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cup1drul3z · 18 hours ago

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★ — That's MY girl | CH 2

5.5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie

A/N : guys im working on the stalker fic trust

The train ride home feels longer than it should.

You sit near the back, the car mostly empty, lights flickering overhead like they can’t decide whether to stay on or just give up. Your reflection stares back at you in the darkened window—smudged lipstick, swollen lips, collar slightly crooked, and that unmistakable shadow just below your jawline.

You touch it.

The spot Sevika’s mouth lingered.

Your stomach twists.

You shouldn’t have done it. You knew that the second you left the bar. But it doesn’t erase the memory of her hands on your body. The way your name sounded in her mouth. The way you wanted it. Craved it.

You close your eyes and grip the subway pole tighter. It doesn't help. The shame is thick and sour, crawling over your skin like something alive.

By the time you get to your stop, the guilt is louder than your footsteps.

Your apartment is dark when you unlock the door. One flickering lamp lights the living room, the faint buzz of the TV still running. Your boyfriend is half-asleep on the couch, blanket around his legs, a takeout box resting on the armrest beside him.

He stirs when the door clicks shut.

“Where the hell were you?” he mumbles, rubbing his face. ��You said you were going for drinks. That was, like, four hours ago.”

Your heart skips. “Sorry. I lost track of time. First day stuff... they wanted to celebrate.”

He stares at you for a second too long, and your pulse races. You shift your hair slightly, trying to angle it over the mark Sevika left.

But he doesn’t notice.

Instead, he sits up, arms outstretched with a sleepy groan. “Come here.”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then you cross the room and let him pull you into his arms, the warmth of his chest unfamiliar tonight. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. It’s slow. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that used to feel like love.

But now?

Now it just feels like lying.

“You smell good,” he mumbles into your hair. “Glad you had fun.”

You force a small laugh. “Yeah... me too.”

You close your eyes and let him hold you like nothing’s changed.

But everything has.

And deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before this cracks wide open.

You woke up early.

Too early.

The kind of early where the light coming in through your blinds made everything look soft and blue, and the guilt still sat heavy in your chest like you'd swallowed a stone. But instead of spiraling, you did something else—rummaged through your closet.

You wanted to feel like you today.

So you slipped into a soft grey vest, something a little snug across the chest but not suffocating. The short-sleeved collared shirt underneath is crisp, clean. Paired with your flowy black maxi skirt, it moves with you—comfortable, confident, a little vintage librarian if you squint.

You check the mirror once, twice. It doesn’t scream “corporate,” but you don’t care.

For once, you feel good. Or at least better.

The train is less crowded this morning. You grab a seat near the back, setting your bag down beside you. You're flipping through your phone when someone plops down across from you with zero warning.

“Damn, girl. You look adorable.”

You glance up—Jinx.

Same wild blue braids, oversized bomber jacket, mismatched socks in loafers. She’s sipping an iced coffee the size of her head and looks like she hasn’t slept but somehow still radiates energy.

You smile. “Thanks. Closet panic. I didn’t want to pop a button again.”

Jinx snorts. “Honestly? Respect. You survived a boardroom and Sevika’s death stare. You deserve a little wardrobe crisis.”

You laugh, and she leans in like she’s about to let you in on a secret.

“Okay, so—there’s this cocktail thing in a few days. Fancy company event. Everyone’s invited, assistants too.”

You nod, eyebrows raised. “That sounds... terrifying.”

“Oh, it is.” she grins. “Dress code, open bar, people trying to pretend they’re more important than they are—it’s a blast. You coming?”

“I guess I have to now,” you say with a smile, then add, “Do we bring plus-ones?”

Jinx nods. “Yeah. They want it to feel ‘socially enriched’ or whatever PR bullshit they said in the email. You bringing your guy?”

Your stomach flips.

You hesitate just long enough for her to notice, but not long enough for her to comment.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Probably.”

Jinx sips her coffee, watching you. “Cool. We’ll all be there, and a few other people aswell”

You nod slowly

She leans back. “And Sevika usually shows up late. Quiet. Broody. Like Batman if Batman was hotter and more emotionally repressed.”

You choke on your breath a little, but cover it with a laugh.

Jinx just grins at you.

“See you in the office, cutie.”

She gets off at the next stop, waving as she goes.

You sit back in your seat, suddenly very aware of what this cocktail party could mean.

And how complicated things are about to get.

You spend most of the morning pretending to work while actively avoiding eye contact with Sevika’s closed office door.

Every time you glance that way, your stomach flips. You’re sure she’s stewing in there—probably plotting your firing or worse, treating you like you’re invisible. That would almost be easier.

So when your desk phone buzzes with a message: “Come in.” —your blood turns to ice.

You stand, straighten your vest, and try to breathe like a normal human as you push open the door.

Sevika’s at her desk, sleeves rolled, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show that same stretch of ink. She’s leaning back in her chair, boots crossed at the ankle, like nothing in the world could touch her.

Except her eyes are locked on you the second you step inside.

You swallow. “You wanted to see me?”

She nods toward the door behind you. “Close it.”

Your hand hovers on the knob for a second too long, but you do it.

The soft click feels like a trap.

“I figured you’d be crawling out of your skin all day,” she says, tone casual, almost amused. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

You blink. “You’re not?”

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Why would I be mad? You practically came all over my hand last night.”

You flinch. “Sevika—”

“No one made you moan my name,” she continues, rising from her chair. “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best part of your week.”

She’s in front of you now, close again—too close. You take a step back, but she follows, always one breath away from pinning you to the wall.

“I told you I shouldn’t have,” you say, voice tight. “It was a mistake. I was drunk.”

“You were wet,” she counters, low and dangerous. “There’s a difference.”

Your mouth opens—no words. Just heat crawling up your throat.

“I can give you better,” she murmurs, eyes dark and slow-burning. “You don’t owe him loyalty just because you’re scared of being alone.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that.”

Sevika scoffs. “You keep saying that. But you don’t look convinced.”

Then, before you can stop her, she drops to her knees.

Right there.

Her hands find your hips, grip firm and sure through the fabric of your skirt. She looks up at you, and something in your chest stutters.

“Tell me to stop,” she says, voice husky, lips inches from your waistband. “Mean it.”

You should. You really should.

But your hands stay at your sides, frozen.

You don’t push her away.

You don’t even move.

Then—

“Sevika, do you—”

The door opens.

Mel freezes in the doorway, one brow raised, her perfect blazer catching the light. Her eyes flick from Sevika on her knees to you, cheeks flushed, mouth parted.

Sevika doesn’t flinch.

Mel slowly, slowly shuts the door behind her without looking away.

The second Mel shuts the door, Sevika finally rises to her feet—slowly, deliberately, like she’s still not embarrassed. You’re the one left trembling.

But you don’t stay.

You don’t even think. You just move.

You throw open the office door and bolt into the hallway, nearly running over someone from accounting. Your skirt swishes around your ankles as you spot Mel turning the corner toward the elevators.

“Mel! Mel, wait—”

She doesn’t stop immediately, but you catch up, heels clicking against the tile in rapid panic.

“Please,” you gasp, breath catching as you reach her. “Please don’t tell anyone. It wasn’t—nothing even happened—”

Mel finally stops and turns, folding her arms across her chest. Her expression isn’t cold. It isn’t angry either. It’s… tired. Complicated.

“I won’t say anything,” she says, voice soft. “You have my word.”

You breathe out a shaky sigh, your shoulders sagging with relief.

“But,” she continues, “you should know... people already talk.”

Your blood chills. “What do you mean?”

Mel looks at you with something like pity. “This office? It's a glass box. Everyone sees everything. You think they didn’t notice Sevika acting different yesterday? You leaving early? That mark on your neck?”

Your hand instinctively rises to cover it.

“I didn’t mean for anything to happen—” you start, voice cracking.

“I know,” Mel cuts in gently. “But it doesn’t matter. In a place like this, rumors grow faster than promotions. All it takes is one glance. One smirk. One flushed face in the hallway.”

You look down, shame crawling up your spine.

Mel sighs and softens, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re not the first. And you’re not stupid. But Sevika… she’s not simple. Being close to her never is.”

You swallow hard. “So what do I do?”

Mel lets her hand fall back to her side.

“Be careful,” she says. “With her. With you. Because whether you meant to or not… you're in it now.”

Then the elevator dings, and she steps inside, leaving you standing in the hallway alone, the weight of your choices settling in your bones like concrete.

And for the first time, you’re not sure if you’re more afraid of losing your job—

—or losing yourself to Sevika again.

You wait outside her office for a long time.

Long enough that your nerves start to feel less like panic and more like a low, buzzing ache under your skin. The adrenaline is gone. All that’s left is the shame. The guilt. And the heat of her touch still ghosting your hips.

You finally knock, just once.

“Come in.”

Sevika’s voice is calm. Cool. Like nothing happened.

You step in slowly, shutting the door behind you. She’s at her desk, one arm resting lazily on the surface, the other tapping a pen against a manila folder. Her eyes flick up when you enter but don’t linger.

“I talked to Mel.”

“Obviously,” she mutters.

You take a few steps closer, but not too close.

“I’m serious this time,” you say, voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “You have to stop. No more flirting. No more… whatever that was. I made a mistake, and I’m staying with my boyfriend. I’m not doing this again.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. She just leans back in her chair, gaze unreadable. “Fine.”

You blink. “...Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “You’re not the first girl to pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

Your stomach sinks. “That’s not what I—”

She cuts you off by opening a drawer and sliding a white envelope across the desk toward you.

You eye it like it might bite you.

“What’s that?”

“For the tights,” she says dryly. “You ripped them last night. And your blouse looked like it was about to quit during the meeting.”

You don’t move. “I don’t need pity money.”

Sevika sighs through her nose, annoyed. “It’s not pity, sweetheart. It’s compensation. You work for me. You’re supposed to look like you belong here.”

You hesitate. Then pick up the envelope and peek inside.

Cash.

Too much. Way too much.

This is not “replace your tights” money. This is “rent for two months” money. Or “disappear into another city and start over” money.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “This is insane.”

Sevika stands slowly, pushing her chair back as she walks around the desk—measured, controlled, still a storm beneath her skin.

“I don’t give people what they deserve,” she says, voice low, “I give them what I want to give. And I want you dressed like someone who knows her worth.”

You meet her eyes, and for a split second, you almost say something.

But you just nod. “Thanks.”

She nods back, then gestures toward the door. “You should get back to your desk.”

