report from my grip. "It's a very nice, shiny computer," he said, rubbing my knee with his thumb in soothing motions. His eyes rounded out further with concern and pity, and he sighed before he landed his last blow;

"But you really need that firewall if you want to keep using it,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Handling pain is a skill.

Going through a full workday at Godfrey Industries was also a skill. It could break the strongest of soldiers, kill the most resilient of wolves, yet somehow, I had gotten through to the end of it. 

Mr. Godfrey hadn't come back from where on earth he had ran off to (probably his palace in the depths of Hell, if you ask me), and I had been back from Peter's office for a while now, sitting behind my desk playing my favourite game-- snake. Now that Mr. Godfrey wasn't here to give me any assignments, I had nothing to do, and quite frankly, I couldn't focus on anything that garnered my full attention; I needed something to space out to, and this was perfect.

I had about thirty minutes until I could go home. Hopefully, my crazy, evil, handsome bastard of a boss wouldn't return from Satan's secret lair, where he probably resided, and I wouldn't have to face him until the end of the day.

But as you likely guessed, speaking of the devil--

Mr. Godfrey's steps were usually harsh, quick, rash, and I'd usually be able to hear them from miles down the hall. However, he had somehow managed to appear in front of me with the swiftness of a CIA-trained spy, completely undetected. He leaned against the wall opposite my desk with his arms crossed over his chest, not looking at me-- instead, I saw the way his eyes had fixated on my Louboutins, and most specifically, the heel of them.

Then, just as I thought he was about to yell at me some more, and just as I grabbed my desk with dread, his first words were shockingly soft; "Those are sharp," he mumbled. "Sharp and high. I wondered why you were so tall today."

Stunned, I shifted in my seat, straightening up. I couldn't believe he was talking to me again. Swallowing over and over, I scanned him; was he wearing a different shirt? Maybe he had sweated through the previous one-- the whole incident with the HR lady seemed intimidating, after all. "I'm glad that how I dress doesn't utterly disgust you anymore," I huffed. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Maybe I could go get another cup of coffee for you to dump in your trash?"

Despite my sharp words and attitude, I flinched when Mr. Godfrey's green eyes darted to meet mine. However, they weren't terrifying like they had been earlier. Something had changed. "Yes," he said, pushing away from the wall and swallowing the reprimand he wanted to give me for mouthing off. "There is something you could do. Follow me."

There was something unbelievably relieving about hearing Mr. Godfrey talk to me and treat me like a normal person. If anything, it made everything worth it, and I felt sick for even thinking it. Some part of me would maybe even let him yell at me every day, if he'd come back at the end of it and speak to me softly like this. Without saying a word, I nodded and followed his long steps into his office.

The door shut behind me with a muted thud.

I stood in the middle of his office, unsure whether to sit or wait for him to tell me to. It felt like I had walked directly onto a wooden stand, ready to have my head chopped off by the dreaded Godfrey guillotine. 

However, Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me. The silence was suffocating, and the room smelled like that expensive cologne he wore, mixed with the adrenaline still lingering from whatever fire he'd walked through to get back here.

Without saying a word, he went to the bar cart by the dying orchid, fingers brushing over a crystal decanter before pouring a glass of what I could only guess was brandy. That alone told me something was off-- he never drank during office hours, meaning something was brewing, and it might be the cauldron where he was going to cook my remains.

Mr. Godfrey walked over to me and handed me the glass. What? I took it because I didn't know what else to do, and placed it beneath my nose; yeah, this was brandy, alright. 

Then, finally, he spoke, still not looking me in the eye; "What happened earlier... wasn't supposed to happen,"

"What are we talking about?" I asked, clutching my glass. "Me getting off on your shoe, or you yelling at me in front of the whole office?"

That did it-- Mr. Godfrey's eyes snapped up, ready to burn a hole through mine. It was clear that I had caught him off guard, and that he had obviously meant the latter, but I had been dying to finally say it out loud. You've seen me cum. You've seen me cum!

I was building my fucking firewall, piece by piece. Thanks, Peter. 

I had to play Mr. Godfrey's game to defeat him, the ultimate boss. Was he perhaps the modern equivalent of Bowser? That wasn't a thought I wanted to think right now, but anywho-- thanks, Letha.

"I crossed a line," Mr. Godfrey finally said, his voice tight with discomfort. "But I'm not usually surrounded by like-minded people, so... I got ahead of myself. I got too excited."

"Like-minded people?" I took a careful sip of my brandy as my words echoed the office. What was that supposed to mean?

Mr. Godfrey's mouth twitched like he regretted saying it out loud. He turned away slightly, running a hand through his hair; it was disheveled again in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. "I saw something in you," he said after a pause, quieter this time. "Or, well, I saw you, and what you did, and I suppose I took that as an invitation. But was it?"

"Was what?"

"Was it an invitation?" he pressed, swallowing. "That first time I saw you? Did you want me to see it?" 

I stilled, pressing the glass to my bottom lip as I tried to find my words. "No," I breathed-- that was the truth. It'd had nothing to do with Mr. Godfrey. I was simply doing what I had been doing for years, and I had only wanted to relieve myself, but... "But I think I part of me wanted you to."

"To?"

"To see me, sir," My gaze fell to the floor, glancing at my Louboutins as anxiety burned its way into my fingertips-- or was that the brandy? "I just... wanted to be good."

Mr. Godfrey blinked. "Good?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Good for... me?"

Green eyes burned into mine when I dared to meet them again. The tone of his voice, the way it was painted with a delicate stroke of uncertainty, made my heart skip a beat. "You're doing it again," I breathed. "You're talking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like this is something more than me being your secretary, and you being my boss,"

The air between us grew thick with tension as Mr. Godfrey's gaze never left mine. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His broad chest rose and fell as if trying to steady himself, like he was trying to catch up with something that had just slipped through his fingers. "You're right," he said, his voice low and controlled, though there was a hint of something raw beneath it; "And I don't think I'm able to stop."

Oh God. 

I didn't know how to respond; I was suspended in that breathless pause, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me, and not because of anything cruel, but because Mr, Godfrey was so composed now, so gentle. I opened my mouth, daring to speak, but he lifted a hand-- calm, slow, before he delivered the final blow; "So, if you wish to leave, you're not going to walk out of here with nothing. Don't worry. You'll get the severance package, full benefits, letters of recommendation, glowing ones... You'll be taken care of. I want you to land softly after what I've put you through,"

I stood still. 

Very still. 

Too still. 

It felt like any movement might shatter the fragile air between us, but in this tension, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't exist. So, I downed the brandy, to Mr. Godfrey's surprise-- I put it down on the floor next to me, flexing and unflexing my fingers like a nervous tic. I could feel my eyes well with tears as all my air got stuck in my chest; was this really happening? 

No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

"Sir," I breathed, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. "Are you firing me?"

Mr. Godfrey's eyes widened slightly-- not with anger, not with that usual razor-sharp contempt he wore like a suit, but with something closer to confusion. However, there was no uncertainty when he gave me his answer; "No," Immediate. Definite. "I'm not firing you. If I fired you, you wouldn't get the severance package, so no. I'm not firing you. You're just... allowed to leave."

Something within me had cracked, and I couldn't mend it. I was trying to scoop up my emotions and stuff them somewhere I couldn't reach, but there was no going back. My tears had blurred my vision completely, and I had no idea how they hadn't spilled down my cheeks yet. This was an immediate panic unlike anything I had ever felt before. It felt like I was about to be executed, and like my entire reality was shattering. "Am I really that bad?" I breathed. "Did I-- Did I do that bad?"

"... What?"

"Did I do that bad of a job? Was I-- was-- I that bad?"

Mr. Godfrey stilled, but not like before; this was different, quieter, slower, like I had said something in a language he only half-understood. He took a single breath, and then, almost cautiously, exhaled; "You think this is about your job,"

"I just!--" I swiped at my eyes, furious that I couldn't stop my tears. "I'm just trying to-- to understand, sir! What did I do-- do wrong?"

Mr. Godfrey blinked. His hands gripped the desk even harder, as though that would ground him in this unforeseen conversation. Something told me that no one had cried like this in front of him before, and that he had absolutely no idea what to do with the crybaby in the room. "I thought I was doing you a favor," he tried. "I thought you'd want out, after what I've been putting you through?"

I placed my fingers beneath my lower lashes, hoping to salvage at least a bit of my makeup. 

Now that I was faced with the option, I finally knew what I wanted, after all the different inputs of the day. Just the thought of no longer seeing Mr. Godfrey, no longer being told what to do, no longer chasing the pain, the humiliation, the exhilaration, along with the high of having his full attention, made me want to scream. I needed him like water, despite what everyone else thought I needed. I'd had a taste of what I could have with him, and I needed, needed, needed, needed--

"No, I need this," I said, suddenly, voice thick with the kind of desperation I didn't know I was capable of exposing. "I need this job, sir. I need the rules, I need you to keep telling me what to do, I need-- I need this."

I watched as Mr. Godfrey flinched and pushed away from the table, shaking his head as though I was telling him something he shouldn't know. He paced back and forth, chewing on his bottom lip. He stopped with his back to me, his hand dragging down his face. "You can't need that," he muttered. "You shouldn't."

"But I do!" I cried, louder now, surer; it was a relief to say it out loud. "This, whatever this is, has been the only thing that's made any sense to me in a long time! It's like-- it's like I've been living under a damn rock for years, and all your bullshit makes me feel alive!"

Mr. Godfrey practically spun around on his heel, facing me with his brows drawn together in a look of offence; "My bullshit?"

"Yes, your bullshit!" Sniffling, I rubbed my nose, trying to get myself together. "You haven't even as much as looked at me for a week now because I showed some resilience!"

"That's not!--"

"No, that was why, sir! That's why, and I've loved it!" Tears ran down my cheeks as a broken laugh slipped past my lips. God, what a relief, and what a revelation-- all the emotions from my week of being ignored had culminated in something I had never felt before; important. Because Mr. Godfrey had taken the time to single me out, put his energy into ignoring me, and that made me feel beyond special, beneath all the pain and confusion. 

I needed this. I needed this.

Mr. Godfrey stared at me like I had just spoken in tongues. He was absolutely baffled-- positively scandalized. I watched it ripple through him; first the disbelief, then the reluctant understanding, and then that flicker of dark, stunned delight. "Are you sure?" he eventually asked, scanning me for any possible cracks. "Are you sure that this isn't just some new obsession of yours?"

I took a shaky breath; I was sure. "It's not,"

"And how can you be sure?" Something told me that Mr. Godfrey was nervous about this too, somewhere behind his deep, green eyes. He had previously had a hefty telling-off from HR, which I definitely should've have witnessed, so I could understand that he was reluctant to step into this again, no matter how much he wanted to; however, something in my head stopped working, and went into a gear I didn't know I had.

My brain short-circuited and did the most instinctive thing I could've done. I stepped forward away from the door, one step, two step-- I was sure, and this was the only way to show him.

I dropped to my knees before Mr. Godfrey.

The carpet grazed my knees, but I barely felt it. My breath came down in hard, choppy motions, but I didn't let it show. I simply placed my hands on my thighs and waited. I waited for him to say something, to deny me, to accept me, to step on me once more and call me a stupid little girl with a brain the size of a nut, anything-- I had to lower my gaze.

And for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened. 

Then, I heard the sound of his shoes.

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward, silent, until the tips of his expensive shoes were nearly touching my knees. I didn't look up, I didn't move-- I couldn't. I was offering myself up to his dominance, to his control, to his liking, so I needed to stay very, very still. This felt like a mating dance I'd see birds do on National Geographic, because that was their nature, and this was ours. I could sense the air change above me, hear his soft sigh, and then--

Mr. Godfrey snapped his fingers, and I didn't need to talk to know what he wanted.

I tilted my head upwards, daring to meet his green, unreadable gaze. From this angle, he was gorgeous as ever, breathtaking-- I couldn't believe I even had a sliver of his attention.

Mr. Godfrey's thumb touched my bottom lip; his skin was warm. The pad of his thumb pressed inward with gentle pressure, and his eyes never left mine, even as they fluttered with my shaky exhale. 

I parted my lips, inviting him, accepting him.

He let his thumb rest inside my mouth a moment longer, not controlling, just there, like a question he already knew the answer to; I wouldn't bite. I wouldn't do that again, and he knew that now. When he eventually pulled it out, slowly, carefully, he brushed it against my cheek, smearing my spit into my skin, wanting to see whether I'd whimper with discomfort or squirm with disgust.

I did neither.

With a dreamy sigh, Mr. Godfrey crouched down in front of me, getting on my level for the first time-- it almost felt symbolic. We had accepted each other. It was done. He leaned in closer, so close I could smell his cologne again, so close I could trace the outline of the blessed Forbes nose, close enough to make me wonder whether he'd kiss me or not, before he whispered; "Are you sure?"

My lashes were heavy with my drying tears. "I'm sure,"

"I've been burned here before, so I need you to be clear with me. Do you consent?" Mr. Godfrey's green eyes seared into mine as his words clung to the thick air-- he needed to know. He needed to know, the same way I needed him to doom me.

I needed him to specify; "To working here?" 

"No," Mr. Godfrey breathed. "To being my submissive."

My heart stuttered-- finally.

It was out in the open, and in the midst of my joy, my eyes scoured his, searching for lies, searching for anything Mr. Godfrey could trick me with, but this was one of those rare moments where he was laying out everything for me to see. Something told me I wouldn't get him like this ever again. If anything, this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and an opportunity I had been waiting for him to give me since the second I met him. 

Finally, there was no question in my mind. I didn't need a firewall; I needed a dominant.

"Yes,"

(a/n: there is so YUMMY about this guy.... wtf is wrong w me?? OH WELL<333 HOPE U ENJOYED, MWAH MWAH MWAH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!!!<333)

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lovely little taglist:

@likecherriesinthespring @muchwita @fish-eyes-png @voidpixies

@voidofsunlight @sn0wybowie-blog @scarledy @carmillavalentine

@succubustacy @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @ohperiodtpoohhh

@whisper-it-to-my-ear @prismozo @dreamxaboutxsomethingxnice @scarledy

@useyourwandbro @malenoradgn @veesenya @immernixia

@lunaskye999

[little-diable]

Wrath - Soldier Boy (smut)

Requested by @waynes-multiverse for my Deadly Sins challenge. I missed writing for him, this was so much fun! Please like and reblog it you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Ben thinks the reader betrayed him, all because of some stupid joke Butcher made. But he can’t stay angry at her for long, especially when he sees what his anger does to her needy body

Warnings: 18+, pwp, smut, oral (f), face sitting, fighting, Soldier Boy being himself

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!reader (1k words)

The slap echoed through her apartment, a sound so loud, she feared it could wake her neighbours. Her hand was aching, pulsing painfully, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it to him, not when he had spoken to her with words so vile, she had wanted to rip his tongue right out of his mouth.