You turn to leave—but her voice stops you just before you open the door.

“You looked good today,” she murmurs, softer this time. “Comfort suits you.”

You don’t look back.

You just walk out, envelope clutched in your hand like a secret you’re not sure what to do with.

It’s your day off.

For once, you’re not rushing to get dressed or worrying about whether your shirt will survive a full workday. You're in comfy leggings, a tank top and a black jacket, your hair is messy and you look like you just rolled out of bed even if you did try to brush it a little. No makeup, no heels, just you and a half-empty shopping cart that doesn’t squeak when you push it.

For the first time in a long time, grocery shopping feels... nice.

You grab the name-brand mac and cheese without flinching. The good almond milk. Even a little candle from the home aisle, because screw it—you deserve soft lighting and lavender.

You’re halfway through comparing peanut butter prices when you feel it.

That shift in the air. That weird, subtle gravity that tugs at you, makes the back of your neck prickle.

You glance up.

And there she is.

Sevika.

In Target.

Wearing a long, wool coat that probably costs more than everything in your cart. Her hair’s tied back again, sunglasses pushed up onto her head, dark slacks and a fitted top that absolutely do not belong between rows of laundry detergent and Pop-Tarts. She’s pushing a red basket like it personally offended her.

You blink. Once. Twice.

She spots you.

And smirks.

You panic and pretend to read the back of a Nutella jar. Real smooth.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she drawls as she approaches, voice low and vaguely amused.

You force a smile, pushing your cart an inch forward. “I could say the same. You don’t really strike me as the ‘bullseye deals’ type.”

She glances into your cart. “Treating yourself?”

You shrug. “Using my pity money wisely.”

That earns a sharp laugh from her—short, real.

“Still mad?”

“No,” you admit. “Just trying to feel normal for a minute.”

Sevika’s eyes linger on you. The oversized hoodie. The way your hair’s all loose and soft and you. Not Corporate You. Just You.

“I like this version,” she says, voice softer now. “You’re real like this.”

You hesitate, cart between you like a shield. “You stalking me?”

“Coincidence,” she shrugs. “Or fate, if you're feeling dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half a smile. “You here for snacks or a personality transplant?”

“Neither,” she says, grabbing a box of granola bars and tossing them into her basket like it’s a power move. “Just needed trash bags.”

You stare at her.

“You’re too rich to take out your own trash.”

“I didn’t say they were for me,” she says, already turning toward the next aisle. “See you Friday, sweetheart.”

She disappears between frozen pizzas and Lean Cuisines, and you’re left standing there, heart weirdly fast, fingers gripping the handle of your cart a little too tight.

You sigh.

Of course Sevika looks good at Target.

You drop your groceries off at the apartment, still feeling Sevika’s smirk lingering somewhere in your ribs. Your boyfriend’s out—left a note about going to a friend’s place. You don’t think twice about it. You text Caitlyn.

You still down for coffee? I need your face and your moral compass. Bad.

She texts back almost immediately.

On my way. My treat. You’re getting the giant muffin too.

The café is cozy, tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore that’s always closed for “inventory.” The barista already knows your order—large iced caramel something, extra whipped cream—and Caitlyn’s sipping black coffee like her soul depends on it.

You take the first sip and finally exhale like you haven’t all day.

“So,” Caitlyn says, crossing her legs. “What’s this about a moral crisis?”

You bite your straw, unsure how to even begin.

“I… did something stupid.”

Her brows lift just slightly. “Define ‘stupid.’ Like, crash-your-ex’s-wedding stupid, or get-back-with-your-ex stupid?”

You look down at your drink.

Then say it.

“I slept with my boss.”

Caitlyn blinks. Slowly. Then takes the most dramatic sip of coffee you’ve ever seen.

You brace for it. The judgment. The disappointment. Anything.

But all she says is, “Well. That’s very ‘HBO original series’ of you.”

You stare. “Caitlyn—”

“I mean, I knew your life was messy,” she adds, leaning back. “But this is next level. I’m impressed.”

“Caitlyn.”

She softens immediately, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

“Hey. I’m on your side, remember? Always.”

Your throat tightens. “Even if I’m a home-wrecking, morally compromised disaster?”

“Especially then,” she says, giving you that rare smile—the real one, not the sarcastic smirk she gives annoying people at parties. “You needed something. You got it. And now we figure out what you’re gonna do next.”

“I’m staying with him,” you say quietly. “My boyfriend. I told her it was a mistake.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flick down. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t say what you already know she’s thinking.

Instead: “Do you want to stay with him?”

You don’t answer right away.

She doesn’t push.

She just leans back, sipping her coffee again, eyes soft.

“Whatever you decide,” she says, “I’ll be here. To support you.”

You laugh—sharp and real and just a little broken.

She clinks her coffee cup against your plastic lid. “You’re not alone in this.”

The boutique Caitlyn drags you to is one of those clean, Pinterest-board-looking places with neutral walls, racks spaced perfectly apart, and a woman at the front desk who gives you complimentary cucumber water just for walking in.

You’re overwhelmed within five seconds.

Caitlyn, of course, is thriving.

“Okay,” she says, already flipping through hangers like a pro. “We want business casual, but comfy. Professional, but still you. So no more button-downs that look like they’re losing a fight with your chest, got it?”

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Deal.”

She hands you a soft sage green blouse with fluttery sleeves and a pair of black wide-leg pants that feel like pajamas but somehow look expensive.

You try them on.

You twirl a little in the mirror.

You look… good.

“You look hot,” Caitlyn says from outside the changing room, leaning dramatically against the door. “Hot and employed.”

You snort. “High praise.”

You walk out and grab another outfit—a soft cream cardigan, a fitted tank underneath, and a midi skirt with a tiny floral pattern. Comfortable. Confident. Something you can actually breathe in.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn says, nodding like a fashion judge. “Now…”

She pulls a black dress from the rack like a magician revealing her final trick.

It’s sleek. Short. A body-con that hugs all the right places with subtle ruching at the waist and a square neckline that’s flirty but still tasteful.

“This,” she says, “is the dress. Cocktail party. Show up. Make Your mark on that place..i mean if you haven't already for disappearing into the bathroom with the ceo”

You take it from her carefully, the fabric silky between your fingers.

“Cait,” you say, holding it up. “It’s… tight.”

She smirks. “And you’ve got a body worth showing off. Let her choke on it.”

You laugh, pressing the dress to your chest. “Okay, fine. This is the one.”

You don’t tell her how your heart races imagining Sevika seeing you in it.

You don’t have to.

Caitlyn sees the look in your eyes and just nods.

“You’ve got this.”

The suit hangs on the back of the bedroom door, still in its garment bag, untouched.

You’d picked it out yesterday. A simple black two-piece, nothing too flashy. Just… clean. Respectable. It felt like the least you could do—if you were dragging him into this cocktail party, you might as well make sure he looked like he belonged.

He didn’t even say thank you.

Now it’s the morning before the event. You’re moving around the apartment, folding laundry, fixing your hair into a loose ponytail, pretending everything is fine.

He leans in the doorway, yawning. Shirtless. Watching you with that sleepy grin he used to wear back when things felt simple.

“You know,” he says, walking over and sliding his hands around your waist, “we’ve got a little time before you head out for that pre-party work stuff…”

His lips brush your neck, warm and familiar. One hand starts to slip beneath your shirt.

Your stomach drops.

The familiar twist of guilt and disinterest coils tight in your gut. His touch feels wrong now—not cruel, not mean… just wrong.

You grab his hand gently and pull it away. “Not right now. I’m—uh—cramping.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing for a second. Then he sighs and steps back, not pushing, but clearly annoyed.

“Figures,” he mutters. “You’ve been weird lately.”

You force a tight smile. “I’ve just been tired. Work's been a lot.”

He shrugs and grabs his phone off the nightstand. “Alright, whatever. Just don’t forget we’ve got that thing tonight.”

“I won’t,” you say, already turning back to fold the same T-shirt you’ve touched three times.

He leaves the room.

You exhale slowly, your hands trembling just slightly.

The suit still hangs untouched.

And the black dress waits folded in tissue paper inside a boutique bag.

The venue is stunning—soft golden lighting, live jazz humming in the background, servers floating past with sparkling flutes and tiny hors d'oeuvres that look like food for rich fairies.

You walk in on your boyfriend’s arm, your black body-con dress hugging you just right. You feel the eyes on you as you enter—and for once, you don’t shrink under them.

You own it.

Your boyfriend doesn’t comment on the way heads turn. Doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy adjusting his tie and checking his reflection in every polished surface like he invented being mediocre in a suit.

You’re halfway into your second awkward sip of chardonnay when you feel her.

Sevika.

She walks in like the floor was laid out for her—broad shoulders in a dark tailored suit, black dress shirt unbuttoned just low enough to border indecent, no tie. Her hair’s slicked back, jaw set, eyes already scanning the room.

And then they land on you.

Her gaze lingers, intense and unreadable, before sliding to your boyfriend.

You swear the temperature drops.

She stares at him like she’s already picked out the weakest spot to punch first. Her mouth presses into a line. Her jaw ticks.

Your boyfriend, completely oblivious, is in the middle of bragging to Ekko about how he hit diamond rank in some online shooter. Ekko’s politely nodding, clearly dying inside.

You’re barely hearing them. Your attention is locked on Sevika, and she’s watching you right back.

You quickly look away and take a bigger sip of wine than intended.

“Damn, babe, slow down,” your boyfriend says, laughing as he slings an arm around your waist.

You flinch, just slightly.

He doesn’t notice that, either.

You glance across the room again. Sevika’s talking to Mel now—but her eyes keep drifting back to you.

Watching.

Measuring.

Waiting.

You adjust the neckline of your dress, trying not to think about her hands. About her mouth. About the last time you were alone together.

You drain the rest of your chardonnay.

A few hours later and the music’s too loud. The lights are too warm. The voices blur together like you’re underwater.

You laugh when you’re supposed to, nod when your boyfriend talks, sip your wine just to keep your mouth busy—but your chest is tight, your throat’s dry, and your ears are ringing.

And then he says something.

You don’t even catch it, really—some offhand comment about calories or how much you’re drinking.

It hits the same nerve anyway.

You excuse yourself without thinking, barely muttering something about needing air.

The balcony is massive, lined with plants that have no business looking that elegant. The night air is cool, crisp against your skin, and the city glows below like a reflection of the stars. No one’s out here. Just silence, finally.

You dig into your purse and pull out the cigarette you swore you weren’t keeping anymore.

You light it with shaking hands.

The first inhale hits hard. Not smooth, not pleasant—but grounding.

You breathe out slowly, leaning back in one of the sleek patio chairs, staring at the skyline like it might give you answers.

The door clicks behind you.

You don’t need to look.

You know it’s her.

Sevika steps out onto the balcony like she owns it—of course she does. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over and nods toward your cigarette.

“Got another?”

You pause. Then reach into your bag and hand one over.

She lights it from yours, the flame flickering between you. Her fingers brush yours, just barely.

You don’t say anything.

She exhales, then glances over. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say quietly. “Not really.”

She nods once. Like she gets it.

The silence hangs there, warm with shared breath, smoke curling between you.

“I didn’t hit him,” she says eventually.

You laugh—just a small, exhausted huff. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“He deserves worse,” she adds, taking another drag. “You looked miserable.”

You look at her. The city lights reflect in her eyes.

“I was.”

She turns to face you fully now, stepping closer, close enough that you can smell the smoke on her lips, the soft scent of whatever expensive cologne clings to her collar.

“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” she admits, voice low, dangerous with honesty.

You swallow. “I said it was a mistake.”

“Then why’d you light that cigarette like you were waiting for me?”

Your lips part, but no words come.

She reaches out, fingers brushing the side of your face, then trailing down your arm. Her hand rests gently on your waist, not demanding—just there. Her cigarette burns low between her fingers, forgotten.

You don’t pull away.

When she leans in, you meet her halfway.

The kiss is soft at first—surprisingly so. All breath and hesitation, like she’s asking for permission with her mouth. But then it deepens. Her hand grips your waist tighter. Your fingers curl in the lapel of her suit jacket.

The smoke, the night air, the tension—it all wraps around you, blurring out everything else.

Until—

“Are you serious?”

You both freeze.

Mel’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

You turn your head slowly, lips still kiss-swollen, Sevika’s hand still on your waist.

Mel’s standing in the open balcony door, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but her eyebrow is doing the absolute most.

“Is this, like, a kink?” she says flatly. “You two only hook up when I’m about to walk in?”

You pull away from Sevika like you’ve just woken up mid-dream, breath still shaky, heart thudding in your ears. Her hand lingers on your waist for half a second before you step out of her reach completely.

You don’t meet her eyes.

You just walk.

Your heels click softly against the stone balcony floor as you move past the potted plants and melting ashtray, toward the glowing doorway where Mel’s still standing—expression unreadable, lips pursed, arms crossed like she’s both exhausted and waiting for a good reason not to slap someone.

You reach her side.

You pause.

Your lips part.

“Um—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says, eyes still on the skyline. Not unkind. Just resigned.

You nod. You don't say thank you. You don't have it in you.

You slip past her into the party, leaving the smell of smoke and regret behind you.

Back on the balcony, Sevika exhales hard through her nose, turning away from the city like she could punch the moon if she tried hard enough.

“You have the worst timing,” she mutters.

Mel doesn’t flinch. She finally steps out onto the balcony, letting the door close gently behind her.

“No,” she says. “You have the worst impulse control.”

Sevika shoots her a glare, sharp and tired. “Do you enjoy walking in every time I’m with her?”

“You’re not supposed to be ‘with her’ at all,” Mel snaps, lowering her voice. “She’s your employee. This is your job. You're not supposed to be sneaking off to make out with the assistant like you're in some—some corporate fanfiction!”

Sevika scoffs. “This isn’t just some fling.”

“Then it’s worse.”

Mel’s voice softens just slightly.

“She doesn’t know what she wants yet. And you're not helping.”

Sevika doesn’t respond at first. Her jaw flexes. She crushes the stub of her cigarette into the stone railing, the ember dying with a hiss.

“She was happy with me,” Sevika mutters. “For a second. She looked at me like—like I meant something.”

“And then she walked away,” Mel says gently. “Again.”

That one lands.

Mel sighs, placing a hand on the railing. “You can’t be the person she runs to and the reason she has to run from at the same time.”

Sevika doesn’t say anything.

Mel doesn’t press.

They just stand there—two tired women on a balcony full of secondhand smoke, watching the city sparkle like it’s mocking them.

The night hums quietly around them now, all the chaos and chatter muffled behind thick glass. The city blinks below like it’s listening in.

Mel doesn’t leave.

She just exhales slowly, watching Sevika’s clenched fists, the way her knuckles stay white even though the cigarette’s long dead.

“I thought you said you were fine,” Mel says, her voice not accusatory—just... tired. Familiar.

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. Just stares straight ahead, jaw tight.

Mel turns slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is this about her or is this about samantha?”

A beat.

Two.

Then Sevika scoffs, low and bitter. “Dont say her name like that.”

Mel sighs. “You’ve been a wreck since she left.” she tried to say as gently as possible

Sevika’s shoulders tense. “She didn’t leave. She traded up. Found someone who could give her the picture-perfect shit she wanted. I was just... temporary.”

Mel’s face softens.

“And then you met someone who looked at you like you were more than temporary,” she says, quietly. “And now you’re trying to make that mean something.”

Sevika doesn’t deny it.

She leans on the railing, both arms braced like she’s holding herself up.

“I didn’t even get time to be angry,” she mutters. “It was like—one minute we were fighting, and the next she was engaged. Just done. Like I was some phase.”

Mel tilts her head. “You weren’t.”

Sevika laughs bitterly. “Sure as hell felt like I was.”

She looks up at the sky—like maybe it’ll swallow the lump forming in her throat.

“I’m not used to being the one left behind.”

Mel watches her carefully. Then steps closer, just enough to be beside her, not in front of her.

“You don’t have to bury yourself in someone new to prove you still matter.”

“I’m not,” Sevika says automatically.

“You are,” Mel says gently. “And it’s not fair to either of you.”

Silence falls between them again—heavy, but not hostile. The kind of silence that only happens between people who’ve known each other too long, seen too much.

After a minute, Sevika mutters, “She makes it so fucking hard not to care.”

Mel nods slowly.

“I know.”

You’re standing near the hallway now, away from the main buzz of the party, one hand still loosely cradling your wine glass, the other clutching your little clutch bag like it’s going to keep you grounded.

But you never stopped watching the balcony doors.

And then, there they are.

Sevika and Mel walk in together, side by side.

They aren’t touching.

They aren’t even smiling.

But they’re… close. In that quiet, easy kind of way that doesn’t need words. The kind that says they’ve been through some things. That they know each other.

You notice the way Sevika looks at her. Not intense like how she looked at you on the balcony. But steady. Familiar. Like maybe she’s looked at Mel like that before. Like maybe she still does.

Mel leans in to say something low near Sevika’s ear, and Sevika gives her a tired smirk in return.

It guts you.

You feel ridiculous. And stupid. And young. Like this was never anything to her. Just a new game. A project. Maybe it was never about you at all.

Maybe you were just a stand-in.

Just the next girl who would look at her like she meant something.

Your throat tightens, the party sounds warping around you, distant and unimportant.

You set your wine glass on a table you pass and slip out the side entrance with your boyfriend without saying goodbye. Not to Caitlyn. Not to Ekko. Not to anyone.

You don’t look back.

And Sevika?

She doesn’t see you leave.

comment to be added to the taglist!

@gaptoothedlesbo @magnificentmilkshakearbiter @half-of-a-gay

#arcane sevika #arcane #sevika #lesbian #sevika x reader #wlw #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers #mel medarda #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #caitlyn kiramman #ekko arcane

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bvrnesher · 1 day ago

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❝ ℒove ℋangover ! ❞ ― percy jackson !

tap here for my chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

warnings: smut/nsfw content. mdni ! toxic relationship mentions. sex as an emotional release. percy & reader exes. oral (f. receiving). sex mention but not quite explicit.

── ੭̲᱖ on the radio: love hangover – jennie (ft. dominic fike)

THE PROBLEM WASN’T HARD to see. You knew what this was. What he was.

It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t deep-rooted trauma or unresolved childhood issues. No, it was something a lot simpler.

You wanted him. And he wanted you. Too much.

And that was the problem.

Because this thing between you? It was never soft. Never safe. It was rough, addictive, messy. Every time you tried to let go, the gravity pulled you back in—stronger, meaner. You burned for each other, even when there was nothing left but ashes.

You didn’t leave because the love ran out. You left because it kept turning into something else. Something sharp.

But the worst part? The part you hated yourself for?

You missed him.

Constantly.

Which is why you were back in his cabin. In the dark. At an hour where nothing good happens—and everything filthy does.

And Percy always called you when everything was too much for him. When he couldn't take it anymore and all he wanted was to forget. Because he couldn't be at peace without you, but he couldn't be at peace with you.

The door barely clicked shut before your back hit it, his mouth already on your neck, hands sliding up your thighs like he’d been waiting weeks to touch you again. Maybe he had. Maybe you had too.

Your fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer, harder. His lips found that spot just beneath your jaw and you gasped—hips already tilting toward him like instinct. Your skirt was bunched at your waist, panties soaked and useless. His hand was between your legs like it belonged there, rubbing slow, deep circles that made your knees threaten to give out.

You whimpered his name, biting your lip as his teeth grazed your collarbone. "I shouldn't be here..."

"Then leave," he murmured, voice low and wrecked. But his fingers kept moving, sliding under the lace, slick with proof that you weren’t going anywhere.

You didn’t answer. You just grabbed his shirt, yanked it over his head, and kissed him like you were starving for it.

He backed you toward the bed, steps clumsy, desperate. The second your knees hit the mattress, he dropped to his knees like a man on a mission. Pulled your panties down your legs. Spread you open.

"Missed this," he whispered, voice dark with want, lips brushing your inner thigh. "Missed you."

And then his mouth was on you—hot, wet, perfect. Your head dropped back, moaning into the quiet, hips grinding against his face without shame. He licked you like he was making up for lost time. Like he needed the taste of you to breathe again.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet.

When he finally pulled back, mouth slick, eyes glazed, you were already trembling.

"On the bed," he murmured, voice hoarse.

You didn’t hesitate. You climbed up, laid back, spread your legs. Watched him drop his jeans with shaking hands, cock already hard, leaking at the tip.

He climbed over you, lined himself up, kissed you hard. "You want me to stop?"

You stared at him, breathing wrecked, pupils blown. "I want you to fuck me."

And he did. Hard. Deep. Without pretense or softness.