“How fucking dare you!” Anger dripped from her voice while her fiery eyes kept staring at Ben. His tongue kissed his teeth, hair falling into his face while he let go of a humourless laugh. “How dare you accuse me of this, you fucking asshole!”

“Careful, doll.” It was a warning she chose to ignore - especially now when he had just accused her of working against him behind his back, spurred on by some bullshit joke Butcher had made without understanding how easily Ben’s trust issues could resurface. Just as she inhaled some air to throw another string of curses at him, his hand shot out to grasp her face, fingers painfully digging into her cheeks. “You’re not in any position to raise your fucking voice at me.”

“Fuck you! I gave everything for you, you fucking asshole! And now you think I betrayed you? Just because you can’t take a fucking joke?” He moved before she could even blink, thrown to the mattress of their shared bed. Her body bounced as it came in touch with the soft material, wide, angry eyes set on his face. She hated that the heat between her thighs began to rise, hated that the sight of his angry features made her walls clench around nothing.

“It’s time we shut that loud mouth of yours, doll. I’m fucking tired of your bitching ass.” He was on (y/n) moments later, eyes no longer fuelled by the wrath he had felt the second he had picked up on Butcher’s joke, but by the burning desire she was all too used to by now. Ben’s hand was between her thighs, grinning as he felt the heat radiating off of her as if she had been left out in the sun for hours. “I should have known that fighting with me turns you into a horny mess. I bet that pussy of yours is already dripping for me.”

Her trousers were ripped off of her legs, exposing her soaked panties to his twinkling eyes. The groan that left Ben made her thighs tremble, unable to remember the angry words burning on the tip of her tongue. All she was focused on was Ben’s touch, the way he gripped her tight enough to remind her that he’d always have the upper hand when it came to their time behind closed doors, the way he ripped her panties in half only to stare down on her naked lower body.

“Prettiest fucking sight I’ve ever seen.” His murmurs made heat crawl up her thighs. But before (y/n) could get lost in the sensation, Ben had flipped them around, leaving her straddling his chest. “Sit on my face, doll.”

The way Ben rasped out the words made her halt for a second. She looked at him, into the eyes that have seen so much destruction but still looked at her with something she couldn’t help but describe as love. It somehow seemed as if an apology was swimming in his pupils, nothing he’d voice out loud, but give room for in his actions.

Without a word of protest, (y/n) crawled up to sit on his face, feeling his hot breath clash against her needy heat. With her hands placed on the headboard, she held on as strong arms found their way around her thighs to properly pull her down. Ben’s tongue met her warm skin, groaning at the taste of her arousal, which made the vibrations of his sounds roll through her body.

“Fuck, Ben, feels so good.” She hated how easily she gave in, hated to practically feel his smirk against her skin, but at that moment she couldn’t care. All she needed was his touch. All she needed was to feel that orgasm he’d surely push through her system within a few moments. Her body was his hostage, mind and hearts connected even in the moments where they felt the need to kill one another.

His tongue dipped into her tightness, fucking her for a second before he sucked on her bundle of nerves. Ben loved to turn her into a moaning mess, set on pushing her over the edge with his tongue before he’d use her body as an outlet for his anger, fucking her all through the night. The strong muscle moved with a purpose, set on pulling all the strength from her until there was nothing left to fight with.

Moans clawed through her, filling the bedroom over and over again until her orgasm began to flush through her. (Y/n)’s body was shaking, eyes rolling back into her head while tightening her grip on the headrest. Ben kept sucking on her clit, prolonging the sensation as if it was his own kind of torture. Which it undoubtedly was, an outlet for the anger he was only slowly getting rid of.

“You taste so sweet, doll, making a fucking mess on my face huh?” He helped her down and rolled her onto her back for his eyes to find her wide ones. (Y/n)’s heart was still racing, pounding in her chest as if she had just run a marathon.

“Ben,” she panted his name, hand reaching for his to feel the calloused fingertips pressed against hers. “Do you really think I’d ever betray you?”

For a second, he kept quiet. All Ben did was stare down at her, until he pressed a harsh kiss against her lips. Her hands found the back of his neck, holding him as he rolled on top of her to press his bulge against her heat.

“You’re making a whipped pussy out of me, doll. But I’ll fucking smash the head of the cumguzzler and the British fucker in for fucking with me.”

[tortoise-teapot]

heartbreaking: tumblr user makes a great point but ends it with calling their target audience stupid.

[swytdoll]

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . dilf!eren fucking you whenever and wherever he wants. ₊ ⊹ . ݁

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who is the kind of man who turns heads without even trying. standing at an impressive six foot two inches, tattoos inked delicately across warm olive skin. his athletic build a testament to years of dedicated workouts and an active lifestyle. his chiseled jawline, adorned with just the right amount of stubble, framed a face that could easily belong on the cover of a fashion magazine. deep-set, piercing green eyes seeming to hold a thousand stories. his tousled hair giving him a rugged, yet sophisticated look.

when he became a dad, all of that doubled. his effortlessly good looks were now complemented by a softer, more nurturing side that made him even more irresistible. the way he had cradled your newborn daughter in his strong arms, the gentle way he kissed her forehead.

unfortunately, your husband becoming a dilf meant other women's gazes also doubling. it was something you had come to expect, but it didn't make it any easier. you could see the way that they glanced at him when he would pick up your daughter from preschool, eyes lingering a little too long, smiles too friendly.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ dilf!eren who's always making sure his babygirl is set, he often sent you money without you even having to ask, ensuring that you and your daughter never want for anything. "just looking out for my pretty little ladies."

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who can't seem to keep his hands to himself when your parents are over in the next room visiting. hand clamped over your mouth as he feeds you his thick girth inch by inch, the stretch sending your eyes rolling back. "gotta be quiet baby, don't be rude." he's evil. fluidly rolling his pulsating cock into that spongy part that has you grasping the sheets.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ dilf!eren who loves the way you moan when he eats your pussy with his stubble, the way the short hairs prick you, making the sensation of him all the more better. he loves the way he makes you whimper when he pushes your thick thighs flush to your chest and nips your clit hard, making you buck and writhe under his lips and tongue. he loves how you taste, salty and sweet at the same time and the way your body quakes and shudders underneath him. he loves you.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who fucks you stupid against the kitchen counter as you prep your daughter's after-school snack, cheek pressed against the cold granite, hands scrabbling for purchase. "m'so hungry." but eren's not hungry for food.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who forgets you're a milf, jealously coursing through him as he watches the man next door flirt with you while you garden. it's nothing but cruel when he fucks you into the sofa, making sure the window is open and your neighbor is outside to hear you being ravaged.

he makes it extra filthy when he bends you over the back of the couch, facing the window, slapping your ass until it holds the color of your tomato plants. the whole neighborhood can probably hear you sobbing with pleasure, the way his name falls from your lips. he knows what he has and the jealousy makes him all the more possessive, he wants the whole world to know that you are his.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who is always trying to get you pregnant again, fucking you until his sticky cum bubbles from your hole.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚dilf!eren who wouldn't trade being cuddled in bed with his two favorite girls, watching a movie with popcorn, for anything.

find more daddy eren here *ੈ✩‧₊˚

[reignpage]

College student!Sukuna

21:47pm: his dirty secret

Warnings: 18+ mdni, panty stealing, panty sniffing, masturbation, dubcon, yandere themes

college student!sukuna is infamous around campus. every girls’ wet dream and every man’s competition. and he just so happens to run in the same circle as you; close friends with a friend of a friend. you can’t help but see him everywhere. 

college student!sukuna is a huge guy, with hulking muscles, tattoos that peek from his torso, and bright pink hair. you could never miss him. no one could. not with his shit-eating grin or deep laugh that always makes you feel like he knows something no one else does. 

you and him are kind of friends. once in a while, when gojo says something stupid or toji inevitably picks a fight with some random guy, you find yourself sharing a knowing look with college student!sukuna, who flashes you a grin that sends shivers down your spine. 

college student!sukuna is touchy as hell. he brushes past you with a hand on your waist and a pat on your hip. he leans in close, breath warm against your cheek, as his lips graze your ears in a whisper, a snarky comment about how the guy you’re talking to has a small dick so don’t waste your time with that loser. 

and although college student!sukuna is known as a ladies’ man and there doesn’t seem to be a single girl on campus who hasn’t fucked him, you never actually see him with a broad. he doesn’t bring a date to gojo’s party, not a single mention of his latest fuck when the guys are bragging, and he certainly doesn’t seem to notice the hoard of girls begging for his attention. 

no, college student!sukuna only has eyes for you. he watches the way you sway your hips to the shitty techno music, how your hair flips with every twist and turn, and sees the flutter of your eyes when you meet his gaze through the thick crowd of gyrating bodies. 

it’s only recently that you started to let yourself feel something for college student!sukuna. before that, you chalked up the lingering stares and heated sweeps down your body as alcohol induced lust. but now, you allow yourself to entertain the idea that the pink haired man might actually like you. 

college student!sukuna does. he doesn’t want to cave first; his ego can’t take the hit, is what he tells his dumbass best friend, toji. the real truth?

he doesn’t want to be rejected.

not when you’re the only girl who laughs at his jokes and knows that he never means the cranky and sarcastic comments that leaves his stupid mouth. 

especially not when you’re the girl he envisions every time he needs to cum -- he wraps his big hand around his even bigger dick and strokes it to the pace he thinks you’ll use against him when he finally brings you to your knees. and when he strokes his tip, thumb running across the slit, he thinks of your plump lips wrapping around his head, stretching to fit as much of him as you can. 

when he shudders through an orgasm, he imagines you sticking your tongue out as he spurts all over your face, the pearly white droplets painting your skin, and it has him groaning into his fist to keep quiet, lest you find out he’s snuck into your room when the whole gang had come over to celebrate your roommate/best friend, shoko’s, birthday. 

college student!sukuna doesn’t know what he’d do if you burst into your room and stumbled upon him with the hem of his shirt tucked between his teeth, jeans unzipped, one hand wrapped around his dick and the other holding your dirty panty to his nose. 

hell, maybe you’d like it. maybe it’ll make you soak the ones currently between your legs. perhaps you’re just as dirty as he is, just as deprived and desperate. but he’ll have to find out another day, because you’re all in the living room dimming the lights and setting the cake down. 

so college student!sukuna settles for the fantasy of you and he pockets the soiled fabric, and another from the laundry basket for good measure, saving the thrill for another lonely night wishing his fist was your pussy. 

[missdynamighttt]

feining for frat boy katsuki…

it was hot. loud. half the girls were already screaming over shirtless frat boys grinding against windshields. your friend dragged you out with a “come on, it’s for charity!” and now you’re standing in the corner with a lukewarm lemonade and zero expectations.

you didn’t even want to come to this stupid fraternity fundraiser.

your roommate dragged you out with the promise of half-naked frat boys, but all you’ve seen so far are drenched freshmen trying to flex their way into a hernia.

but then you see him.

he’s got his back turned at first—lean muscle, golden skin, red swim trunks slung way too low on his hips. sunlight catches the water dripping down his back like it’s staged. and when he turns around?

game over. he’s gorgeous.

sharp jaw, wild blonde hair flattened from water, a cocky little smirk on his face as he wrings a sponge out over his head, totally aware of the stares.

and he sees you. right away. ruby eyes locked with yours and gives the most arrogant little up-nod like, yeah. you’re next.

you try to act unaffected. fail immediately.

he saunters over, sudsy bucket in one hand, water dripping down his abs like it’s a fucking calvin klein ad. stops right in front of you, eyeing your car, then you, then your car again. “you the one drivin’ this piece of shit?”

you blink. “excuse me?!”

he shrugs but you can see a little grin tugging on the corner of his mouth, smug and unbothered. “relax. i’ll make it look brand new.”

he puts the bucket down, saunters over, and damn—he’s even hotter up close. tall. muscles for days. and that little scar on his cheek? unfair.

then, leaning closer, voice low: “the name's katsuki bakugo. what’s yours, sweet girl?”

you tell him. maybe a little breathless.

he repeats it once—slow, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “hm. yeah. i like that.”

and then he goes to work. but not just on the car.

katsuki bakugo washes that car like he’s auditioning for the dirtiest boy band you’ve ever seen. dropping the sponge just to bend over in front of you, ass on full display. making eye contact when he slides his hand over the hood like he’s caressing it. watering himself down with a hose and shaking his hair out like he’s in a shampoo commercial from hell.

by the time he’s done, your car is sparkling. and so are you—flushed, flustered.

he tosses the sponge into the bucket, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. “lemme know if you need a private wash sometime.”

and then he walks away, with you watching the water dripping down the curve of his spine, no better than a teenage boy ogling the back of a girl's bikini. you swear you black out for a second too.

it’s only a few hours after the car wash before he slides in your dms, smooth but dirty. you’re in your room, still reeling from whatever the hell that was, when your phone buzzes.

king.explosionmurder has sent you a message.

(yeah. that’s his actual handle. because of course it is.) then, you open it.

king.explosionmurder:

can't stop thinking about the girl with the shittiest car and the cutest fuckin’ face.

you stare. then another message pops up.

king.explosionmurder:

u free tonight?

or maybe you're too busy being adorable somewhere else?

your heart does a thing. you type out a reply—something just barely cocky enough to match him:

you:

depends

you always this forward?

king.explosionmurder:

only for girls with shitty taste in cars

so, only you

let me buy you a drink, sweet girl?

you:

fine

you can buy me a drink, frat boy

but for the record?

my taste in cars is not that shitty

king.explosionmurder:

whatever you say beautiful

8 pm, sunset bar down 5th ave

don't be late

katsuki shows up five minutes early, in a black tee that clings to his chest and jeans that should be illegal. hair still messy from his post-car-wash shower. when you walk in, his eyes track you like you’re the only person in the room.

“tch. thought you were gonna flake.”

you roll your eyes. “you’d cry if i did.”

his mouth twitches. “like a damn baby.”

then the date just... hits different. it wasn't what you expected. sure, it’s packed with college students and frat bros, but in the back corner booth? with him?

it’s quiet. comfortable. almost… intimate.

he’s not much of a talker, but with you? he tries. you ask about his major—he’s an aspiring pro-hero, of course—and he asks about yours, grumbling when you light up talking about it, because “fuck, that smile’s gonna kill me.”

and even though he’d die before saying it out loud, the minute you take a sip of your drink and laugh at something dumb he says? he’s gone. head over heels.

he walks you back to your dorm with his hand on the small of your back, even though it’s barely a ten-minute walk. says “text me when you’re in” even though he literally watched you unlock your door. stands there, gruff and gorgeous, waiting.

“gonna invite me?” he asks, tone teasing.

you shake your head, grinning. “not on the first date, i'm not.”

he groans dramatically. “damn. fuckin’ killin’ me here.”

you grin. “goodnight, frat boy.”

but he doesn’t move right away.

just stands there under the warm porch light, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work off the ache of not touching you again. his shirt clings to him in the summer heat, his jaw sharp in the glow, but it’s his eyes that freeze you in place.

not hard. not sharp. not the glare he usually levels at the world.

but soft. heavy. like you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs and he doesn’t even want it back.

he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

he takes one small step closer, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his chest, close enough that if either of you moved just an inch, you’d be kissing.

“goodnight, sweet girl,” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel laced with honey.

it hits you somewhere deep. like he’s branding the words into you.

and then—he actually smiles. a real one. lopsided, shy, the kind of smile you’d never expect from someone who threatens to body slam people over couch cushions.

then he turns and walks away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head down, like if he looks back even once, he’ll do something stupid like run back and kiss you senseless.

you close the door behind you, heart thudding so hard you swear your roommate can hear it.

you’re screwed. so screwed.

because things after that? they move fast.

to everyone else, he was the guy who'd scream if you left dishes in the sink, throw a beer can at you if you sat on his side of the couch, and threaten to body slam you if you so much as breathe near him.

but the entire frat house knew that their loud, grumpy, terrifyingly efficient frat dad—had a soft spot the size of a planet. and that soft spot? was for you.

you’re the only person allowed in his room during his grumpy post-practice naps. the only one who can touch his hair without him flinching. he’d grumble when you flick his forehead when he was being dramatic but he'd let you.

he might curse under his breath, but when you’d slide onto his lap during movie night, he'd wrap an arm around you like it was instinct. like protecting you came as naturally as breathing.

he had snacks stocked in the mini fridge (not for him, you liked them). he hands you your favorite snack and grumbles, “was on sale. don’t get used to it,” even though it’s never on sale but he bought six of them anyway.

and when finals week hits? he’s a damn soldier for you.

caffeine runs. your favorite takeout. quiet growls at anyone who tries to talk to you in the library. he reads your flashcards like they’re enemy coordinates and quizzing you becomes his personal mission.

but the best part? the tiny, quiet moments in between.

like when he’s losing at mario kart and you’d sit in his lap while he played, steal his fries, kiss his cheek mid-rant just to shut him up.

or when you were too tired to walk back to your place, you just curl up in his bed. not only does he let you, he tucks the blanket around you and kisses your forehead so soft it makes your chest ache.

and somehow, all of that was like magic.

sure, he might’ve acted like the world’s most chaotic, aggressive frat president, but when it came to you? he was all bark, all bite… and all heart.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[slapmeshigaraki]

♡ can't get my mind off of possessive!xavier who gets off on seeing you get jealous too

"See, there was no reason to be pouting all night, hm?” You couldn’t help but write against the grip of the man behind you, his rough hand grabbing your face, forcing your eyes to meet his over your shoulder. He almost looked possessed, his normally sweet gaze was different now...soft blue eyes darkened as he looked at you, ravenous.

“Admit it—you were jealous. All that attitude the whole ride home, giving me the silent treatment—fuck—just because I was talking to another girl. You say I’m possessive, but I think you might be worse than me, princess.” He was almost growling into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as his chest pushed you forward, forcing your tits against the sliding glass door that led out to the balcony. The heat from your sensitive nipples and your warm flesh causing the glass to fog up as he pressed you into it. The dim moonlight illuminated his face, eyes staring into your soul as he thrusted himself into you relentlessly. It was as if you were in a trance, mouth hanging open, panties down around your ankles, as Xavier forced himself in and out of your hole at a pace that made you clench around him just right. It was perfect—at least until that oh-so perfect pace was disrupted, the once full feeling suddenly gone as your face was jerked lightly from side to side.

“Unh uh, you don't get to play braindead slut this time. Pay attention—tell me what I wanna hear or I’ll stop.” You were whining now, your body quivering from the unexpected lack of stimulation.

“I was jealous.” You whispered, that same pout you’d worn all night was back on your face again, bottom lip poking out in shame at the confession, wide eyes looking up at the man that was towering over you. Both of your bodies were slick with sweat, chests rising and falling erratically amidst the tension, lips barely an inch apart. You wanted to taste him so bade, to feel the warmth of his tongue sliding in and out of your mouth as he grinded into you—just the though was making your clit ache between your thighs.

“Aw, you were?” Now he was the one to whine, a similar frown painting his face—mocking you. The sinister look in his eyes made even more wetness pool between your legs as he slowly slid himself back inside you, just the tip.

“Its not as fun when you’re not the one making me jealous, huh? Doesn’t feel good to see something that belongs to you with someone else, does it?” he said, reveling in the way you shook under his touch as he slid his fingers across your skin, slowly but surely making his way to that needy little spot hidden between your legs

“N-no…”

“No? But you always tell me it’s silly to be jealous, right? That I’m overreacting. Is that not what you’re doing right now?” His fingers lightly rubbed against your clit, your juices coating his skin as he spread your lips open, being careful not to push you back onto his cock any further.

“In fact, it’s not just silly for you to be jealous. It’s stupid. You are all I think about. I-” another inch slid inside of you, a soft gasp escaping both of your mouths, “Fuck—I dream about your face, your voice, your body—the way this fucking cunt sucks on the tip of my cock just right. We fit together so perfectly…for you to think that I could ever want someone else is just dumb, right?” With that, his hips slammed fully into you, pulling a scream out of your mouth as your eyes rolled back into your head, the nasty words making your cheeks grow hot from embarrassment.

“Xavier, oh my god. Pleaseee…please let me cum. I promise I won’t—“ Your words were abruptly cut off by one of his arms snaking around your body, his palm pushing itself against your plush lips, silencing your begging and muffling your whimpers as his other hand kept toying with your pussy, his fingers petting your just right like he'd done so many times before.

“Shut up. You’re dumb, remember? If you don’t have anything smart to say, then I don’t want to hear you at all.” His muscled arms held you up, keeping your knees from buckling beneath you as he quickened his pace. The most disgusting sounds filled the room, your hole squelching and squealing with every move Xavier made inside of you. His thick cock was forcing the sweetest cries out of your aching cunt, much to his amusement—a small smile creeping across his lips.

“You may be stupid, but this pussy is fucking brilliant. Listen to how nicely she to talks to me, none of that attitude I get from your filthy mouth, huh?” He pressed his palm further against your mouth, silencing your silly little whines and babblings almost entirely, “Shhhh… let me hear her, princess. Be good for me, yeah?.” You tried your best not to have to bite Xavier’s hand just to quieten yourself completely, but he could barely hear your moans any longer anyway—the sounds of his heavy breathing, your ass clapping against him, your little pussy sobbing out for relief was the only song playing in his head any longer.

“Shiittt she’s milking me so good. I think she likes having an audience. What a nasty girl…” An audience? Your face--he was almost sure that the expression alone was going to have him coming within the next two seconds. He couldn’t help but let out a round of laughter at the sight of your eyes widening at his words, brows furrowing as he continued fucking into you, his cock aching more with every thrust. His hand forcing your face forward back towards the glass. You squinted slightly, eyes adjusting to see a window belonging to the apartment across from yours. It was dimly lit, but there was a familiar figure staring back at you, her face contorted in disbelief.

“Getting all mad at me for talking to our new neighbor who was asking me what flavor muffins she should bring over to introduce herself to my sweet girlfriend… tsk.” Horrified, your new neighbor ran in the opposite direction, shielding her eyes from the lewd view of your nipples squished against the glass, mouth covered, a hand between your legs while Xavier held you hostage in his arms, his face flushed, hair glued to his forehead, both of your bodies sticky with each other’s sweat—how fucking filthy it must’ve been. "Doubt we'll be getting that tray of chocolate chip muffins anytime soon, huh baby?" You tried to turn your face away from the glass for the sudden fear that someone else may end up seeing the two of you, but it was no use, Xavier’s grip on your cheeks was far too tight.

“No no no don’t look away. Don’t you want everyone to know who I come home to every night? Don’t you want to show everyone who my good girl is? My sweet princess taking my cock so well, drooling into my hand—you’re mine. Say it.” Your lips were suddenly freed by his palm, a string of saliva glistened between your mouth and his flesh as he pulled it back. You were sure to respond quick, realizing that if you didn’t use your brief liberation wisely, Xavier had every intention of punishing you for the rest of the night.

“Yours I’m yours. I belong to you—please fuck, you feel so good inside of me. I can’t hold it anymore please let me cum.” A strike of lightning rippled through your body as the tip of his cock finally pushed against your g-spot, once, then it was twice, and then a third time—over and over again without rest until your sweet screams flooded his ears once more. You tried to squirm away, fingers reaching back, desperately trying to pull off of you just a little so you could catch your breath, but he was quick to grab you, forcing your arm behind your back, creating an ever deeper arch in your spine.

“Where you running off to? Do you want to cum or not, I’m confused, princess? You pushing me away—does it not feel good?” His lips were against your ear again, tongue running over the shell, gently biting your flesh just the way you liked as he continued abusing your poor aching hole.

“No no so good—feel so good, can’t cum yet though. Please god please.”

“Poor baby, why can’t you cum yet, sweet girl? Is it not enough? Do I need to rub you faster, hm? Pinch this little clit between my fingers—oh look at that, she’s so swollen against my hand. What's the matter, don't you like when I play with you?” You mind was so clouded, tongue hanging out of your mouth as his lips licked and sucked your skin, teeth nipping your neck, leaving his mark as he forced more of those precious begs out of you. You were close, so painfully close that you were drooling at the thought of finally getting to cum around him, painting his fingers with your sweet juices, clenching around his cock as he stretched you around him—but you knew better.

“Need permission to cum please Xavier can I cum. Please please I promise—mmmh—I promise not to get jealous again. I’m yours.”

“Ohh you promise? Maybe you aren’t that dumb after all, baby. Or maybe you’ll just say anything to get me to let you cum. Is that it? Are you a liar, princess?” His fingers stalled between your legs, hips suddenly not snapping forward into you anymore. It wasn't more than a second later that you'd started begging for him to start up again, your body burning to feel him back inside of you once more. He thought you were so cute like this—so pliable, so desperate for his touch you were willing to say anything just to feel him.

“Nooo not lying not—I wouldn’t lie to you. Please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, you telling the truth? You know dumb girls don’t get to cum. But you’re not dumb anymore, right? You my smart girl, princess?”

“Yes yes I’m telling the truth. Smart, I’m gonna be smart, please I just need—“ Every inch of his length sunk back into you at once, warm fingers unexpectedly gliding over your slippery clit again.

“Good girl, that’s what I wanna hear. Cum for me, go ahead. It’s okay princess, let me feel it, please cum on my cock. I know you can do it, so fucking pretty like this. I need it, come on do a good job for me. ” So you came—squirming and writhing in Xavier’s strong arms as he held you close, whispering soft praises in your ear. Curses and moans left your lips, your arm finally going limp in his grasp, thighs squeezing and clamping down around his hand as his fingers flitted against your clit while you slowly came down.

For some reason though, just as you were catching your breath, muscles finally relaxing after the waves of pleasure dissipated and you felt Xavier’s length sliding out of you—your felt him forcing himself back in, pushing your sloppy walls apart again without any warning. He wasn’t trying to fuck you fast anymore, now he was fucking you hard, stretching you open agonizingly slow before sliding back out and and doing it all over again. The overstimulation caught up to you as you realized…he wasn’t close to being done.

“Xavier wait, I’m too sensitive to—oh my god,” You tried to push yourself away with your free hand, but he only ended up grabbing that one and holding it hostage behind your back as well.

“No no I’m not stopping. C’mon that’s not fair is it? Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you have to take care of your things, hm?” You were screaming now, the sensations overwhelming your body as you cried out his name.

“You’re mine, but I am yours. You have to take care of me too, yeah, baby? Please, let me cum for you too, hm? Don’t you want to make me feel good?” he said, pressing a soft kiss into the crook of your neck.

“Mhm wanna make you cum too.” He knew you meant it, despite the way the tears stung the inner corners of your eyes and your soft tummy tightened and convulsed around him, your body falling limp in his arms. He knew that you wanted him to fill you up, to feel his sticky cum dripping out of you has he pulled out, to have his thick fingers stuffing his babies back inside of you. You were so perfect for him—how could he ever want anyone else?

“Aw, that’s my smart girl.”

♡ a/n: ummmm had this idea sitting in the drafts for quite a bit, but the new banner dropping finally inspired me to finish it !! quite short and not super edited but i hope u enjoy,, happy friday angels xx

[moonlightwritingf1]

Mine to Touch | LN4

🌸 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando’s obsessed with missionary—because he can rub her clit, watch her fall apart, and fuck her deep. And sometimes? He makes it soft, slow and absolutely passionate.

🌸 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🌸 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.2k

🌸 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, multiple orgasms, teasing?,

Based on this request.

The low hum of the city outside her apartment window was almost comforting, but Y/N couldn’t shake the tightness in her chest. Lando had texted her an hour ago, saying he was on his way over.

“Be there soon, princess.”

Her heart fluttered at the nickname, just like it always did. It wasn’t the first time he’d called her that—he’d said it a handful of times before, usually soft and playful, always without hesitation—but somehow, each time still made her stomach flip. She never got tired of it. Princess. It felt too good, too tender, especially coming from him.

Her eyes drifted to the bouquet of roses sitting quietly on her kitchen counter, the petals still fresh and vibrant despite the week that had passed since he’d sent them. She had cried when they arrived—hot, uncontrollable tears streaming down her face the moment she read the note tucked inside.

It had been a terrible week. One of those weeks where everything felt heavy and dull and wrong. And then, out of nowhere, the flowers had shown up. From him.

No one had ever given her flowers before. Not once. Not even during birthdays, not even from past boyfriends. But Lando had. Just because he knew she’d had a shit week and wanted to make her feel better.

She didn’t even know how he found out she’d been struggling.