You took it all—nails digging into his back, mouth open in breathless moans. He fucked you like he was angry. Like he was sorry. Like he was in love. Like he didn’t know how to tell you he missed you, so he said it with every thrust instead.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, I missed this,” he growled against your throat. “You feel so fucking good.”

You wrapped your legs around him, heels digging into the small of his back, dragging him deeper, closer. You needed him like that. All of him. Inside. Messy and raw and fucking real.

Your orgasm hit fast, brutal. You came with a choked cry, clenching around him, body shaking. He followed a few thrusts later, burying his face in your neck as he groaned your name, hips stuttering, spilling into you like he couldn’t help it.

You stayed like that for a long time. Breathing hard. Skin sticking to skin. His arm draped over your waist. His cock still softening inside you.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

And when the morning light started creeping through the window, reality came crawling back in.

You weren’t fixed. You weren’t better.

You were just naked and tangled up in a mistake you kept making.

It was like a love hangover you never quite recovered from. Every separation felt like losing a piece of yourself. And every reunion hurt just as much—because the peace he gave you always came hand-in-hand with chaos.

But fuck, it felt so good while it lasted.

And maybe that’s what this always was—a love hangover you never fully shook off. One hit and you were back under, high on the way he touched you, how he looked at you, how he needed you like that.

You didn’t know if it was love or obsession or loneliness or all three.

You just knew: When he wasn’t there, everything felt wrong.

And when he was? It still did.

But god—it felt so good being wrong with him.

#bvrnesher #‧₊˚✧ s. posting !#pjo fandom #riordanverse x reader #riordanverse #pjo hoo toa #pjo x reader #pjo series #percy jackson #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson smut #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #pjo fanfic #pjo smut #love hangover #Spotify

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throneofrayllum · 1 day ago

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Don't Come Find Me

Warnings: mentions of sex

*this is like the longest one I've written I think. What can I say? Brokerlynn makes me feral*

Brooklynn had pulled some serious strings, Soyona was sure of that. She had only been imprisoned in Italy for two weeks when she was transferred to a high-end prison in Norway. Soyona didn't even have to ask who had moved her, she knew. Only Brooklynn would've cared enough to move her, only Brooklynn would've figured out how to even manage that without having any real authority to do so. Soyona laughed to herself as she looked around the room. Yeah, Brooklynn pulled some strings alright. She was sat in the visitation room, which she had never been in before. She'd made various calls, but had never had a visitor. The couch was soft and honestly quite chic, the walls a striking white with minimalistic art, and the wooden floor was well maintained. Not that the rest of the prison wasn't nice, but this was a step up from everything else. Soyona was pulled from her thoughts when she heard the door unlock. She wasn't ready to face the woman she knew was on the other side of the door, but she had no choice. She steeled herself and kept her posture as relaxed as possible when she saw the door open. One second later, she was staring at Brooklynn. The traitor. The young woman who Soyona had undoubtedly fallen desperately in love with, the woman who ruined Soyona's life, the scared young woman who had once saved her life. She didn't look scared anymore, though. She looked confident. Secure. Soyona looked closer at her girl. She was wearing a long black skirt and a maroon colored cropped t shirt with her signature combat boots. The shirt dipped slightly, exposing her freckled chest to the air. Her hair was grown out slightly, fluffy, and no longer blue, but a rich brunette color. Her eyes were as beautiful as ever, but looked slightly sad. She had a new tattoo. It was on her collarbone, and all it said was, "Darius". Soyona felt her heart drop.

They had stared for awhile, neither wanting to make the first move. After what felt like an hour, Brooklynn moved to the couch opposite of Soyona and gave her a nod. Soyona nodded back, unable to hide the anger in her eyes as she did so, the hurt. "You look well." Brooklynn smiled a bit at that, though the...sad expression in her eyes remained, "You too. You always do. You're always gorgeous.", she said, sounding almost exasperated. Soyona just about lost it. She glared at Brooklynn, trying to ignore how her skin just about glowed in the light coming in through the window, "Why the fuck are you here? Shouldn't you be saving the world with your little friends?" Brooklynn looked her deep in the eyes, and Soyona fought the urge to look away, "I wanted to see you. Needed to see you." Soyona scoffed, "I don't buy that for a second. It seems you've moved on just fine, considering the fact that it hasn't even been six months and you already have that boy's name tattooed on your body." Brooklynn opened her mouth to speak, but Soyona interrupted her, "Was any of it real? Any of it?" She regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer, she feared she already knew. The expression on Brooklynn's face shocked her. Her eyes became glassy, her eyebrows furrowing in a way that Soyona knew meant she was fighting back tears. Her girl took a deep breath before she said, "You know it was." Her voice cracked a bit. She continued, "I know it seemed like it was all fake, and I'll admit at first I simply wanted to get close to you so I could take you down, but it became real. I didn't want to fall in love with you, and I really wish I hadn't." Soyona's breath caught at the confession. This was everything she'd dreamt about hearing from Brooklynn's lips for months. Brooklynn laughed, "I know, I know. But Soyona, I promise that so much of it was real. I won't lie and say it all was, but most was." Soyona leaned forward slightly, "Tell me specifically what was real. I need to know." Brooklynn sighed, "Soyona-" She hardened her voice, "Tell. Me." The younger woman nodded, "Ok." She grabbed her arm and held it protectively, "Remember when I told you I'd never had something as passionate as what we had? That was real. All the times we stayed up talking and laughing were real. It was real when I told you that you were the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and you still are. When I told you that you made me feel desire in a way I'd never experienced was real. Every time we touched each other was real." Soyona thought for a moment, "So...the only part that wasn't real was the part where you pretended you were in it for the long run?" Brooklynn let out a weak laugh, "Yeah, more or less." Soyona couldn't stop herself, "Does he touch you the way I did? Do you scream his name the way you screamed mine?" Soyona grinned when she saw Brooklynn's freckled face and chest go red. After a minute Brooklynn said, "Ok well, that is none of your business. But, yeah, he does. I could go into all the details but I doubt you'd wanna hear that. Unless you do? Maybe you'd be into that?" Soyona wanted to throw something, "Oh, fuck off", she said. Brooklynn saluted, "Yes Ma'am." Soyona laughed, genuinely. Despite how angry she was at Brooklynn, at that boy for taking her, she felt so much affection for the girl. She'd missed Brooklynn's spunk. Brooklynn leaned forward slightly, "There is something else we need to discuss. Something...regarding your release. What you have to do, what you have to prove, before I can pull the strings to get you out of here." Brooklynn thought for a moment before saying, "I mean, I am making you stay here for a minimum of eight years no doubt but...y'know." Soyona leaned forward as well, "Lay it on."

Soyona wasn't exactly...thrilled by everything she and Brooklynn had discussed. Brooklynn had explained that she would be checking in with her every two years to evaluate her... morality. To see if she thinks Soyona is worth freeing. Along with the check-ins, Brooklynn informed her that she wanted Soyona to donate a chunk of the money in her account to charity, whether it be a food bank, women's shelter, or whatever, Brooklynn didn't care. As long as the money was going someplace it could make a difference. The worst part of the whole conversation was how cold Brooklynn was throughout the whole thing. Like she was Soyona's lawyer or something. She had immediately missed the sweet, witty Brooklynn from the first few minutes of their encounter. Soyona did her best to listen intently and not to get distracted when Brooklynn leaned in so close she could smell her perfume, or when her shirt dipped and Soyona caught a glimpse of her black lacy bra.

Brooklynn was finally finished rambling about the criteria Soyona had to meet before she would even think about letting her out. Soyona stood and walked across the room, grabbing a sparkling water from the mini fridge and sitting back down on the couch. Brooklynn smiled, "Wow. This place really is fancy huh?" Soyona nodded as she took a sip from the bottle. When Soyona set it down, she looked at Brooklynn and asked, "When I'm...out, will I ever see you again?" She watched Brooklynn's gaze go cold and she dreaded whatever was about to come out of the brunette's mouth. "No. You won't. I don't want you near my friends, and I sure as fuck don't want you near Darius or the life we'll have built together." Soyona rolled her eyes, "Brooklynn you aren't going to marry this boy, stop acting like he's your fucking husband!" Brooklynn's expression shifted completely, her eyes lost any trace of warmth as she said, "You don't know anything about us, and I don't want to hear anything you have to say about our relationship." Soyona looked down, "I'm sorry." Brooklynn exhaled and stood up from the couch. "It's alright, just don't talk about him again." Brooklynn looked down at Soyona and smiled sadly, "I'll see you in two years." Soyona jumped up and grabbed Brooklynn's right hand. Soyona had no idea how to word this, she just knew she had to ask it, "Please will you just- will you just let me kiss you? One last time?" Soyona's heart sunk when Brooklynn closed her beautiful eyes and took a shaky breath. She sounded desperate as she said, "You know I can't do that." Brooklynn pulled away from Soyona's grasp and walked towards the door, she had her hand on the handle when she stopped and turned back around, staring at her with a look Soyona couldn't quite decipher. Before she could blink, Brooklynn was striding across the room, she took Soyona by the waist and pulled her in, wrapping both arms around her and kissing her hard. Soyona responded with fervor, grabbing Brooklynn's waist and pressing their hips together as she deepened the kiss. This was the last time, and they both knew it. Soyona wanted to memorize the feel of Brooklynn's body against her own. After what felt like five hours, and just five seconds, Brooklynn pulled away. They were both panting, chests pressed together. Brooklynn smiled. It was sad, hopeful, and resolute, all at the same time. "Goodbye, Santos." Soyona smiled back, but didn't say anything. She didn't have it in her. Soyona could do nothing but stare as she watched the only woman she had ever truly loved walk away from her forever.

I already know some might be mad about Brooklynn kissing Soyona. And like...I didn't know how to feel about it either (I say as I'm the one who wrote it). But it was a goodbye. Like a forever goodbye. It was in no way them being like "lets have an affair". Not at all. Brooklynn would rather only send voicemails for the rest of her life. She'd cut off her other arm before she did that again.

#jwct #chaos theory #brooklynn jwct #brokerlynn #lab partners #brooklynn x soyona santos #soyona santos #jwct fanfiction

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osamusbigtits · 1 day ago

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akaashi picks at the snack bokuto brought her. bokuto started the habit back in akaashi's first year, an odd friendship started by akaashi walking into the wrong gym.

bokuto chatters away about his plans for practice in his new role as captain. he's nervous about gaining the respect of the first says, says konoha keeps teasing him about his lack of authority.

bokuto clenches his fist and proclaims, "I will be the best captain these 1st years ever see!"

akaashi can't help but giggle. she's obsessed with bokuto's enthusiasm and confidence. something she could never possess.

how could she when she can't even be positive of who she is?

akaashi takes a bite of the protein bar to hide her sudden sadness.

a quiet lapses between them as bokuto eats his own snack. a rare moment of silence that has akaashi's mind racing.