But somehow, he knew. And he sent roses. And he called her princess.

And now he was on his way.

She adjusted the hem of her oversized sweater, the one she’d stolen from him months ago. It still smelled like him—his cologne, his warmth. It was a dangerous reminder of how much she’d grown to crave him, even if she hated admitting it to herself. The way her fingers curled tighter around the fabric made her feel stupid, like she was trying to hold on to something she couldn’t name. Something fragile. Something that scared her just as much as it comforted her.

Because she wanted him. In ways that ran far deeper than she’d ever planned.

The knock at the door startled her, and she took a deep breath before opening it. There he was, leaning against the doorframe, his hair slightly messy, that teasing grin on his face. “Hey, baby,” he said, his voice low and warm.

Why did he have to look like that? She stepped aside to let him in, her cheeks already heating up. “Hey,” she replied, her voice softer than she intended.

He didn’t waste time. As soon as the door clicked shut, he pulled her into his arms, his hands sliding around her waist. She could feel the firmness of his body against hers, the way his presence seemed to fill the room. “Missed you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

She shivered, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his shirt. “I missed you too,” she admitted, though the words felt heavy on her tongue. Missed him. She always missed him when he wasn’t around, even when she told herself she shouldn’t.

Lando’s fingers traced a path up her spine, sending a jolt of electricity through her. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, his voice soft but probing. “Everything okay?”

Quiet. She had been quiet. She’d been avoiding him more than usual—dodging his calls, making vague excuses to skip out on group hangouts. It wasn’t just him. It was everything. The weight of it all. The exhaustion. The overwhelming pressure she couldn’t explain without falling apart.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

He didn’t look convinced. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “You’re not fine, princess,” he said, his tone soft but unshakable. “Talk to me.”

She hesitated, her eyes searching his. There was so much she wanted to say—how work had been suffocating, how she’d been running on empty, how she didn’t even recognize herself some days. But the words caught in her throat, too heavy to voice, too fragile to release.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered instead, her voice cracking just enough to betray her.

He didn’t press. He just looked at her like she was something precious. And when she leaned into his touch, her lips parting as he leaned down to kiss her, it felt like breathing for the first time in days.

It was soft at first, almost tentative, as if he was testing her. But then she kissed him back, her hands sliding up to his neck, pulling him closer. The tension between them shifted, the air crackling with something unspoken.

Lando’s grip on her tightened, his hands sliding down to her hips. He broke the kiss, his breath warm against her skin. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice rough with need.

She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust herself to stop him even if she wanted to. And right now, she didn’t want to.

He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom. His lips found hers again, harder this time, more demanding. She felt the heat building between them, the way his body pressed against hers as he laid her down on the bed.

His hands were everywhere, touching her, exploring her, making her feel things she couldn’t ignore. She arched into his touch, her breath hitching as he pulled off her sweater, leaving her in just her bra and leggings.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his eyes filled with desire as he looked down at her.

She blushed, her hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, the sound low and throaty as he helped her pull his shirt off. His chest was bare, his skin warm under her fingertips. She traced the lines of his muscles, her heart racing as he leaned down to kiss her again.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of her leggings, pulling them down slowly with a teasing drag. She lifted her hips to help him, her legs trembling as the fabric slipped down her thighs and off her ankles. The cool air kissed her skin, sending a shiver through her body. Lando’s eyes darkened as he took her in, his gaze trailing up her legs, her hips, her stomach, like he was memorizing every inch of her.

Next, his hands moved to the clasp of her bra, his fingers deft and steady despite the hunger in his eyes. She held her breath as he unhooked it, the fabric falling away to reveal her breasts. His low groan of appreciation made her blush, but she didn’t look away. She could see the intensity in his gaze, the way he seemed to worship her with his eyes alone.

Finally, his fingers hooked into the edge of her underwear, pulling them down with the same deliberate slowness. She lifted her hips again, her heart pounding as he revealed her completely. There was no hiding now, no barriers between them.

Even after all this time—after all the nights tangled in his sheets, after countless times they’d undressed each other with trembling hands and hungry mouths—she still felt shy when she was naked in front of him. Something about the way he looked at her, like he saw everything, always made her chest tighten and her cheeks burn.

But she also felt safe. In a way she couldn’t quite explain. Like he didn’t just want her—he cherished her.

Lando’s hands skimmed her thighs, her hips, as if he was savoring the moment. His gaze never left hers.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.”

She bit her lip, her cheeks burning as he leaned down to kiss her again. His hands kept moving, his touch sending shivers through her body. When he finally stripped off his own clothes, she couldn’t help but stare. He was beautiful, every inch of him, and she felt a surge of desire that she couldn’t ignore.

He settled between her legs, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress in the most intoxicating way. She could feel him—hard and ready—against her inner thigh, and a gasp escaped her lips as his hips shifted, brushing against her sensitive core. His hands gripped her hips firmly, anchoring her in place as he leaned down to kiss her neck, his lips warm and insistent.

His teeth grazed her skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her that made her arch into him. She could feel his breath, hot and uneven, against her ear as he whispered, “You feel so good, princess.” His voice was rough, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

One of his hands slid up her side, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist before cupping her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple, teasing it into a stiff peak, and she couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped her. “Lando,” she breathed, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

He responded with a low groan, the length of his hard cock pressing and grinding against her slick folds, teasing her clit with slow, deliberate movements. She gasped, her hips instinctively arching into his, craving more of the delicious friction. His cock felt so good against her, the heat of it sending waves of pleasure through her body. His lips trailed lower, down her collarbone, his teeth nipping gently at her skin as he moved. Every touch, every kiss, felt like he was worshipping her, like he couldn’t get enough.

Lando’s hips shifted slightly, the tip of his cock brushing against her clit in a way that made her whimper. “You like that, baby?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. She could only nod, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. He was teasing her, driving her crazy with the slow, deliberate pace of his movements, his cock sliding against her sensitive clit, making her toes curl and her body tremble with need.

“You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice rough and filled with satisfaction. His hand slid down to where their bodies were pressed together, his fingers brushing against her slick folds, making her moan. He was torturing her, in the best way possible, his cock still rubbing against her clit, his fingers teasing her entrance, driving her closer to the edge with every touch.

“I love the way you react to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His lips found hers again, his kiss deep and consuming, his tongue teasing hers as his hands explored her body. She could feel the urgency in his touch, the way he seemed to be holding back, but only just.

She was losing herself in him, in the way he made her feel, and she didn’t want it to stop. Every touch, every kiss, was pulling her deeper, making her crave more. He was all she could think about, all she could feel. And she knew, in that moment, she was completely his.

“Lando,” she breathed, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

He reached down, his fingers finding her clit, circling it with a gentle yet firm pressure as he positioned himself at her entrance. She could feel the heat of him, the thick, hard length of his cock pressing against her slick folds, teasing her, making her body tremble with anticipation. Her breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders as she waited, her stomach tightening with a mix of nerves and desire.

Then, slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed inside her.

The moment his tip breached her entrance, she gasped, a sharp, breathy sound that filled the room. Her pussy clenched around him, hot and tight, as he stretched her, filling her in the most exquisite way. The sensation was overwhelming—his cock was thick, hard, and insistent, sliding deeper with every inch, igniting a fire in her core that she couldn’t ignore. She felt full, achingly so, as he sank deeper, her body yielding to his, welcoming him with a shiver of pleasure that ran through her entire being.

Lando’s breath caught, a low groan escaping his lips as her warmth enveloped him. She was so tight, so wet, the heat of her pussy gripping him like a vice, making his head spin. He could feel every ridge, every pulse of her walls around him, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to lose himself in her entirely. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice rough, almost pained with desperation. “You feel so fucking good.”

She could see the strain in his face, the way he was holding back, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep himself steady. His eyes were locked on hers, filled with a hunger that made her stomach clench. He moved slowly, his hips grinding against hers, the thick length of his cock dragging against her sensitive walls in a way that made her moan, her hands gripping him tighter.

“You’re so tight,” he breathed, his voice trembling as he pushed deeper, his cock stretching her in the most delicious way. “So wet for me, princess. Fuck, I can feel how much you want me.”

She could barely form words, her body too consumed by the sensation of him inside her. Every inch he pushed in sent waves of pleasure through her, her pussy clenching around him as if trying to pull him deeper. She could feel the weight of him, the way his hips pressed against hers, his cock filling her completely, touching her in places that made her see stars.

He paused when he was fully sheathed inside her, his breath hot and uneven against her skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice raw with possession, his eyes never leaving hers. “All mine.”

Then he started to move—slowly, deliberately, his hips rolling against hers, his cock sliding in and out of her with a torturous rhythm. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through her, her clit pulsing with need as he rubbed it with his fingers in perfect sync with his strokes.

She was everywhere—the way her arms clung to him, her nails digging into his skin, her thighs trembling beneath him. Lando’s forehead rested against hers, his breath hot and uneven as he rocked into her, slow and deep, each thrust dragging a gasp from her lips. His hand was between them, fingers rubbing gentle circles on her clit, the pressure perfect and maddening. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “You feel that? You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

She gasped his name, the sound barely audible over the pounding of her heart. He kissed her then—deep, desperate, reverent—his tongue tangling with hers as if he could consume every part of her. “Look at me, princess,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Don’t look away. I need to see you fall apart.”

Her legs quivered as he pinned her wrists above her head, his body flush with hers, his slow, deliberate strokes dragging her closer to the edge. “Say it,” he growled, his lips grazing her neck, his teeth nipping at her skin. “Say you’re mine.”

She could barely think, let alone speak, her body shaking as his fingers worked her clit with relentless precision. “You’re mine, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with possession. “My princess. My everything.”

Her thighs spread wider, her hips lifting to meet his every thrust as he took her deeper, his forehead pressed to hers. “This,” he groaned, the rhythm of his hips steady and unrelenting. “This is how I always want to have you. Just like this, princess. Every damn night.”

Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as the tension coiled tighter, threatening to snap. “Why?” she managed to whisper, her voice trembling. “Why... like this?”

His answer was immediate, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured, “Because I can see your face when you come. Because I can feel you better. And because—” His fingers worked her clit harder, the pressure making her back arch. “—this is the only position where I can love you and ruin you at the same time.”

She was already shaking, her body hovering on the edge, when he whispered it again, his voice rough with desire. “I love fucking you like this because I can touch you like this.” His fingers rubbed her clit harder, his eyes locked on hers, watching her come undone. “And because no one else gets to see you like this. No one.”

His thrusts grew messier, his rhythm faltering as his fingers worked her clit with relentless pressure. “You don’t get it,” he panted, his breath hot against her skin. “I’m obsessed with this. With you. With making you come like this.”

She tried to hide her face, her cheeks burning as she felt herself nearing the edge, but he wouldn’t let her. “Eyes on me, baby,” he growled, his fingers rubbing her clit harder, his thrusts deep and rough. “You’re so fucking pretty when you come. Don’t look away.”

Her legs began to tremble, her whole body shaking uncontrollably as he kept thrusting, kept rubbing her clit just right. “You always do this,” he murmured, his voice ragged, his eyes locked on hers. “Always shake when you’re about to come. Drives me fucking crazy.”

He pushed deeper, his fingers working her clit fast and messy, until she cried out, her body convulsing as she came undone beneath him. “That’s it,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “Let me feel you fall apart. I need it.”

And fall apart she did, completely and utterly his. Her body seized, a wave of pleasure crashing over her so intensely that her vision blurred. Her pussy clenched around him, pulsing, tightening, as if trying to pull him even deeper inside her. Lando groaned, his cock still buried to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he felt her walls gripping him like a vice. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, his voice raw, trembling. “You’re so tight. I can feel you squeezing me—every fucking inch.”

She gasped, her back arching off the bed, her fingers clawing at his shoulders as the sensation consumed her. Her clit throbbed under his relentless touch, her pussy quivering around his cock as he kept thrusting, slow but deep, dragging out every last shiver of her orgasm. “Lando,” she whimpered, her voice breaking, her body trembling uncontrollably. “I can’t—it’s too much—I—”

But he didn’t stop. He kept moving, his cock sliding in and out of her slick, swollen folds, her pussy still fluttering around him as he pushed her higher, dragged her further. “Look at me, princess,” he commanded, his voice rough, desperate. She forced her eyes open, meeting his gaze, and what she saw there—pure, unrelenting desire—sent another wave of heat crashing through her. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hips grinding against hers, his cock filling her so completely she thought she might break. “You feel so fucking good when you come. I can’t get enough of it.”

And then, just as her orgasm began to ease, his rhythm faltered. His breath hitched, his jaw clenching as he drove into her one last time, deep and hard, her name a ragged whisper on his lips. He came with a low, guttural groan, his cock throbbing inside her as he spilled himself, hot and thick, filling her in a way that made her shudder. Her pussy milked him, her walls still clenching around his length as he emptied himself, his body trembling against hers.

For a moment, they were both still, the only sounds their ragged breathing, the heat of their bodies pressed together. Lando’s forehead rested against hers, his breath hot and uneven as he whispered, “You’re mine, princess. Forever.” 

And in that moment, she believed him. The words hung in the air between them, raw and heavy, as his forehead rested against hers, their breaths uneven and tangled. She felt the weight of his confession in the way he held her—like letting go wasn’t an option. He was still inside her, warm and throbbing faintly, grounding her in a way that made her feel both exposed and safe. She wanted to believe him—needed to—because this… this was everything.

Lando shifted slightly, his hand sliding down her side in a slow, deliberate caress. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, then moved between her thighs, finding her clit with practiced ease. He rubbed in slow, steady circles, his touch soft but certain, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

“This,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “this is why I love missionary. Because I can feel all of you.”

Her cheeks burned, eyes fluttering shut as he kept working her clit with maddening precision. He knew every inch of her, exactly how to touch her, how to break her down.

“I can see your face,” he whispered against her skin. “Every little reaction, every breath, every moan. All mine.”

Her hips lifted instinctively, seeking more, and he chuckled—low and deep.

“You’re so fucking responsive,” he said, fingers pressing harder. “Every time I touch you, you act like it’s the first time. Drives me insane, baby.”

She could still feel him inside her, thick and pulsing, his hips slowly grinding against hers.

“And I can rub you just like this,” he murmured, circling her clit with expert rhythm. “I can make you come while I’m still inside. Feel you tighten around me like you’re pulling me deeper.”

She moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders as he kept going, relentless.

“I love it,” he breathed against her ear. “The way you feel wrapped around me. The way you hold me like you never want to let go.”

Her clit throbbed under his touch, her body clenching around him in anticipation.

“And this,” he said, his voice a rasp, “your clit… so sensitive. I love knowing I’m the one who gets to touch it like this. The one who gets to make you fall apart.”

She was already there, tension winding tight, her body poised on the edge. And he knew. He always did.

“You’re close, aren’t you, princess?” he murmured, fingers quickening, pressure unyielding. “I can feel it. I can see it in your eyes.”

She nodded, breath hitching, legs trembling.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Let go for me. Let me feel it. Let me see you.”

And she did. Her body convulsed, pussy clamping down around him as she came hard, waves of pleasure crashing through her. He didn’t stop—kept rubbing, kept thrusting slow and deep, drawing out every last ripple of release.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, breath ragged. “You feel so fucking good when you come.”

When she finally stilled, her body limp and trembling, he leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft and tender. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion, his fingers still tracing the curve of her hip. She sighed into the kiss, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored the warmth of his lips against hers. But then his hand moved lower again, his fingers brushing against her clit, and she gasped, her body jerking at the sudden sensitivity.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice shaky, her hands pressing against his chest. “Stop. It’s—it’s too much. I’m too sensitive.”

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing, his fingers dancing lightly over her clit, just enough to make her squirm. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, his lips grazing her ear. “You’re so fucking sensitive right now. It’s adorable.”

“Lando,” she whined, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tried to push him away, but he didn’t stop immediately. Instead, he lingered, his touch still light but insistent, his lips brushing against her neck as he whispered, “Just one more touch, princess. You know you like it.”

She shook her head, her breath hitching as his fingers teased her clit again, the sensation almost too much to bear. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Stop. I can’t—”

He finally relented, his hand moving away from her clit, but he didn’t pull out of her. Instead, he stayed right where he was, his cock still buried deep inside her, his warmth filling her in the most intimate way. He kissed her again, his lips soft and tender, his hands moving to cup her face as he whispered, “Okay, baby. I’ll stop. But I’m not done loving you yet.”

His lips trailed over her face, kissing her cheeks, her jawline, her forehead, every touch so gentle it made her heart ache. He was everywhere, his breath warm against her skin, his lips worshipping her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I could spend forever just like this, just loving you.”

She felt her cheeks burn, her heart swelling at his words. He was so tender, so loving, and it made her feel things she couldn’t put into words. Her hands cupped his face, her fingers brushing over his stubble as she whispered, “I love you, Lando.”

His eyes locked with hers, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leaned down to kiss her again. “I love you too, princess,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “So fucking much.”

[be4chywritez]

neck kisses | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You love kissing up on Oscar, and this time it lands him in trouble.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warnings: use of y/n and like allusions to smut, but no real smut

It starts with a perfect day.

The kind that makes your heart feel full, your skin warm, your cheeks sore from smiling too much.

Oscar had insisted on a proper date—something that didn’t involve race strategy meetings, travel schedules, or rushed dinners between flights. So, you ended up at the beach, just the two of you. The sun had been high, the waves had been gentle, and Oscar had been… well, Oscar—smiling at you like you were his entire world.

You spent hours there, playing in the water, sharing an ice cream that melted too fast, and walking along the shore, fingers laced together like you’d done it a million times before.

Oscar's hand rests lazily on your thigh as he drives, his fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm of the song playing through the car speakers. It’s comfortable—easy.

Until you get an idea.

A very reckless, stupid, undeniably tempting idea.

The two of you had stopped at some random fast food place on the way back to his apartment, and now you’re parked in some empty lot, eating fries out of the same carton. The dim glow of the streetlights outside barely illuminates the car, making the space between you feel even smaller.

Oscar is mid-sentence—something about the race next weekend, about tire strategies, about things you should probably be paying attention to. But you aren’t. Not really.

“You know,” you mused, shifting slightly so you could turn toward him, “I never actually thanked you for today.”

Oscar’s eyes flicked toward you, suspicious. “For what?”

“For taking me to the beach,” you said smoothly, tilting your head as you let your fingers trail lightly up his forearm. “For driving me around. For looking—” you paused, letting your gaze drop to his exposed throat, “—really, really good in that hoodie.”

His lips parted slightly, his hand tightening on your thigh just a fraction. “Uh—”

Before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his neck.

The effect was immediate.

Oscar inhaled sharply, his entire body tensing beneath you. His grip on your leg tightened as his free hand instinctively shot to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “Y/N—”

“Mhm?” You hummed against his skin, letting your lips trail lower, feeling the way his pulse quickened beneath your mouth.

His breath hitched. “We are in a parking lot.”

You let your teeth scrape lightly over his pulse point before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “And?”

Oscar groaned, his fingers digging into your waist as if that would stop you. “And—you—fuck—” His head tilted slightly, giving you more access even as he tried to resist.

You grinned. “You were saying?”

His response was cut off by a sharp inhale as you sucked lightly at his throat, your tongue flicking over the warm skin before biting down just enough to make him jolt. His other hand abandoned the wheel entirely, wrapping around your thigh as he instinctively pulled you closer.

“Jesus—” he muttered, voice strained. His grip was firm now, his hands no longer hesitant as they roamed over your waist, your thighs, like he needed something to hold onto.

You pressed a final, lingering kiss just below his jaw, grinning against his skin. “I love how easy you are to mess with.”

Oscar exhaled shakily, his grip on you tightening. “I hate you.”

You didn’t even get a chance to respond before—

Thud.

The car jolted forward.

The two of you froze.

Oscar’s hands flew to the wheel, his eyes going wide as his head snapped up. “Oh—oh my god—”

Your stomach dropped as you turned your head just in time to see a very unfortunate tree now very much in front of the car.

Silence.

Your jaw dropped. Then you looked at Oscar, whose face was rapidly shifting from panic to pure, unfiltered mortification.

And then—

You lost it.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying and failing to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god—” you gasped, shaking with laughter as you leaned back against your seat. “Did you—did you just—” You could barely breathe, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Did you just get so flustered you hit the gas?”

Oscar groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I—I wasn’t flustered—”

You threw your head back, cackling. “Babe, you just ran into a tree because I kissed your neck.”

Oscar groaned louder, slumping against the seat. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you corrected smugly, wiping at your eyes. Then, just to be cruel, you leaned in again, brushing your lips over the still-warm mark you’d left on his neck.

Oscar snapped.

His hands flew to your waist as he abruptly yanked you into his lap, your knees hitting either side of his thighs. “No. Absolutely not.”

You grinned, settling comfortably against him. “Aw, baby, are you scared I’ll make you crash again?”

His hands tightened on your hips, his expression a mix of exasperation and something darker, something you weren’t used to seeing from him. His fingers dug into your sides, his lips parting slightly as he met your gaze.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, but his hands were saying something entirely different as they trailed up your sides, over your ribs, pressing into your back like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to push you away or pull you closer.

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair before whispering against his lips—

“And yet, you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Oscar groaned again, but this time, he didn’t argue.

Oscar’s hands were everywhere. His grip on your waist was firm, grounding, but his fingers weren’t still—they kneaded at your sides, then trailed up your back, pressing into your spine before slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, just enough to make you shiver.

His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. You had him exactly where you wanted him, and he knew it.

You tilted your head, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “You okay, baby?”

Oscar exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on you tightening. “You almost killed me and my car, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”

You grinned, shifting slightly in his lap just to see him react. His hands flew to your hips again, holding you still as his jaw clenched. “I didn’t do anything,” you teased, your breath ghosting over his lips. “You were the one who hit the gas.”

Oscar groaned, his head falling back against the seat for a moment before he looked at you again, eyes flickering between your lips and the smug expression on your face. “I swear you do this on purpose.”

You pretended to think for a second. “Do what?”

His fingers flexed on your hips before suddenly dragging you forward, closing the small space between you. His nose brushed against yours, his voice lower, rougher. “Drive me insane.”

Your breath caught for half a second before you recovered, pressing your palms against his chest, feeling the way his heart hammered beneath your fingertips. “You love it,” you whispered.

Oscar exhaled shakily, his hands sliding up your back again, pulling you closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “I hate how much I do.”

Your heart flipped, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you let your fingers trail lower, playing with the hem of his hoodie. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

For a second, you thought he might break, that he might actually kiss you, that he might completely lose himself in you the way you wanted him to. But then—

A loud knock on the driver’s side window made both of you jump.

Oscar jerked so hard that his knee hit the steering wheel, his hands flying off your waist as he nearly knocked you off his lap in sheer panic.

Your head snapped toward the window, your heart hammering. A cop.

Well. Shit.

Oscar scrambled to roll down the window, his voice cracking. “Uh—hi, officer.”

The cop—a tired-looking man with a badge and a very unimpressed expression—peered into the car. Then, at the tree. Then, back at you two.

Oscar swallowed.

The cop raised an eyebrow. “You good, son?”

Oscar let out a nervous laugh. “Uh. Yeah. Just. Um. Just a little parking mishap.”

The officer looked at you, then at Oscar’s still-flushed face, then at your position half in his lap. His expression didn’t change. “Right.”

You bit back a laugh, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold it.

The officer sighed. “Try not to run over any more trees, alright?”

Oscar nodded so fast that you had to hide your face against his shoulder to keep from wheezing. “Yes, sir. Definitely. No more trees.”

The cop gave you one last knowing look before turning and walking back toward his car.

The second he was gone, you lost it.

Oscar groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “I am never recovering from this.”

You gasped for air between giggles. “Oscar. You crashed your car because I kissed your neck.”

Oscar muttered something under his breath before tilting his head back to glare at you. “I swear, if you bring this up to anyone—”

You grinned, leaning in again, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “What? You gonna lose control again?”

Oscar groaned. “I hate you.”

You smirked against his skin. “Liar.”

[hanquokkasjeekies]

{ their weird turn ons } - hyung line

stray kids scenarios/headcanons

skz hyung line (individual) x f!reader

word count: 1.2k

genre: smut, established relationship, scenarios

warnings: kissing ⋆ face fucking ⋆ vanilla smut ⋆ blowjob ⋆ mask fetish ⋆

❥ maknae line

~ ~ ~

hyunjin - when you're wearing a mask

you’ve been out shopping with hyunjin, but he’s been way more clingy than usual. you’re beginning to think it has something to do with your face mask, but you’re not sure.

randomly, he’s been acting quite strange. just before, you had pointed out a cute bag to him and he suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you through the mask. it wasn’t just a quick peck either, it was full on. you could feel the heat of his mouth and tongue on yours through the material and it was much too passionate considering you were in public.

and then, a while later, he dragged you by your wrist behind a shelf and proceeded to pull down your mask and properly make out with you. you hadn’t noticed but he had smudged your lipstick badly too. the whole time you were shopping, he was holding a part of you– your hand, waist, shoulder and sometimes head.

now, inside a taxi, you decide to confront him about it.

“hyunjin! what’s up with you today? you’ve been acting weird…” your voice trails off as he places your hand on the warm bulge in his pants.

“i know it sounds stupid… but i’m just happy only i got to see your pretty face today.”

any other day you would’ve died from cringe– but today, after all the random kisses and sweet touches, you blush a little; relieved he was just feeling unusually possessive and affectionate.

“you know you can already see my face whenever you want. i'm yours~ whether you like it or not ♡”

changbin - when you're holding hands and you dig your nails in

changbin loves when you hold hands with him. whether it’s lovers’ lock, just loosely holding on or you holding onto his finger– he’ll be happy with anything.

so as you’re sat together on a park bench like an old married couple, you take his hand in yours as you’re having a conversation about pigeons.

“but they’re like rats that can fly!” you say, glaring at the one closest.

changbin’s offended now. “you can’t compare them with rats!” he says in horror, “they’re like the epitome of cuteness and friendliness. and the sound they-” his voice cuts off as you dig your nails into the back of his hand. his breath hitches as you press in harder.

“fuuuck”, he says under his breath, his grip tensing as you loosen your fingers.

“well that shut you up, didn’t it?”

he’s avoiding your gaze now as you look up at him and squeeze his hand. “what did you think of just now?”

“nothing…”

“hmm~ you sure?”, you tease.

“fine. i just, um… remembered last night, you know? when you dug your nails into my back as you came.” he admits, blush creeping over his cheeks and ears. looking down at where your nails indented into his skin, he makes sure to keep a mental image of it.

you smirk at the cute reaction you got out of him,“so you liked that then~ i’ll keep it in mind.”

lee know - when you’re wearing a short skirt

it’s taking everything in lee know to stop himself from bending you over the nearest surface and fucking you raw. the short flowy skirt you’re wearing is the kind he likes best on you; white with a layer of lace peeking out from underneath. and of course you had to be on a coffee date which meant he couldn’t do anything to you, apart from little teases like squeezing your butt, touching your thighs when you’re sitting or lightly grabbing you by the neck when no one’s watching.

and now he's hard. in the coffee shop.

“fuck, baby… why did you come in a mini skirt~?” he’s so whiny and doesn't even care about coffee anymore. his knee is shaking up and down and he's crossing his arms, eyes boring into you. “can’t we just leave already?”

you’re sipping your latte slowly, enjoying this unusual whiny side of him as you say, “not until i’m done. plus, i like it here– it’s so cosy~”

“well, i can make sure you’re even cosier at home.” lee know says through gritted teeth.

“hmm”, you let out, trying to sound bored.

the car ride home is comfortable but lee know’s more focused on the road then usual apart from when he’s massaging your thighs with his free hand during traffic.

as soon as you're through the door, he's all over you. his mouth goes straight for your neck while his hands grope your butt through your little skirt.

“ you did this to me, sweetheart, showing off your thighs to everyone in that tiny skirt like the slut you are.” you moan at his harsh words and cling onto his shoulders.

“got everyone staring up your ass like they don’t know whose girl you are.”

“yours– all yours, lee know” you say breathlessly.

he lifts your chin up to look at him,“i’m not convinced yet, sweetheart; gonna have to remind you all over again– and you're just going to take everything like a good girl, hmm?”

bangchan - when you yawn

the cuteness aggression chan gets when you yawn is on a whole other level. he always says you yawn like a puppy; the way your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a tiny sound makes him wish he could play it on repeat. sometimes he’ll even try to kiss you mid-yawn but it always ends up with both of you in a fit of giggles. other times when he’s working and he hears you breathe in sharply, he’ll whip around in his seat just in time to see you finish a yawn. and when your eyes are just a little watery after you yawn it’ll actually drive chan insane.

another part of his brain, when he sees you with your cute mouth wide open and a tear on the edge of leaking out, just can’t help the urge to see your mouth stuffed full of his dick until you’re choking and properly crying.

and right now, when he’s already a little horny and he sees you yawning all sleepy beside him, his self-control is being tested to its limit. he waits for a while but it’s no use. he pushes up against you under the covers as you turn to face him.