"how do you know you're a boy?"

the question leaves her mouth before she realizes it, before the thought even forms in her mind. she's left frozen, face hot.

bokuto hums. "you know, I never thought about it until recently."

and he's answering?

he continues, "my sister came out as nonbinary- oh! urg, I mean, sibling. they said they don't mind but I want to get it right." bokuto frowns and tugs at his hair. and then perks back up as he remembers akaashi's question. "oh! but I asked her- fuck! them!- about it and what made them question it. and it made me wonder, what makes me a man?"

akaashi wills herself to meet bokuto's eyes.

bokuto smiles. "it made me think. beyond this label slapped on me and my penis." akaashi can't help but wince. but bokuto continues, undeterred, "I like being a boy. I've always been described as boyish and it feels right. I like my body, I like being masculine and strong. I grew up with sisters, I was surrounded by like, feminine energy, I guess? but I've always felt, not put off by it, but different. and I appreciate women and girly things because of it. but I've had makeup and a dress on before- my sisters were evil older sisters, don't ask- and it was fun. but I was still a boy."

akaashi looks away, blinded by bokuto's bright smile.

"i hope that helps," bokuto says.

it's a lot to take in. akaashi's never been sure of herself like that. her mom always pushes her to wear dresses and to put on mascara. "a boy will never like a girl who doesn't dress up."

her mom tells her to eat less, telling her she eats like a sumo wrestler and not the lady she is. akaashi almost cries each morning when she puts on the uniform skirt for school. frowns in the mirror at her high ponytail for volleyball and the shorts that show off too much.

and god, her chest. the bane of her existence. she's tried everything she can think of just to make it smaller. and when it pushes open the buttons of her shirts, she wants to rip the shirt off and throw it to the ground.

"akaashi? you there?"

akaashi looks at the time. "I'll be late to practice. I have to go." she jumps up and sprints away, leaving bokuto in the dust.

it's a lot to take in. but when he gets home from practice, he grabs the kitchen scissors and chops off his hair in the bathroom mirror.

for the first time, akaashi texts first to bokuto.

simple, two sentences.

"I'm a boy. Call me Keiji."

#Transgenders Your Akaashi #bex thoughts #hq #akaashi keiji #bokuaka #ish #writing

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shyamanuensis · 2 days ago

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elevators - m.r

we're back - and pretty tame. making out and fingering about as far as this pushes it. unedited. for @i-await cheers for the pick me up xoxo (2500 words)

Late. Fuck, you hated that word. Unfortunately, there was nothing else now quite fitting to describe you. The morning had been nothing short of a total blur – sleeping in past your alarm, coffee spilt by a clumsy housemate across your shirt, forgetting your textbook on the bus where you’d tried to cram in last minute psychology facts knowing you had a quiz today and now, having to make your way across campus for a tutorial that began at 9am which you were aware, attendance was taken for. To say you were cutting it close was an understatement. The ivy-covered walls of the university made it feel as if you were trapped within some kind of maze you needed to fight your way out of. The backpack slung over your shoulders was heavy; the skirt you were in probably not a totally appropriate pick for late autumn, but hey - it was the only clean thing you had in your closet.

You had three minutes. All the time in the world, right? You’d made it to building D – social sciences. Walking the lengthy corridor to where the elevators were rather than opting to take the stairs, you finally got a chance to take a few deep breaths in before the little number on the wall up high above your head lit up – the sleek silver doors slowly parting. Tapping your foot with what little patience for yourself you had left, you rolled your eyes hearing the school yard like giggle of a girl walking out past you as you stepped in. Checking your watch; now two minutes go to, you glanced up, only to freeze.

You’d played it safe all semester – perfect grades, study a priority, no scandals… all of this only possible because you’d made a point of avoiding the one person on campus that would absolutely be your undoing. Mattheo Riddle. Leaning back against the corner of the elevator; all effortless menace and infuriating charm although you’d only been in his presence for a little over 6 seconds. He’d made life hell – all through high school, all through university; one semester left to go before you graduated and you were determined to ignore him for a little longer. You had to. Your reputation depending on it.

Your pulse spiked, a sweat glistening across your skin which you were aware wasn’t because of the rush you were in this morning. His hair was messy as always, tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed – or well, someone’s bed. The jacket he wore hung open almost picturesque over a light blue fitted shirt which didn’t match his overall aesthetic yet ugh, the way it clung to his body just hinted that there’d be lean muscle hidden underneath. His jeans were tight – fuck were they tight and of course, without having to even use your imagination you could see the outline and bulge of, fucking everything.

Mattheo glanced up from his phone. He’d been smiling at whatever it was he’d been looking at on his screen; his gaze locking onto you which saw that smile twist into a smirk – the kind you were aware was capable of leaving a trail of flushed faces across men and women alike after a night out and was now doing the same to you. Note to self – next time, take the fucking stairs.

“You running late princess?” His voice was low. God it was low and gravelly and taunting and laced with some kind of sick amusement. So much deeper than it had been a few years ago. That you could remember. You both had classes together but had barely interacted. You weren’t exactly popular back in the day and Mattheo and his friends – well, they essentially ruled over the study body with an iron fist. You were an easy target. A good girl who played nice; but you'd be lying if you hadn't thought of him in ways that would make even the greatest of sinners blush. Pocketing his phone into his jacket, Mattheo’s posture straightened as you turned your back toward him; knowing you’d be getting off in a few floors and you began to chew out of habit at your bottom lip. You could feel his eyes on you – his gaze raking over every single inch. All you could smell was coffee. Oh, how you wished you’d changed your shirt before you came in for class. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Readjusting your backpack on your shoulders, you tugged your skirt down almost nervously, tucking some hair behind your ears in an attempt to neaten it.

“Ignoring me huh?”, he continued with a chuckle. The sound, hell – it made both your skin crawl and your panties wet. “That’s a shame. Here I thought you’d make my morning more interesting.”

The elevator space felt smaller than it should have been. You gazed up at the buttons for the floors to read the manufacturer’s suggested capacity limit. 24 adults. Hell; it was like it could barely fit the two of you. Raising an eyebrow at his comment, you glanced back over your shoulder and caught him licking his lip before his eyes flickered up to yours. An amber glimmer of cockiness fluttered within them. You refused to let him rattle you. You’d gone this long without the drama he seemed to weather into the simplest of scenarios. Taking a deep breath, you let out a soft scoff and shook your head.

“I’m here for class Riddle, not to see if you’re as much trouble as everyone says you are these days.” As you shrugged, your shirt shifted, a slither of collarbone and waist exposing a much delighted appearance that only caused Mattheo’s smirk to widen.

“Trouble? No. I am so, so much worse.” His murmur didn’t have to travel far to find you, Mattheo having taken a step closer; fingers gentle to brush hair away from your neck that you hadn’t been expecting. His touch was warm. Hot. He was close enough that the cologne he wore drowned out the smell of coffee – it was rich and earthy and made your head fucking spin. “Care to find out?”

It felt like the elevator had stopped – this challenge of should you, or shouldn’t you hanging electrified between you both. The tension became amplified. You should have ignored him. Kept your mouth shut, bitten your tongue, not said a word, but oh how much that voice of his dared you to respond. To smack that cocky smirk off his face, to bring his ego down a peg or two which you damn well knew was gloating. Your breath mingled with unspoken words until finally, you managed to murmur out a response in a voice with a sultry edge you weren’t sure you’d ever heard yourself speak with before.

“Try me, Riddle.”

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. A hand shot out to wrap around your waist, tugging and turning you around as his fingers dug into your hip; pulling you flush against him only to guide you up against a wall with the other bracing up beside your head. The straps of your backpack slipped down your shoulders forcing your back to arch as it hit the floor, chest brushing hard up against his own as a whimper of a moan began to escape your lips – cut off by a kiss that was all hunger, all heat, no prelude, raw want. He tasted like mint – ugh, you couldn’t care why. Your sanity had been temporarily deactivated. You’d heard from a few people that he had this ability. Almost like seek and destroy and fuck you really couldn’t care less. Hands fisting at his jacket, you pulled him closer; the elevator doors opening and closing at another floor, but you barely noticed anyone who had stepped in. You were lost in the intoxication he delivered, the control that he demanded; his tongue claiming yours like he’d been waiting for this. For you. His hand at your hip skimmed eagerly down your thigh, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt as he lifted your leg to wrap it around his waist and you let out a weak, vulnerable sounding groan which caused Mattheo to pull back. Just enough that he could rest his forehead against yours; meet you eye to eye.

“Fuck..” The word came out as more of a growl than comprehendible syllables. His breathing was ragged already. Eyes no longer that troublesome amber shade, but dark. Ready to swallow any innocence you had whole. “Going to goddamn ruin you-.”

“Not if I ruin you first.” The emphasising of your words provoking something daring within him. Within you. Hands eager to explore, you let go of his jacket, giving them all the permission that they needed to slip beneath his shirt – nails scraping across his stomach, feeling the muscles there tense under your touch. Baby blue – fuck, why would he wear such an innocent fucking colour? Hissing, Mattheo retaliated by nipping at your lip; kisses peppered along your jaw and down your neck, staking claim with bites which would bruise and be a reminder of this little rendezvous for weeks. His hand which was braced on the wall took inspiration from your own, skimming up beneath your shirt, fingers brushing to tease the edge of your bra before working its way around to your back to undo the godforsaken clasp which earned another whimper from you.

“God, you’re so fucking responsive… can’t trust the quiet ones in class.”

Class. The tutorial. You should have been there God only knows how long ago but right now you were more than content. Feeling his knee nudging between your legs sent a jolt up your spine, a heat to your core. Your thighs parted; eager for more so you managed somehow in the delusional state that you were in to rock your hips against him, chasing a friction you were eager not to lose as he groaned and tightened his grip on you. You let go of one another just long enough for your shirt to be pulled over your head recklessly; bra dropping off your shoulders the way your backpack had earlier, tits spilling out as Mattheo dropped his head to nip at your collarbone and –

“Mattheo..”

Gasping out his name like a sinner getting ready to make a confession, his lips found yours again. The kiss, drowning. You reach out to smash your palm against the emergency stop button beside the elevator door and feel the metal cage grind to a halt causing you to fumble momentarily.

“Bold move sweetheart. You want me that bad huh? Right here? Beg for it…”

Please – like he was really going to make you beg. Like he had that kind of power when it was you – now calling the shots. You were the one who stopped the elevator, you were the one who kissed him like you needed it for survival, you were the one who was going to walk away satisfied. You manage to nod, still breathless; hands quick to roam down his chest, tugging at the damned leather belt he wore which was just another hurdle to leap, causing him to again, hiss.

“I. Don’t. Beg.”, you managed just between shaky breaths. Voice filled with a need you were happy to try and deny as you lazily kissed against his neck. Your eyes opening just, all you saw was blue – fucking light baby blue and holy shit more denim than right now was necessary. You tried to undo his belt; fiddle with the buckle, pull down that zipper which would open a pandoras box of fucking delight but weren’t able to. Not with how you pinned you back further; hands exploring beneath your skirt and up your thighs, fingers impatient to push past the dampened fabric you wore causing you to moan. Making the most of your parted lips, Mattheo quickly slipped two fingers into your mouth, a lowly ‘suck’ commanded which you obliged before he pried them out of your mouth and let them find their way back to where they had been, sliding inside you, making you bite your tongue to help stifle another moan. Your world inside this metal box had been reduced to him. To him? Fuck – why him. Fuck him? Perhaps.

“M-Ma-Mattheo…” The whimper is pathetic. Your hands grip at his shoulders in a weak attempt to keep you upright as he watches you fall apart on just his fingers curling into you. You’re rocking against his hand, spluttering and stuttering and grinding your teeth together to try and not make a sound but you’re panting like a god damn animal so loud it’s a surprise half the university can’t hear you

“Shhhh”, he calms you with a kiss before his free hand clasps over your mouth; muffling any sounds you make as his fingers push you closer and closer to the edge. “…if you’re like this with my fingers just imagine what my cock could do.”

Eyes glistening; you feel them roll back as his thumb finds your clit, drawing circles against it relentlessly that cause you shatter; breath hitched, chest heaving, a pleasure crashing through you that’s made you forget anything and everything you needed for your quiz later today – drawing out an aftershock that forces you limp, a cry groaned into his palm that almost sends him weak. Head falling down to rest against his shoulder you curse yourself internally for giving into this. Mattheo on the other hand chuckles. Its infuriating. It’s hot. It’s… ugh, why the fuck did he have to wear blue? Taking a half step back, he pulls his fingers from you, licking them clean with a smile that sends a whole new wave of heat and need through you.

“You taste like heaven sweetheart.”

His eyes never leave yours and they don’t have to. You’ll be having dreams of this for weeks. You’re craving more. You need more. You need him. Fuck. Your hands move to his belt again, hand slipping down past the denim he’s still got on to graze against him but he catches your wrist just as the elevator jolts; a warning beep sounding because someone on another level is trying to call it. You freeze. Your breath should still be mingling with his but suddenly the risk of someone knowing what you’re both up to slams you down into reality and perspective.

“Looks like we’re out of time; unless you wanna give whoevers waiting a show?”

You glance at your watch – 9.06am. God.

Pushing him back, you fix your skirt, reclasp your bra, scoop your shirt up off the floor and pull it back on – it’s inside out but fuck it, it hides the coffee stain better this way. Mattheo smirks; a huff escaping him almost too satisfactory as the elevator begins to move the two of you still temporarily trapped in sin.

“Next time.” They’re the only words you’re able to utter.

“Next time”, he repeats; a quick kiss pressed to your temple to remind you that he just embodies the meaning and description of trouble.

The doors slide open at the level which you both need revealing a swarm of students, chatting away which stops when they catch the sight of you. Dishevelled, flustered, shirt on inside out, skirt not straight, Mattheo next to you, all smirks. It’s clear they know of his reputation. He steps out first, the crowd parting like he owns the place, and you slip by right behind him, trying to ignore their stares as your heart is racing. You’ll never know what you missed those first few minutes of the tutorial but hell... you’ll never look an elevator the same way again.

#harry potter #slytherin boys #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle rabble #slytherin boys x reader

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kittenfangirl20 · 3 days ago

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Charlie: I hope I am not going upset you, but what happened to your eye.

Vaggie: It’s alright, I never told anyone because they never asked. Many people assume it was a vampire, but it wasn’t. It was my dad, I grew up in one of those ultra religious families that treated everything as a sin. I could only wear skirts that went down to my ankles because a woman showing off jet legs was a sin, my dad seeing you wearing a suit would cause him to meltdown. My hair had to be a certain length because short hair was meant for men. Well, when I was about thirteen, I started to notice how beautiful women were and I wasn’t at all attracted to me. I would find a way to sneak pictures of women I found pretty just so I could look at them. It was nothing beyond looking, but my dad found the collection and started screaming at me about how because I was using my eyes to sin they must be cut out before he cut out my left eye.

Charlie: That is so terrible, he shouldn’t have done that to you.

Vaggie: Thank you, he would have cut out my right eye if Adam hadn’t heard the commotion and ran inside to see what was happening. It was nice to see the look of fear cross dad’s face when a six and a half foot tall priest burst into our home and beat the shit out of him while the true sin is abusing your daughter and not the fact that the daughter likes looking at pretty women since he saw my collection which wasn’t even pornographic at all. Adam took me out of there and found a way for him to get legal custody of me and be my guardian. When I moved into the church that became my home, he asked me what I wanted to do first and I said always wanted to cut my hair to chin length, so he had me sit down and cut my hair that length. I was even allowed to wear jeans and shirts I found cool. Now the reason I grew my hair long is because I chose to do it. I wanted to become a nun because Adam saved me, but Adam would only let me begin my training after I graduate high school because he wanted me to have the normal high school experience. I am thankful for that because I got to do things like go to prom and graduate because of his choice. People thought it was odd that my guardian was a priest, but on his off time he would play the electric guitar and play video games. Though I was rather envious that he had a DD cup and my breasts firmly stated at an A cup.

Charlie: I think your breasts are pretty.

Vaggie blushed and before they knew it, they were kissing. They got out of their clothes as Charlie made love to Vaggie. Vaggie had at most experienced kisses and some intimate touching, but she knew that this was what she wanted now she only wanted it from Charlie. As a vampire Charlie could shape shift parts of her so Vaggie could experience different types of intimacy. Afterwards they curled up together.

Charlie: Stay with me and be mine and I will be yours as well.

Vaggie: I want to stay with you.

That night Adam woke up feeling so rested and happy. He got out of the bed and put on a silk robe so he could walk around the room. Everything was so grand and beautiful, Adam excitedly hugged himself realizing this was his home and he now had a husband who loved him. He went to the bathroom and got a warm bubble bath ready. Once in the tub, he felt strong and gentle hands wash him. He looked up to see Lucifer bathing him.

Lucifer: Did you sleep well my dove?

Adam: Yes, I did.

Lucifer: What would you like to try out tonight?

Adam blushed knowing what he wanted, but he was afraid Lucifer would laugh.

Adam: Promise not to laugh.

Lucifer: I promise.

Adam: I want to know what sex with a pussy feels like. I know vampires can shape shift, I want you to give me a pussy so I can know what it feels like.

To Adam’s relief Lucifer didn’t laugh.

Lucifer: We can do that, but I should warn you that there is a chance you can get pregnant this way and you will be stuck with a vagina until you give birth.

Adam: I don’t mind, I like raising kids.

After Adam was cleaned up, Lucifer took Adam to the mirror and opened Adam’s robe. Lucifer then placed his hand on the intimate part between Adam’s legs. When Lucifer pulled away his hand, Adam started to feel warm between his legs as his dick and balls started to melt before forming into a pussy between his legs. Adam got out of the robe and lay on the bed as he played with the changed part of his body. He blushed as he became soaking wet between his legs. He liked touching himself, but he wanted more, Lucifer moved Adam’s hand and started to eat him out. Adam gasped when he felt Lucifer’s tongue play with his clit. Lucifer was such an expert with his mouth, he made Adam orgasm many times.

Lucifer: Do you want more?

Adam: Yes.

All of this was so nice, but Adam’s wet, aching pussy needed Adam’s dick. Lucifer lay on the bed and coaxed Adam to get on top of him. Adam moved up and down once Lucifer was inside of him. Everting felt so good like last night.

Lucifer: Do you want a baby in you?

Adam: Yes.

Adam knew at that moment the reason why he wanted to experience vaginal sex was because he wanted to experience pregnancy. He remembered once when he was a teen telling a friend that he wanted to get pregnant. His friend laughed at him and said men like them can’t get pregnant. He laughed even more as Adam started to cry. That ended their friendship and the guy had to be sent to another school when he started to bully Adam by stuffing pregnancy tests into Adam’s locker. Now was his chance to have his greatest desire. Lucifer grabbed Adam’s hips and thrust deeper into him, he was going to make sure to fill up Adam with cum and Adam could have his baby. He wanted to see Adam go through the pregnancy process, stomach become even bigger as well as well as round. Lucifer arched his back from the mattress as to fill Adam up with his seed.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Vampire/Priest Au

Adam had to make sure that the church and the living area where he and all the nuns lived were locked up tight at night.

He also made sure everyone had their cross, rosary beads, and wooden stake.

Could never be too careful when Vampires live in the area. Recently one got in and sucked one of his nuns dry as if she were a juice box.

Vaggie: Father.

Adam turned and smiled: Sister Vaggie, you should be in bed for the night, it's dangerous.

Vaggie: I know, I just wanted to be sure everything was secure.

Adam: It is, go to your room and keep your windows locked and curtains drawn.

They couldn't risk losing another one.

Charlie dropped the animal on the ground and wiped the blood from her mouth. She turned and saw the glowing eyes of her father in the darkness of the forest.

Charlie: Dad?

Lucifer: It's time to go back to the church.

Charlie: Are you sure?

He turned to the direction of the church, the glow from the stain glass windows in the distance.

His future Queen was in there.

Lucifer: Very sure.

Unlike what the myths said, it wasn’t dangerous for vampires to step onto holy ground. Charlie followed her dad onto the church. He watched the nuns walk through the grounds, but they didn’t interest Lucifer. Lucifer saw his future Queen on the balcony, the most beautiful man he had ever seen in his life. Even his black priestly robes couldn’t hide his curves.

Lucifer: Soon you will be my Queen.