“shit– please, babe; do you think you could help me?”

“what do you want me to do?” you say with fake innocence, “i won't know unless you tell me”

he slightly grinds against your thigh. “i want– wanna fuck your mouth, please”

you move so his dick is right up against your lips and you start kitten licking him. you know he desperately wants more but you keep teasing him with light touches and licks until he can't take it anymore.

holding your head in one hand he thrusts deep into your throat with a loud groan. his dick is warm and he’s using your mouth so hard you start gagging. but it only turns him on more.

it’s barely been a minute and he’s already pulling out and cumming all over your face. he has the most satisfied smile as he admires his work, before he kisses you gently.

“so perfect for me…mmh– love you so much”

❥ maknae line

[sunsburns]

imagine asking wade if he still likes you when he’s literally inside you LMAOOO I just know he’d be so flabbergasted

i know a normal people fan when i see one (18+, fluff)

but jokes aside, and dicks inside, wade would likely get whiplash; his head turning so fast he can hear a crack in his neck, staring at you like you're crazy because just seconds ago you'd been running your gentle hands over his skin. your fingers brush against the divots of his scarred skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, humming softly, close enough that your lashes tickle whenever you blink.

wade's a little out of breath, sticky with sweat, and miraculously, rendered speechless. to others, a rarity, but with you, while still rare, is more frequent, especially after sex.

sure, he drops a joke or two, but there is a window where wade likes to sit there, holding you, skin against skin, in silence; listening to the sounds of your shaky breaths as you come down from your high, the sounds of the bedsheets ruffling with slow movements from the both of you, even the sounds of the old crackly fan on his ceiling.

and so, in that small window of silence, the two of you lay there in a warm embrace, listening to each other's heartbeats as wade's dick slowly softens inside you.

but then that small window starts to close, the silence breaking with you. you shift, turning to press your chin against wade's chest while looking up at him, "hey," you whisper, a smile growing against your lips.

"hi," he whispers back to you, but he continues to stare at the window, watching the soft light of the rising sun peeking in through the white lace curtains you picked out, a part of you in the dingy apartment he shared with blind al.

"we've officially gone at it all night. fucking like rabbits. and i can't believe i'm saying this but, i'm fucking spent. i might need a few weeks to recover. i asked for a bone and you threw a whole skeleton at me, peanut."

you snort, rolling your eyes, "yeah, right."

"okay, fine, a week is too long." wade hums, he finds your hair and runs his hand over it, twirling a strand around his finger, "i'll be good as new by tonight or at least by the time you scroll to read another fic of me, of course."

you're still staring at him, and wade, ever the observant, notices. he shifts, sits up, holds onto your waist, and brings you up with him. you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan, sensitive to the way he's touching you, the way his dick keeps you full.

wade raises his brows (or at least, where his brows would be), "what? is there something on my face? i know i'm ugly but i thought we were past that. your staring is making me a little self conscious, sweetbuns."

"wade?"

"yes, cupcake?"

"do you like me?"

"what-?" he stares at you, eyes wide and nearly popping out of his head. "do i- what? what the fuck kind of stupid ass fuck ass question is that? you think i don't like you? we literally fucked all night. literally did every position in the book. i let you peg me! you might be the only person on earth that matches my freak-"

"yeah, i know but-"

"bitch, i'm literally still inside you."

that's when you can't help but laugh, grinning against his neck when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. you love the way his body emits warmth, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer like you want to live inside his skin.

wade holds you, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. and he groans loudly when you say, "you never answered my question."

"oh my god," he huffs dramatically, "of course i fucking like you. like no shit."

"okay, great. i was just making sure."

[chiscaralight]

don't fuck your enemy!

synopsis: you just so happened to end up drunk with your enemy in the club bathroom. what would be more fuck than punching him in the face? fucking him!

includes: nsfw! scara x reader public sex ish. slight degradation. unprotected bathroom sex, p in v sex, mentions of oral sex, reader is under the influence but its all consensual. slight car sex, little bit of regret. this feels new to me, but I absolutely loved writing it! based off a request that I will link here

“scaraaa…”

“quit whining.”

you’re wiggling your hips to him, as he struggles to get his belt off.

“you’re obnoxious. is this how you treat everyone you say you hate? slut.”

“and you’re the one feeding into it. just shut up and-“

the moan you let out is drowned in the music. it’s not loud enough to draw attention, but if anyone else is in the bathroom, they’d definitely hear it. it’s not your fault you’re in this position, after a couple of rounds of shots, this stupid, sexy man wouldn’t stop staring at you in what he says is ‘disgust’. hard to believe when he wasted no time in following through with your advances, pressing you against the stall wall and crashing his lips onto yours.

but yes, you’re a slut for letting him push his cock past your lips, keeping your eyes trained on him as he groaned about how good that felt when you weren’t spewing bullshit, or you nuzzling your head into his hand as he tangles his fingers in your well-done hair.

but no, he’s not a fucking whore for dragging you off the ground and for bunching your short dress up at your hips. nor is he one for pressing his lips against your skin, marking up and down your neck as his fingers glide over your clothed hole before pulling your panties into the side.

you won’t let it get to you now though, because the mixture of the alcohol making your mind spin, with the way the heat from his fingers is dancing around your body, tracing obscure shapes into the fat of your hips before sliding up to cup your breasts is enough to keep any other words out of your mouth, save for his name.

it’s almost insane how good he is because he’s rocking just enough to hit you with enough force, but not enough to shake the plastic frame of the makeshift wall. your hands are finding his wrists, trying to ground yourself to something, anything while he fucks your senses away in the bathroom of some upscale nightclub, trying to ground himself from how good you feel. this has to be wrong on so many levels, fucking you, after everything you’ve said, he’s said, you’ve done, he’s done?

that seems to be the least of your worries now because he can see your eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out of your mouth as he slides a finger into the heat of your mouth. your reactions to his touch are quick, the way you jerk into his hand, or close your lips around his fingers like it was nothing. like it’s what you were made to do. his wet digits now slide back down towards your swollen clit, applying a certain pressure that has you crying out his name with that grating, gorgeous voice of yours. he doesn’t even have it in him to silence you, he’s twitching at the way it rolls off your tongue. fuck, if he knew you’d be this perfect, he would have cut the bullshit and bent you over long ago! but maybe it was more rewarding like this, fleeting memories of all the times he’s pumped his cock to the thought of your face moving through his mind, as your lewd expression brings him back to you.

he’s craning his head the slightest bit to catch your eye. when he does, you smile. and he could cum right then and there from the way your eyes crinkle at the corners through the flush of your cheeks. you mouth out a silent ‘kiss’, and he’s on you in an instant, tongue sliding against yours as the bitter taste of the alcohol finds its way toward him. but he doesn’t care about that. he’s more concerned about the way you’re starting to writhe and shake against him, becoming more and more unsettled with the lack of your own movement. so you do your best to stop him, pushing him off of you as you finally get to breathe. your words come out with a sweet giggle, finger pressing against his chest as your drunken state blurs your vision the slightest amount.

“wanna ride you, pretty boy.”

if anyone who didn’t know the two of you were to for some reason swing this door open now, they’d think the two of you were insatiable lovers who just couldn’t wait to make it home. to anyone that doesn’t know you, they’d probably have to wipe their eyes twice to pretend they weren’t seeing you bounce on scaramouche’s cock like this. he’s seated on the closed toilet lid, absolutely dazed as you ride him to bits. your nails are digging into his shoulders hard, giving you strong balance as you move with a determination even he can’t fathom. but you’ve been dreaming of this, finally getting him to shut up with that pussy or yours, it’s a shame you didn’t get to shove his face in it; but maybe it’s for the best. even in this mindset you know tomorrow is going to be full of headaches and a lot of unanswered questions, so why not enjoy the now? keep anything from getting too far. what exactly is too far you ask? you’re not sure either, because licking into each other's mouths while he fucks up into you would be seen as pretty far for some people.

and he breaks away first, lazy eyes searching yours as he mumbles about his coming orgasm. you’re smiling that stupid smile that makes his dick twitch again, and giving him a polite nod. his eyebrows furrow.

“inside? you sure?”

you’re rolling your eyes at the obscurity of it all. he can ‘discretely’ slide your expensive lace panties into his pocket, press you up against this gross wall, and even fuck you presumably drunk. but cumming inside you is weird.

“yes-yes! i’m sure. just-just hurry up,”

and he’s smacking his teeth at the tone of your voice, hand coming down strong on the swell of your ass while he starts to chase his orgasm. your breaths are shallow, deep with intent as you grind against him, brushing up close to him so you can release in tandem with him.

it works a little too well, because you’re spasming against him in a way that he’s never seen before. your orgasm, plus the feeling of his cum starting to paint your inside white hot with thick spurts is peeling away any reservations you had about this whole situation before, moans loud and cracking as you ride it out for the two of you. his head is hung back, adam’s apple bobbing only a slight bit as he comes to, the soft bite you give it making him snap his head back down before he pinches your thigh. you pout, but begin to get up nonetheless, because you’ve probably spent way too long in here already.

you're much more sober now, trying to ignore the daggers that scaramouche is glaring into your back as you adjust your outfit in the mirror.

"was the sex really that bad?"

the statement is supposed to sound snarky, but it comes out more desperate than anything. you clear your throat, focusing your attention on the paint on the floor instead, dreadfully anticipating how he will bite back this time. but he doesn't. instead, you're greeted with the plush of his lips against yours, hands finding a home on your hips omce again as you grip at his collar. you're moaning into his mouth once more, attempting to slide your tongue against his.

but he pulls away before you can, beelining for the exit door instead. your lips are in a hard pout. as you hear him mumble something about needing to go home. you also happen to catch the part where he more clearly states the exact parking space his car is in right now before letting the door swing shut.

you're alone with your thoughts now. your mind is much clearer, and you're visibly torn between doing the right thing, that is, going back to your friends and enjoying the party like you should've been, or going down and potentially making the same albeit lovely, very rewarding mistake twice. the way the 'fuck it' rolls off your tongue now is a secure answer to what you decide to do, quickly making your way towards where you hope your friends are before announcing that you'll be on your way.

it's been minutes, seven exactly, scaramouche is counting. he shouldn't be here, he should've left immediately he stuck the key in the ignition. but he's waiting rather impatiently, in hopes that you'd find your way down. he knows you're not stupid, he knows you would regret it, hell, he should be regretting it too. but that annoying little feeling in his heart won't let him pull out of the space just yet. and thank archons for that, because he can see the pattern of your dress outside his tinted window as you tap on the glass.

the silence once you get in is stupidly uncomfortable. the air is thick with tension, both of you avoiding each other's gazes as the impact of your previous actions weighs in the air. scaramouche takes the initiative to speak first.

"we should-"

"your windows are tinted. can you eat me out?"

he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"you're absolutely insufferable."

"l-less talking, please."

he'll roll his eyes, but dip his head back down between your legs all the same. you're sprawled out in his back seat, fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue assaults your folds. maybe the first kiss was a mistake, maybe him fucking you against the wall was a big mistake. but his fingers sliding into you now? curling just exactly where they should be? there's no mistake here.

[lovelyghst]

soft-tummy simon riley save me… cause you cannot look at that man and tell me he doesn’t love to eat!! like, a constant snacker. and his heart absolutely swells when you indulge so heavily in his needs.

it’s practically his love language, to scarf down anything you put on the table in front of him, and you can certainly tell since now he’s not nearly in the same shape as he was when you found him.

he likes to think you’ve fixed him in a way; spending his evenings cuddling in bed for hours on end with you, rather than heading to the gym for the second time that day to burn off dinner. thanking you for the savory meal with kisses all over instead of fighting off the impulse to purge his usual bland chicken breast and vegetables every night.

and it all hits him far, far deeper than just his gut; feeling it in his heart more than the soft layer of fat blanketing his tummy he has to see in the mirror every morning. just the fact that a sweet thing like you wants to take care of him, ensure he eats plentiful yet still healthy for his work, has him whipped. showering him with endless i love you’s and praising him all up and down until his cheeks tint a light, flustered pink and his dick gets achingly hard in his pants.

he won’t pretend the change was easy on him, seeing the clean-cut abs and fit appearance that made him feel young fade away the further you got into your relationship, but he’d also be a filthy liar if he said he didn’t prefer the pros to his current build way more.

simon begins wearing shirts less around the house on his lazy days, at your lovely request of course, and it does feel quite freeing. especially when he’s able to come up behind you in the kitchen, cage you in with his burly arms, bend you over the counter and fuck you senseless because part of the deal was that his shirts would go to you, and with nothing but your lace panties on underneath.

he can’t help but get riled up seeing you walk around like that, and you’re no saint either when you catch a glimpse of his broad chest and relaxed, pillowy belly as he reads the morning newspaper. you tend to drop to your knees and tug at his boxers faster than he can even greet you properly, showing him just how much you love him.

he loves eating you out more than anything, especially with a full tummy after a late meal. you’ll take his and your empty plates to the kitchen to clean up, but you’re being bent over the counter before you can even wipe it down!! and squealing his name in surprise won’t stop him, nor will your giggles as he’s lifting the skirt of your dress to reveal your pretty ass, getting down on his knees and delving right in.

dragging his tongue through your drenched seam, grinning softly against your skin when you jolt and whine out of sensitivity. tongue-fucking your pretty, tight hole only for a moment before he’s returning to messily play with your swollen clit.

and you just know it’s entirely selfish, simon not even paying mind to the way your legs shake and relentlessly convulse and you can barely stay still because his stubble is unceasingly tickling your inner thighs. making you cum until you can’t anymore, and he’s happily forced to carry your numbed, twitchy body to bed so you can catch your breath and rest while he finishes up the chores.

would probably send you off by say something cliché about you being his favorite dessert. he’s so stupid when he’s horny.

simon is weak for when you ride his stomach, with both his hands planted firmly on your hips as you rub your bare pussy back and forth on his hard abdomen. his hidden muscles become more apparent the longer you go at it and the harder he holds you down, little whimpers spilling from your puffy lips as the light hairs coating his tummy create just the perfect amount of friction to your poor, little clit for that hot, familiar sensation in your lower belly to bubble up.

your hands clawing at his chest and shoulders, leaving lines and crescent indents in his skin that soon turn red in their wake, and the pain only turns him on more, his cock excruciatingly hard, long hums of pleasure omitting straight from his throat as he grits his teeth.