Adam heard the words that felt like a caress. Somehow he knew those words were for him and they were a real turn on for him.

Adam internally: Why are you letting yourself do this Adam? You dedicated yourself to the church, you said you would be chaste.

Lucifer: Why should a beauty like you have to be chaste for life.

Adam suddenly felt hands caress his body.

Adam: Who are you?

Lucifer: Invite me into your quarters and you can see me.

Adam: You can come into my quarters.

Adam walked inside not expecting who to see, but it certainly wasn’t a very handsome man. Lucifer smiled at Adam and Adam could see the fangs.

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

#hazbin hotel #adam #hazbin hotel adam #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #adam/lucifer #adamsapple #guitarduck

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itsalwayssunnyinhollywood · 1 year ago

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This Dee outfit is genuinely my roman empire. I think about it every day of my life, not the show or the character, just this outfit and everything it makes me feel and want to be

#the hair the shirt the skirt just everything #this was peak girl #everything has been downhill since #its always sunny in philadelphia #dee reynolds #macdennis #< target audience #iasip

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seraphiec · 1 year ago

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Pretty Little Liars, S1E1.

#Not the greatest quality as N.etflix took PLL out but..#One of my most favourite Spencer outfits for season 1.#Everything about this just works.#The plunging neckline on her shirt/cardigan coupled with a tiny collar #The grayish-black colour that compliments her skirt #The ruffles on the back..#Her skirt! Very pretty very Hastings core.#The riding boots? a staple in Spencer's wadrobe.#And yes she is an accomplished Equestrian as well.#And finally.. The hair.#The voluminous curls.. No stray lock on her forehead as she is always moving about/studying and that would annoy her.#Just generally how put together and preppy this look is.#A true Ralph Lauren girl she is!

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ranger-danger · 12 days ago

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Finally getting better at doing my makeup!!!

#gel eyeliner is a life saver #a small wing and doing half of bottom eyeliner #I can’t really do the fun traditional goth inner eye spike thingd #(my nose bridge is too thin and my eyes are almost right up against it)#so RIP to that #at the very least I’m not good at doing it even if I can #but I am figuring out what I can do with my facial features <3 #might have to kiss my fo4 goth radio station dreams goodbye #(I’ve done everything and it just doesn’t want to work </3)#I’m also not teck savvy at fucking all so there’s that too #I should probably dye my eyebrows next time I dye my hair #but that scares me #but also brown eyebrows and black hair looks weird #btw my hair is long enough to almost make a Mohawk #for once I don’t miss my blond hair #normally I do when it starts to grow out from a dye #granted I have literally always wanted black hair even before I knew what a goth was #(thank you Bruce Wayne)#if I put on a suit rn I would literally have accomplished my childhood dream #(goth Bruce Wayne)#at the very least I’m closer to goth Bruce Wayne than I was a year ago #I was a guy for a while but I think I’m back to being a girl #girl guy mashup thing more like but ahhhhh #shhhhh*#I need to dye that skirt #(the teo shirts I wanted to dye are just slightly too small for me and I’d rather donate them)#darkest color I got was graphite so let’s see how that looks

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lacyblades · 1 month ago

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౨ৎ bully!sukuna and bully!gojo were the devils, you were sure. everything they said, everything they did would only attribute to your claim. in the grand scheme of things, they did all they could, just to make your bad days just a little worse.

a seemingly accidental bump, a well-timed shove, and suddenly, the carefully organized stack of papers you were carrying would drop onto the grimy floor.

your face would burn with humiliation as you scrambled to gather the scattered sheets, the sound of their mocking laughter echoing around you.

"oh, my bad! didn't see you there," gojo would snicker, his voice dripping with false sincerity.

sukuna snorts, leaning against a nearby locker with an air of bored superiority, would chime in, his voice a deep, gravelly drawl that sent shivers down your spine, "looks like someone's having a fuckin' rough day, huh?" so condescending. so cruel.

as you bent to retrieve the papers, the already precarious hem of your tiny school uniform skirt would ride up, revealing a flash of baby pink panties that clung to the curve of your ass.

they'd had pulled strings, whispered to someone, to ensure your skirt was always a size too small, a constant source of discomfort and vulnerability.

and, you? well, you were never the wiser. innocent and naïve, you struggled to comprehend the depth of their malice.

but, the hallway incidents were just the opening act. their cruelty extended beyond casual torment.

you always retreated to the quiet solitude of the outdoors, hoping to escape their suffocating presence. yet, like relentless shadows, they would follow, their laughter and taunts cutting through the peaceful ambiance.

one particularly sweltering afternoon, as you sat alone beneath the shade of an oak, a sudden splash of cold water cascaded down your back. you gasped, your white button-up shirt instantly clinging to your skin, the flimsy material offering little resistance to the revealing dampness.

even with no one else around to witness your mortification, the shame felt even worse with just them. the thin fabric clung to your chest, showing off your perky tits. the sudden chill caused your nipples to harden visibly through the wet cloth.

"fuck, that's a sight," sukuna's voice, low and husky, cut through the air.

lost in your embarrassment, you didn't even register the faint click of a phone camera, the subtle exchange of knowing glances between them, hidden behind their loud, booming laughter. they reveled in your discomfort, their eyes lingering on your exposed form with a predatory gleam.

the question that kept nagging at you was just why? why you? you'd never messed with them, never even tried to get their attention. you'd gone out of your way to avoid them, trying to disappear. and still, they were always there, making your life hell at every turn.

a question that nagged at you especially so, when you were bent over an empty classroom's desk, choking on sukuna's thick cock, while gojo's rammed into your aching pussy.

why you? you didn't have the prettiest face, with round, chunky glasses that didn't fit quite right. you didn't have a perfect hourglass, with full hips and big boobs. your hair was always at least a little frizzy, no matter how much you tried to tame it. didn't even have a alluring personality, instead blurring into the background, like any wallflower. you weren't a head-turner, not really.

you'd been taught, growing up, to avoid confrontation, and to stay out of trouble. but, if trouble was adamant on finding you, the best you could do was tough it out, right? the faster you succumbed, the faster it'd be over with... right?

you clench around gojo, his fat tip kissing your cervix. every thrust felt like it was pushing you closer and closer to the edge, not one you'd be able to return from. your small, fluttering hole did it's best to accommodate to his size, but fuck — it was too much.

"mm, so, so tight — virgin lil' pussy," gojo groans, pinching your clit.

you cry, though it's horridly muffled, "p- please..." you're unsure what you're begging for.

sukuna ignores you, shoving his length further down your throat, "shit, takes it real well from here, too. what a good fuckin' girl."

they go over and over again, ignoring your sobbing (whether from pain or pleasure, you didn't know), instead repeatedly switching spots. you cum for the nth time, the gushing squirt betraying you. you've lost count, actually, how many times they've made you come undone. all you know; it's more than you've ever made yourself.

bully!sukuna and bully!gojo may have been the devils, but as you looked up at them, teary eyes blurring your vision, they were heavenly. especially when they were filling up all your holes like that.

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rosiereveries · 3 months ago

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professor!John who teaches history at university. You finally have classes with him and since the beginning of the year, all the girls in your year talk about how hot he is. He is something over 40 and he won the secret dilf competition that you made with your friends.

You take extra good time preparing for his classes, not just you learn the materials for the lesson, you also make sure that your outfit looks nice, that your hair is perfectly styled, and your makeup looks flawless. You always wear short skirts and cute tops to his classes, and you are 100% sure that when you wear knee high socks, he looks at you more that on the other girls.

John noticed you the very first time you came to his class. You sat in the first row like the good girl you are, and you raised your hand every time he asked questions. There were so many girls in his classes who tried to seduce him, but none of them were as smart as you were. You always had perfect score on your test, and he knew that you wanted to make him proud. It was just a bonus that when you crossed your legs on the chair you were sitting, he could sometimes see your panties.

He tried to wait until the end of the year, to approach you, so he wouldn’t be your professor anymore when he would fuck you. But you gave him no choice with your flirty remarks and your outfits.

That’s why he called you into his office after your lesson ended. He wanted to speak with you about the paper you were working on, and he wanted you to tell him how it was going.

When you get into his office you start to talk about your paper. You hoped that he called you there for other reasons, but he is patiently listening while you ramble about the sources and literature you found. After a while he asks you if you would mind if he smoke, he tells you that he needs a little bit of relaxation before his next class.

You watched him as he lights up a cigarette and offers you one. You decline and watch him blow out the smoke. “You sure you don’t want one?” he asks and when you tell him that you never really smoked, he pats his thigh and tells you to come closer.

“You know, this time of the year everything is so hectic” he says, “maybe you could help me with some pent-up stress, you know. What you think?”

That’s how you end up on the floor on your knees under his desk. You kneel between his thighs unzipping his trousers and taking out his thick cock. He is bigger that you imagined, and you know that there’s no way you can take him whole into your mouth. He gathers your hair in his hand, and he makes you look up at him. “You always look so pretty for me, but I think you will look even better with these lips around my dick” he says, and he gently guides your head to his crotch.

You choke on him quite a lot. You can take half of his length without a problem but after that, your gag reflex makes you stop. You hear him mumble something about training your mouth. When John finishes his cigarette, he makes you stand up, your lipstick ruined, most of it is on his cock like a pretty mark you left.

He bends you over his desk, pulling your skirt up. You can feel his cock teasing you through your underwear. When he pulls your panties down and starts to push inside you can feel him stretching you. “Just like that, you’re taking me so well, you’re so wet for me” he says. John pushes one hand under your t-shirt, pulling it up so he can see your tits. He tells you to take it off, so you just stand there in your skirt and knee-high socks.

He fucks you rough, quick thrust that makes your eyes roll. He plays with your nipples, twisting and pulling them until your breast are sensitive. You know that you don’t have a lot of time, anytime now his colleague could come back from their lunch break and find you like this.

When John starts to rub circles on your clit you can feel your orgasm approaching. With one hand he rubs your most sensitive part, and the other one is around your throat. “I need you to cum on my cock, I need you to milk me dry with your sweet wet pussy” he tells you and you can feel that he is also close. You cum like the good girl you are right as he tells you. A few moments later he is cuming inside you, his hot seed spilling in your pussy.

He helps you to put your clothes on. He pulls up your panties, and when he sees that his cum is spilling from your pussy, he quickly pushes two fingers inside you, saying that it needs to stay where it belongs. You’re still there, in his office with your thighs still trembling when his colleague comes back. John walks you out on the hallway, saying that you should come to see him again tomorrow at noon, that you still have a lot of work to do. You just hope that his colleague can’t hear when he whispers that you should come without panties this time.