“yeah, that’s it, sweetheart—there’s my dirty girl. jus’ keep goin’ for me now, don’t stop… make yourself cum without me touchin’ you down there, ‘nd then i’ll fuck you real nicely after. alright, princess?”

and you soon follow through with just that, nodding decorously with tears welling at your eyes’ waterlines before you’re lurching forward, crying out his name. thighs giving out and fighting to ride out your orgasm, where simon then saves you with his attentive grip on your hips, finishing the job for you rather recklessly.

“good fuckin’ girl… y’did so well for me, love,” and every other gruff, dragged word of praise in his vocabulary echos in your fuzzy mind as you come down from your high.

you’re still catching your breath, fulling laying on his chest by the time he’s inching you backwards whilst taking his hard dick out from his boxers. lifting your weak hips for you as he whispers small, reassuring hushes right by your ear, soothing your winces as he fully sheathes you on his thick cock, inch by fucking inch.

he fucks himself up into you, not daring to make you overwork your body anymore, and he handles you so delicately you could almost fall asleep on his mattress of a body. you crumble to pieces with the vibrations of his chest from his unending groaning, the feeling of his veiny and rough cock stretching and filling you to the brim almost becoming minute compared to the sleepiness washing over you.

“there ya go, pretty… don’t have’ta do any work now, jus’ like i promised, eh?” he coos, and he could feel you smiling against his collarbone. one of his large hands cradles the back of your head while the other gropes at your ass lovingly. “takin’ me just fine, sweet girl.”

you bury your heated face into his squishy pectoral, whining at the overstimulation to your clit at the particular angle, left so utterly sensitive from your prior orgasm. you’re limp in his strong hold, securer than ever as he lifts your hips up and down his thick cock.

he uses your tender cunt ‘til he’s satisfied, groaning right up against your ticklish ear when he empties his hot cum in your throbbing pussy, the perfect thing milking him dry and turning you exhausted.

he actually sits in the moment for a peaceful while, coddling you against his rising and falling chest and murmuring sweet praises, until eventually his disciplined brain kicks in despite your protests.

“don’t go passin’ out on me yet, sweetheart.” you grumble out a refusing noise which makes him laugh softly, but apparently it’s not enough to win him over. “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

(simon and his size difference & free use kinks go CRAZY in this one. also this instagram reel is so him coded ok bye bye <3 cont.)

[stellarsturniolos]

━━ ⟢‘PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT’ ╰  C.S.

・ ˖  ✦ ⋄ . in which.. chris lets bsf!reader practice giving head on him.

warnings: smut, cursing, blowjob, i think that's everything.

A/N: reblogs and likes are appreciated! i do NOT give consent for my work to be copied or uploaded to any other platform. thank you. this is my first time attempting to write smut in years so pls be kind to me lmfao.

it's late at night. you and chris are sitting on your balcony, looking up at the blanket of stars that seem to stretch out to infinity. the occasional barking of dogs somewhere in the distance was the only noise that broke into the silence of the evening.

chris is your best friend. has been since you were a little kid. he's the person you feel the most at ease. you don't need to hold a conversation with him to have a good time – just being with him is enough for you.

"tell me something i don't know about you." he suddenly mumbles.

"what?" you snort softly. "you already know everything about me."

"oh, c'mon." he nudges your foot with his own. "there's gotta be something."

you avert your gaze as you feel heat rising into your cheeks. "... okay. i've never given a blowjob before."

his eyes widen as he gawks at you. "no way. really?"

you feel your lips twitch into a small smile at his surprise. "yes, really. and, i mean, it's not like i don't want to. trust me, i do. i'm just worried that i'll be really bad at it."

he blinked slowly, taking in your words. "you just need to practice."

you brows raise. "yeah? i've tried. on fruit, on my fucking dildo. but those things aren't the same as a real person. they can't give feedback."

his entire body grew unnaturally still, and you could almost see the thoughts spinning around in his head. "you could.. practice.. on me?" he says slowly. "i'm a real person. i can give feedback."

you feel your face grow even warmer. "i.. i, um.." you stutter. "i guess that's true."

"should we.. go inside?" he asks hesitantly.

you almost can't believe this is happening. that this is a real conversation that you're having with your best friend. you want to pinch yourself. "yeah.. yeah, let's go inside."

and before you can blink, he's standing up and grabbing your hand, tugging you inside your empty apartment and toward your bedroom.

you're suddenly very thankful that your roommate decided to spend the weekend with her boyfriend.

you pause in the doorway to your room and watch as chris pulls his hoodie off, revealing the soft t-shirt underneath. he plops down on your bed as he's done many times before. but never for something like this. he glances over at you with a faint smile. "you don't have to be so nervous, y'know? it's just me."

you nod as you step closer, sitting down on the bed near his thighs. "are you sure this is okay?"

"i wouldn't have offered if it wasn't okay." he reaches for your hand and places your palm over the now very obvious bulge in his jeans. "you feel that? feel how much i want this?"

"shit, chris." your fingers move to his zipper and belt buckle. you work quickly, tugging his jeans and boxers down his legs. you unexpectedly feel desperate for it. you want to see him, taste him, make him feel good.

your eyes widen as you see his dick for the first time, resting heavily against his stomach. it's huge. bigger than you ever imagined. much larger than your stupid fucking dildo.

you reach out with one hand and brush your fingers lightly over his shaft. you giggle softly as it twitches under your soft touch.

you scoot closer, until you're sitting in between his legs. you bend your head forward, flattening your tongue against the sensitive tip.

"fuuuuck." chris breathes out, his hips stuttering involuntarily.

you open your mouth and slowly suck him in. you want to savor the moment. you want to enjoy every second of this.

you lower yourself down as far as you can without gagging and wrap your fingers around the rest of his cock. your tongue brushes against his slit, tasting the precum that's steadily leaking out of him.

you look up and see chris looking down at you, his jaw slack and pupils dilated with desire. you've never seen him look like this, but you fucking love it.

you bob your head at a steady pace, fisting the part of his shaft that your mouth can't quite reach. you're a slobbering mess, but you don't give a damn. the slurping sounds of you pleasuring him only make you feel more aroused yourself.

you feel chris' hands in your hair, gripping and tugging. "mm, fuuuuck – so fuckin' good."

that's all the encouragement you need. you bob your head faster, your own moans muffled by the cock in your throat.

you watch his face the entire time. you love to see his pretty flushed cheeks. and the whimpers? fuck, you wish you could record them for later.

his hips lift off the bed, thrusting more of his dick down your throat. your cheeks go hollow as you suck as much of him in as you can.

"shit – mm, god – 'm gonna cum soon."

you dig your blunt fingernails into his thighs and bob your head a little faster. that's all it takes. his lower stomach tenses and his body stills as you feel warm spurts of cum hit the roof of your mouth and back of your throat.

you swallow every drop, not even minding the salty and bitter taste coating your tongue. you slowly pull off and press a soft kiss to his tip. you crawl up the bed and lay down next to chris, watching as he comes down from his high.

"was that okay?" you ask, trying to distract yourself from the wetness and need pulsing between your own thighs.

"jesus fuck." he laughs, still trying to catch his breath. "more than okay. that was.. so fucking good."

"but.. next time.. i wanna taste you."

[hyckstarz]

hi ! can I request mean dom!mark lee with crybaby!reader ?? thankyou so so much <3

i had to take a breather every five seconds of writing this... this request unlocked something in me

fxck your ex! | l.mk

pairing. mean dom!mark lee x afab crybaby!reader

word count. 2.4k

genre. smut

synopsis. mark was sick of it. sick of hearing her go on and on about her boyfriend whose cheating was a sign their short relationship was being thrown to the dogs. he couldn't count the number of times she'd show up at his door in the late hours of the night, crying about a man he could give a damn about. Fuck being a best friend, and fuck your boyfriend as I make his ass your ex.

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, dubcon! oral (m. and f. receiving), use of pet name/praise (baby, good girl, sweetheart, princess), degrading language (whore, slut), choking, rough handling, mention of anal play/licking, cheating, best friends. At this rate, everything is here 💀

A/N: this is probably the smuttiest fic I've written so far, but God was this fun to write. Mean Mark >>>>

Mark hated it. Hated how she went on and on about that fucking asshole. His sunken eye bags weighed heavy under his eyes as he bore holes into the flower pot, her sobs extra loud in his ears from the grogginess of being pulled out of his comfortable slumber. He then glanced at his phone. 3 AM. She came over to his place at ass o'clock in the morning to rant about her boyfriend, Jaehyun, again. His fingers and toes combined weren't enough to count the number of times she'd done this in the past three months.

"I do so much for him and he still goes out to meet that bitch!" She cries into her hands, "Now he's at that party doing God knows what with her."

Mark rubs his temples in frustration. He really tries. Really tries to be a good best friend for her, always lending an ear and shoulder, maybe he'd even consider chopping off those limbs to give to her in hopes of finally getting a good nights rest. But how much did he need to give away when she still goes crawling back to a cheater who couldn't give a damn.

He squints at her, trying to focus his blurry vision at her trembling form. His jaw hardens. Just a few months ago, he'd be a worried, nervous wreck at seeing her cry. Though now, he felt nothing but annoyance, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he mocked her stupidity in his head. But God was it hard to separate whether the frustration was at her dumping her problems on him, or at how sexually frustrated she made him. He couldn't help but sneak a glance at the tantalising strip of her thighs in those shorts, even as his jaw was clenched tight.

"I really love him... I love him so much, why can't he see that?" She choked out another sob, tears staining her skin.

Mark had reached a boiling point. It's like something that held his sanity and kindness snapped. Any ounce of respect he had for her had shattered, replaced by an all-consuming jealous rage.

His hand grabs at her wrist, tearing the palm that covered her face away, "What did you say?" His voice was quiet yet stern, husky from the lack of sleep.

She sniffled, meeting his hard gaze which made her breath catch in her throat, "I... love him."

Her soft eyes did nothing to calm the fire that raged in his chest. How could a sweet girl like her fall in love with that cheating, fucking asshole in a span of three months? Especially when Mark had always been there for her, through thick and thin, even now when she pulled him out of his sleep, selfishly, to talk about her own problems. He felt pathetic. In a way, he was just as pathetic as she was.

Mark sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on her arm which causes her to wince as he leaves red prints along her smooth skin, "M-Mark, you're hurting me-"

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, yanking her towards him, "I'm tired of your fucking bullshit. If he's such an asshole, break up with him!"

Y/N stumbles over her words, lips opening and closing like a clueless fish at Mark's uncharacteristic outburst, "I- I can't."

Mark scoffs, pushing her back onto the couch as he clamoured on top of her, gripping at her plush thighs that seemed to mold to his touch as she scrambled in surprise, "Why can't you? Does he blackmail you? Did he save your life and you feel like you owe him? What bullshit excuse will you give me this fucking time?"

She's breathing heavily, her tears now dried on her skin as she keeps her eyes on him, "Mark... what are you doing?"

He couldn't play nice when she looked so pretty like this. Mascara running down her pink cheeks, lashes wet and eyes soft as her glossy lips puckered in confusion.

Mark chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head, "Why don't we give that son of a bitch a taste of his own medicine? Maybe then you'd shut those pretty little lips up about another man I could give less of a shit about."

She gasps, pushing at his chest, "W-what? You're crazy!"

Mark laughs, gently threading his fingers through her long hair, "We're both crazy, baby. At least I have a thing called pride."

Y/N swallows thickly, peering up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Mark's fingers brush under the hem of her shorts, his nose nudging the crook of her neck, "Maybe I could fuck a little thing like pride into you... give you another thing to cry about."

In a second, he pins her wrists above her head, trapping her hips between his knees as he pulls back to meet her nervous gaze. She bites her lip, contemplating. She can't believe she's actually considering what her best friend was offering. She thinks back to her earlier argument with Jaehyun and, fuck, would it feel good to get back at him for once.

Even just thinking about her boyfriend has a fresh set of tears glazing over her eyes, "I-"

Mark's voice cuts through hers, "Don't expect me to play nice though, I've been a carpet you've walked all over long enough," he smirks cockily at her hesitation, leaning in to whisper hoarsely in her ear, "Think about it, baby... Think about your precious boyfriend pounding into that slutty chick of his. I mean... he clearly isn't fucking you right now. Couldn't blame him when you whine like a little bitch."

Y/N sobs harder, burying her damp cheeks into the crook of his neck, "O-okay! Just stop... stop talking about him."

Mark grips at her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he looks down at her with mockery, "Don't wanna face reality, princess? Fine."

His lips meet hers, molding against her soft, tear-stained ones that remained parted from his tight grasp. Her muffled sounds died in his mouth, his tongue swiping at the seam of her lips as it swirled with hers. He could taste the saltiness of her tears mixed with the vanilla flavoured gloss. When he pulled back, she was breathless, eyes blown wide. He loved the way her swollen, slick lips looked — a pretty pink that matched her flushed cheeks.

"You're an asshole," she pouted, her voice a broken whine despite the way she unashamedly rubbed her thighs together.

"Seems like you have a thing for assholes, baby. Admit it, you want to be ruined like a little slut. Who knew the crybaby was so filthy?" Mark pressed his knee between her legs. It was rough and it mixed pleasure with pain that had her gasping.

Y/N let out a choked moan, head nestling back into the cushions as he dragged his knee up and down her clothed clit. She hated that she was enjoying this. She was no better than Jaehyun. Sure, she had thoughts about her attractive best friend before, but he was never really her type. Until now.

"I don't have a thing for assholes," she sent him a glare despite lying through her teeth, "And I'm not a slut."

Mark stares at her for a moment before he lets out an amused laugh, "You're cute, but you're also dead wrong, baby."

He tugs his sweats down, pulling out his throbbing dick as he swirls his tip over her lips, coating them with his precum to wear like lip gloss. She let's out a muffled whimper, eyes pleading. He only scoffs in response, "I'll show you how slutty you really are, and you'll take it like a good girl, won't you?"

Her pussy clenches around nothing at that and Mark wastes no time in lifting her head up from the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. His other hand grabs her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he stuffs his dick past her lips, stretching her out. She sobs again, fingers digging into his hips as she let's him manhandle her, rutting his dick into her mouth like a fleshlight.

Y/N's moans, whimpers and sobs get lost on his dick. But what really gets her off is how vocal Mark is. His groans and breathy gasps urges her to take more of him, gagging as his tip occasionally hits the back of her throat. Her eyes flick up to see him staring back at her through half-lidded eyes, fucking her into the couch. She'd never given head like this before - sprawled out underneath with her head in his hands to relinquish all control to him.

"Should take a photo of you like this," Mark's thumb tugs her chin up, "send it to that shit-faced ex of yours... let him see what he missed out on."

Mark pulls back and she whines at the loss of her mouth being filled up, "He's not my ex."

He snorts in response, "He will be once I'm done with you."

She swallows thickly, suddenly feeling nervous. Mark had always been the sweet, gentle and respectful best friend. Predictable and safe. But this was a side she never knew existed, especially as he was private about his sex life.

Mark flips her over, letting her chest press against the armrest of the couch. But her words cut through his thoughts, "I'm not breaking up with him, ever."

At that, Mark let's out a bitter laugh, and smacks her ass, hard. The sound is sharp and leaves a tingling sensation behind that causes her to wince, "You will."

At her no, he smacks her again, rubbing the sting with his kneading hands, "You're pathetic."

Without wasting anymore time, he'd tugs her shorts down. His fingers rub along her slit and, with his teeth, he bites at the waistband of her underwear, letting it pull down to her thighs. For years, he had been fantasising about his best friend, even beating himself up about it from the shame. But seeing her bare before him, has him swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight. His imagination could never do her justice, she was gorgeous.

Mark leans in, dragging his tongue over her asshole, circling and teasing the puckered flesh. He spits on it, watching it glisten obscenely, tilting his head as he kisses and nips at the soft flesh of her ass. She'd never felt so embarrassed, writhing under him. But the only thought that came to mind was how Jaehyun would never.

Mark's fingers probe at the entrance of her pussy, coating the slender digits with her slick before pushing inside; scissoring and curling his fingers inside of her. He groaned at how the tight, wet heat gripped him like a vice, pulsing around his fingers. His other hand tugged her hair back, leaning in to kiss her, licking into her mouth that has her moaning.

Mark nips at her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood and make her wince. He licks at it, cooling the burn before he tugs her hair back harder, peppering sloppy kisses from her jaw down to her collarbone.

She rocks her hips back against his fingers, and Mark can't help but to smirk against her neck, "Desperate already?"

Maybe Mark was right, she didn't have pride and she was as slutty as they came. She nods eagerly, "Please, need you..."

Mark bit on her earlobe, whispering, "Gotta do better than that, sweetheart." His fingers stilled in her, hand pressed to her lower back to keep her from moving.

"I need you, Mark. Please," she begged.

But that wasnt enough, not even close, "Need me to what?"

Her lip quivered, feeling herself losing every inch of her sanity, "Need you to fuck me."

Mark stroked himself, his restraint was slowly slipping too, but he couldnt give her what she wanted just yet, "only if you promise to leave that son of a bitch," he spoke through gritted teeth.

Y/N bit on her bottom lip, pondering, "I will. I'll break up with him. So, please."

Mark scoffs. It didn't take long for her to give in, but he was grateful. Not wanting to waste another second, he pushes into her, hard and fast, not giving her time to adjust. She gasps out loud, clutching onto the armrest with desperation, "fuck! M-Mark-"

He ruts into her, blocking out her cries, "Like I said, you'll take what I give you like the good girl you are. Or do you prefer to be called a whore now that you're sleeping around?"

She whimpers, tears slipping down her cheeks, "Both... I wanna be called both."

Marks hands grab at her hips tightly, pulling her against him, "Knew you were nothing but a whore. Bet you were hoping for this... you were trying to piss me off by showing up at my place every night, huh?"

She shakes her head, clenching around him, "No! No, I wasn't."

His hand slithers under her, rubbing rough and quick circles on her clit, causing her to writhe beneath him, "You wanted me to fuck the outline of your body into my couch. Wanted someone who'd fuck you better than that asshole."

He pulls the length of his cock out of her before slamming back in. Her toes curl and she feels her body growing weaker, her release approaching. Her thoughts were cloudy, drool and tears staining her skin. Each thrust of his hips had her let out choked moans.

"No one is better for you than I am. Not Jaehyun, not even your own fingers. Just me. Only me," he growls, and she swears it was the sexiest sound that ever came out of any man.

"Y-yeah... only you... only you, Mark," she cried, arching her back against him.

"You're mine. All mine. Say it... say it for me, princess," his voice is suddenly soft and breathy. The gentleness returning, as if he really meant it.

Y/N nods, gasping, "I'm yours," she shuddered, her release washing over her as Mark never slowed his pace. She could feel him twitching as he helped her through her release, his own following as he pulled out and came all over her back.

She whined, "Wanted you to cum in me."

Mark chuckled, panting as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her lithe body into his chest, kissing down her neck and shoulder, "Next time, pretty. I'll save that for when you block that bastards number and make you mine for real."

(I promise my next post will be a Haechan fic)

© hyckstarz

[cloudtransprncy]

One Drink

Wonyoung X Male Reader | 1600 words.

Your girlfriend is a lightweight. Not the 4-5 drink kind—the 1 drink and she’s already pawing at you, whining for your cock, drunk off her ass and desperate to be fucked stupid in the backseat.

The restaurant buzzes with conversation and clinking glasses, the soft glow of wall sconces making everyone look better than they actually do.

Not Wonyoung, she always looks good.

Wonyoung sits across from you in a booth, her tight white top hugging her curves, dark hair swept up in a messy bun with strands framing her face. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the "just one drink after dinner" she promised – the one that's already empty. Now she's holding up her second drink – a margarita with salt-rimmed glass and lemon wedge – posing with this slightly exaggerated smile, sunglasses tucked into the neckline of her top. She winks as you take a quick photo, that mischievous look in her eyes that always means trouble.

"Babe," you sigh, eyeing the drink warily. "You're about to be fucked up."

She giggles, already tipsy, her free hand reaching across the table to brush against yours. "Noooooo," she protests, wagging a finger at you with an exaggerated pout, her voice light and teasing, though her eyelids are already a little heavy. "I'm totally fine."

She takes a slow sip, ice clinking as she swirls the drink, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray droplet at the corner of her lips. The way she shifts in her seat, stretching her long limbs, the delicate dip of her waist leading into toned curves, makes your throat go dry. She's effortless, glowing under the restaurant lights, the teasing way she leans forward making it impossible to look anywhere else.

You know better. You know her. One drink is enough to get her warm, giggly—two, and she's draping herself over you as you leave the restaurant, her long fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, her lips at your ear, whispering filth in a breathy voice. By the time you make it to the car, her grip on your arm is tight, and she's already stumbling into the backseat, tugging at your belt before you can even shut the door.

The air in the car is thick, humid with heat and the faint scent of her perfume mixing with something more raw. Her pants are gone, panties pushed aside, shirt shoved up, leaving her sprawled beneath you, her long, creamy legs spread wide, trembling as she struggles to keep up. Every inch of her feels impossibly soft under your hands—smooth skin, the taut curve of her waist arching under your touch, her thighs trembling as her pussy stretches around your cock, snug and dripping, molding to you perfectly. Her bare skin glistens under the dim car light, completely shaved, puffy, and glistening as you watch her take you inch by fucking inch. The obscene stretch has her eyes rolling back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream before a sob chokes out, overwhelmed by the way you're filling her up.

"Fuuuuck, s'too big," she babbles, clawing at your shoulders, nails digging in as her body trembles beneath you. "Oh my god, baby, love you—love your cock—feels sooo fucking good—" Her words slur together, her drunk mind barely able to form coherent thoughts as pleasure crashes through her.

Her hands are everywhere, sloppy and desperate as they paw at your body. She shoves your shirt up, nails raking across your abs, grabbing at your flesh like she's starving for it. You feel her grip on your biceps, her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, feeling you flex with each brutal thrust.

"So... so fucking hot," she slurs, eyes unfocused and glassy as her palms slide across your chest, grabbing and squeezing at random. "Been thinkin' 'bout your cock all night."

Every savage thrust makes her tits bounce, forcing these fucked-out little whimpers from her throat. You grab one breast roughly, pinching her nipple between your fingers until she squeals. Your other hand finds her throbbing clit, rubbing it in tight, mean circles that have her whole body jerking like she's being electrocuted.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she gasps, hips bucking wildly, completely out of rhythm. Her hand fumbles between your bodies, groping clumsily for your balls, squeezing them as you slam into her. Her movements are uncoordinated, drunk and dick-stupid, but the sloppy eagerness just makes it hotter.

She's a complete wreck, head thrashing against the seat, eyes unfocused, mascara running down her flushed cheeks. Drool glistens at the corner of her mouth as she tries to speak, but all that comes out are these broken, animal sounds. "Can't—hnnng—s'deep—too much—" she whines, her words melting into incoherent babble.

The car reeks of sex, windows completely fogged, the wet, obscene sounds of your cock pounding her cunt echoing in the small space. Every thrust has her walls clenching around you, sucking you back in, her body desperate for more even as she sobs from the intensity. Her nails leave angry red trails down your back, breaking skin, marking you as hers.

You grab both her wrists, pinning them above her head against the foggy window. She's completely at your mercy, helpless and spread open. You lower your head to her exposed armpit, dragging your tongue along the sensitive skin, tasting salt and the raw scent of her.

"Wha—what the fuuuck," she gasps, body jolting from the unexpected sensation. Her cunt clenches violently around you, her surprise turning to something primal and needy.

You bite down on the tender flesh, feeling her squirm beneath you, trapped and loving it. Your tongue laps at her armpit, occasionally scraping your teeth against the delicate skin. She's fucking losing it, the new sensation short-circuiting her alcohol-soaked brain.

"Holyshitholyshit," she sobs, her free hand yanking at your hair, pulling you harder against her most vulnerable spots. "Don't stop—feels so—fuck—"

Your cock jackhammers into her relentlessly, your thumb rubbing her swollen clit raw, your mouth attacking this new sensitive spot—she's completely overstimulated, brain and body drowning in sensation. You can actually feel her getting wetter around you, her cunt practically gushing as you work her over.

You let go of her wrists to grab her thigh, hooking it over your shoulder, folding her nearly in half. The new angle lets your cock hit places that have her eyes crossing, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Her freed hands paw at you desperately—one grabbing your ass, nails digging in hard enough to leave half-moon marks, the other running up your sweat-slick back.

"Mine," she slurs, barely conscious, just running on pure instinct. "Fucking mine."

You grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. She whimpers, completely surrendered, eyes glazed and vacant. You bite down on her neck, marking her, and she moans like a bitch in heat.

You shove your fingers into her mouth, feeling her suck them eagerly, tongue swirling sloppily around them. Drool leaks from the corner of her lips as she gags slightly. "That's it," you growl, grabbing your phone to snap a picture of her completely fucked-out face. "Look at you, fucking brain-dead on my cock."

She nods frantically, too far gone to even speak, just making these pathetic little whimpering noises with each brutal thrust. You angle your phone to capture the way your cock stretches her cunt, the way her whole body shakes every time you bottom out inside her. She loves this shit—begs for it, gets off on watching herself get absolutely ruined later when she's sober.

Your hand moves from her clit to grab her tit, twisting her nipple just hard enough to make her yelp, her back arching into the pain. Her walls clamp down around you, her body betraying how much she loves that sharp edge.

"Look at this sloppy cunt," you growl, grabbing her chin, forcing her glazed eyes to meet yours. "Fucking dripping for me. Taking every inch like you were made for it."

You grind your hips in a cruel circle, digging your cock into her deepest spots. Her eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent scream. Her hands are everywhere at once—scratching your chest, groping your shoulders, sliding down to feel where your bodies connect, like she can't believe how full she is.

"Gonna watch this tomorrow," you grunt against her ear, your voice harsh and low. "Just like you always want. Gonna see yourself like this—drunk off your ass, drunk on my cock, completely fucking mindless." You bite her earlobe hard enough to make her gasp. "See how that greedy cunt swallows me up. See how fucking desperate you are to be stuffed full."

You spread her legs wider, holding her down as you pound into her without mercy. Your fingers find her clit again, rubbing it ruthlessly, the stimulation so intense it borders on painful. Her hands scrabble uselessly at the seat, at your arms, at anything she can reach, completely overwhelmed.

"Can't—can't—oh fuck—there—right fucking there—" she babbles, words slurring into nonsense. Her eyes aren't even focused anymore, just staring blankly at nothing as pleasure consumes her.

She lets out this broken, animal sound as her whole body seizes up, her cunt clamping down so tight it's almost painful. She's coming so hard she's practically convulsing, back arched impossibly, nails drawing blood as they rake down your back. Her pussy spasms wildly around your cock, milking you as she falls completely apart beneath you.

You don't let up, fucking her through it, prolonging her orgasm until she's sobbing incoherently, not even forming words anymore. Her hands push weakly at your chest before grabbing at you to pull you closer, her body not knowing what it wants except more.

"Too much—can't—fuck—don't stop—please—" The contradictions spill from her lips, her hips still grinding against yours even as tears stream down her face. She's ruined, absolutely wrecked, and still begging for more, her body addicted to the feeling of you inside her.

She's completely yours like this, drunk on booze and your cock, mindless with pleasure, nothing in her head but the need for more, harder, deeper. Her hands cling to you desperately, her legs locked around your waist, her whole body surrendered to the raw, animal sensation of being completely, thoroughly fucked stupid.

...

Morning light streams through the blinds of your apartment, coffee brewing in the kitchen. You glance over at Wonyoung curled up in the armchair, legs folded up beneath her, wearing nothing but your oversized t-shirt. Her hair is a mess, makeup from last night still smudged around her eyes despite her attempts to clean up. She's staring at her phone, teeth sinking into her lower lip, cheeks flushed pink.

The tinny sound of her own voice filters through the phone speakers: Oh my god, baby, love you—love your cock—feels sooo fucking good—

She gasps, free hand flying up to cover her face, peeking through her fingers as the video continues. You can hear your own voice now: Look at this sloppy cunt. Fucking dripping for me. Taking every inch like you were made for it.

"Oh my god," she whispers, legs pressing tighter together. "Did I really say all that?" But despite her embarrassed tone, you notice how she's squirming in the chair, how her breathing has quickened, how she keeps rewinding to certain parts.

You shake your head, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing smile. "You always act shocked."

She looks up at you, still covering half her face. "I was so drunk! So embarrassing!"

But you both know the truth. By tonight, she'll be asking if you want to make another video. She always does.