Masterlist You can support my work here : ko-fi

#call of duty #cod #john price #rosiereveries #task force 141 #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #john price x you #captain john price #cod x reader

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lostalioth · 6 months ago

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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

→ premise: eddie wasn’t convinced you were as innocent as you acted. his pervy thoughts of you were often guided by all the little dirty things you did. he knew he shouldn’t think that way you were his friend after all but you had to know what you were doing to him right?

→ pairing: perv!bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, 2.1k words, corruption kink, dacryphilia, frontagge? [eddie rubs his dick against her til he cums?] unprotected penetration, small bit of degrading language [whore], nicknames [baby, pretty girl, sweets, pretty best friend], reader is described to wear eddies shirt and pink/girly clothing a bit, not proofread

→ a/n: kinktober 12

Eddie was a touchy guy, a very touchy best friend in fact. He seemed to lack any awareness of personal space when it came to you.

Having you sit in his lap during movie nights whether it's just the two of you or if Robin or Steve join in. Laying his head in your lap while you play with his hair and his hands palm at your thighs tracing shapes on them. Draping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you to his side when you're in the middle of a conversation with someone or leaning his body weight against you. Now to you and your naive mind, you found all this and everything else he may do as innocent, you didn't understand why everyone new you met assumed the two of you were dating.

Except for Eddie everything he did, he had a little pervy underlying reason to it. Leaning on you and pulling your body against his to feel your soft skin on his and subconsciously claiming you as his. Sitting you in his lap to feel the heat radiating from your pussy on his cock even through multiple layers of fabric. Laying his head on your lap and rubbing on your thighs Imagining his head is buried between them instead.

Constantly he came up with any excuse he could to have his hands on you, to have your body against his, even rub up against you when given the chance when he’d scoot behind you to get somewhere even if there was a clearer path to his destination. Rubbing his bulge lightly against your ass when he’d brush by. To him there was no way you weren’t aware of his intentions when he did these things and all the little pervy moves he made. Every dirty thought he had or thing he did was guided by the seemingly not so innocent things you would do.

Though you weren’t actually aware of just what the things you'd do, did to poor ole’ Eddie. Batting your eyelashes at him when you wanted to be the one to pick the movie, pressing your body against him of your own accord when a scary part came on during one of his movie picks. He even swears though he isn’t 100% sure it wasn't a very vivid dream that you were grinding your ass against him for a second one time you were sitting in his lap.

It was currently one of those frequent movie nights and Eddie was painfully hard, his cock has been aching the moment he walked inside your house. Part of it sure was that he was just excited to have quality time with his pretty little best friend but then when he came in and saw the state you were in he was a goner. You were more comfortable around Eddie than anyone and you had opted to be cozy so all you had on was a long t-shirt and frilly pink socks, no pants on. Being the perv he was and with the fact he couldn't tell exactly he was secretly wishing you didn't have any panties on either.

Eddie got to pick the movie and it was one he’d seen a million times over so it didn't matter that he couldn't bring himself to pay attention. His eyes glued to you, your thighs exposed almost more than they are when you wear your tiny lacey skirts that also almost kill Eddie. Any last drop of reserve or self-control he had was slowly draining away from his body.

If he thought too hard about everything he felt like a piece of shit bestfriend that all he could think of during movie nights anymore was bending you over your living room couch and claiming your pussy as his. Making you his as you whine and moan that it's too much to take and he tells you what a good girl you’re being. Expect there was a small denranged part of him that desperatly wanted to corrupt your sweet naive mind until you’re the one who can only think about him fucking you, making you just as much of a pervert as he was.

Far too lost in own dirty thoughts he fails to notice that the movie has now ended, meaning it was your turn to pick and he should probably stop staring at your body.

“That was a good movie. Ed's wasn't as scary of a movie as you usually pick” your sweet voice snaps him out of his trance and he reluctantly tears his gaze away from your thighs crossed over one another.

“Oh uh yeah, figured I’d pick a calmer one this time for you sweets” he explains, lightly coughing as he squeezed the pillow that's been covering his lap this whole time, a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes forms on his face as he finally turns his attention to your face. Though switching his focus fails to dull the throbbing in his stiff cock, if it goes on any longer there's definitely going to be a wet spot in his boxers. You smile back at him before getting up from the couch, running over to the kitchen and putting the empty popcorn bowl in the sink. He watches as you walk away, a small groan leaving his lips, it didn't help that the shirt you wore was one of his old hellfire shirt’s. You in his clothes always made his heart ache just as much as his dick, you often stole his shirts or hoodies which didn't help people thinking you were dating and Eddie secretly loved that.

With a bounce in your step you make your way back over to the couch, standing more in front of Eddie as you do. Bending at the waist you lean over to pick the remote up off the oddly low coffee table, your shirt riding up as you do. Giving him an agonizingly perfect view of your ass and the mound of your pussy in your little pink panties. “Oh fuck..” he groans out, his knuckles turning white from how hard he is gripping the pillow infront of him. You turn around facing him now as you lean back up, having heard Eddie mumble out something. “What’d you say Ed’s??” You question with a cute look of confusion on your face.

His last ounce of composure and restraint flies out the window as he throws the pillow off his lap and grabs ahold of your hips pulling you into his lap.

“You fucking feel that pretty girl? That’s what you do to me, fuckin’ killing me sweets” he groans out, his bulge pressed right against your cunt, his jeans and your thin panties do nothing to stop him from feeling the heat settling in your core. you gasp out dropping the remote onto the cushion besides you as you feel just how hard he is. The cold metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine when his hands push up at your shirt, bunching it up as they go. “But- I didn't do anything, or- I didn't mean to anyway Ed’s” you manage to stutter out, taken aback by both his abruptness and how good his cock feels against you even confined in denim. Lifting you up before letting go of your hips for a second so you're hovering over him, he unbuckles his belt and button to his jeans before tugging them down his thighs. “Ed’s I-I dont think best friends do this…” you whine out yet don't make any move to stop him as he grabs ahold of your hips again, planting your pussy right on his cock again with only thin underwear separating you now. You may be naive and innocent but you weren't a virgin you were well aware of what he was doing.

“it’s okay baby, just be my pretty little best friend and let me play with you okay, my cocks aching for ya’ yeah?” His tone is soft and slurred, his head going hazy in desire for you and the fact you were letting him go this far. “Mhmm~ okay i can do that” you whine out, your hips having a mind of their own squirming and grinding against him as his hands rub down your thighs.

“Atta girl sweets, s’good to me, always so sweet on me” he groans out as his fingers inch closer and closer to your aching pussy. Your slick has managed to begin soaking your panties, while Eddie's tip leaks precum forming a matching wet spot on his boxers. Tugging your panties to the side he runs his middle and ring finger through your slick folds, running over your clit that jumps at the small bit of attention. Your breath catches in your lungs as your eyes are glued to where your best friend's hands are playing with your leaking pussy. “Eddie.. it feels s’good” you whine out your hips bucking at his touch every time his fingers brush over your bundle of nerves.

“Look at you pretty girl, so fucking wet f’me like a little fucking whore” he groans out as he pushes down at his boxers, you lift your hips to help subconsciously. He pushes them down only enough to let his cock spring free, his cock thick, tip reddened and as veins run along the underside of his shaft. Your eyes are entranced by the sight, your mouth watering and your hole clenching around nothing, who knew your best friend had such a pretty cock.

Grabbing onto the base of his cock he angles it to nudge open your slit and run his tip through your soaked folds, grinding his shaft against your pussy. “Ahh~ pleasee Ed’s need you inside” you whine out, already getting overwhelmed, his cock rubbing against your bundle of nerves and tip just barely pushing at your hole before slipping out. The ongoing teasing and desire for him to push inside you crowd your head making it go fuzzy. “Nooo not yet baby, not till you're begging for it, gotta corrupt my sweet innocent little best friend til shes a cock hungry whore begging for me to fuck her” he chuckled darkly, even though he was more desperate than you to finally push into the warm heat of your cunt he was gonna make you beg for it.

Tears well up in your eyes threatening to fall as you buck against him in response to his hips grinding against your pussy. “Aww ya’ gonna cry sweets? Go on cry baby, beg for it” he groans out, he knew it was sick but as your tears fall down your cheeks he can feel his balls tighten, heavy and full of cum that's almost ready to burst. Your slick and his precum mix together to soak your panties, the thin fabric turning see through as he hooks it over his cock to keep it pressed between your folds.

“Fuck im gonna cum pretty girl, should cum in these fuckin’ flimsy panties and ruin em’ then stuff them in your mouth as i stuff this pussy” he growls out, his words making your pussy throbbing and your head spin, your head nodding frantically desperate for him to do exactly that. “Yeah baby? Want me to do that?” He taunts, a lopsided smirk glued to his lips as he leans in closer, forehead pressed against yours while your tears continue to fall down your cheeks, your eyes turning red and puffy the longer you cry out in pleasure.

“Please Ed’s yes!~ please need you to cum and i need you to fuck me please” you moan out, a deep stasifaction settled in eddie at your plea and he surges forward to press his lips to yours muffling your whines. Your thighs burning from grinding desperately against him, the last string of Eddie's snaps just as you dig your nails into his biceps and cry out his name into the heated frantic kiss. Hot ropes of cum spurt out and coat the inside of your panties and paint your puffy folds. Not stopping his thrusting Eddie grabs his cock that's still sandwiched under your now ruined panties and guides his still leaking tip to your entrance. Pulling away from your lips, he slaps his hand over your mouth just as he pushes inside you in one sharp hard thrust. A cry of pleasure and maybe some pain falls from your lips, along side a long line of curse muffled agianst his rough hand as he fucks up into the wet heat of your pussy that clenches down on him.

“My pretty bestfriend’s gonna be such a good fuckin’ cock drunk whore, all f’me now, all mine” all you can do in nod in respone, your eyes nearly rolling back in pleasure.

→ a/n: I rushed the end of this so i could get it out today and get back on track with kinktober lmao and somehow its still 2 thousand words and some change lmao but anyway enjoy loves give me feedback and tell me if something is misspelled this wasnt read over as im tired.

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madamechrissy · 17 days ago

Text

Baby You're a Star - Chapter two preview

Spoilers- don't read if you haven't read Chap one!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings- Fingering, oral (f recieving) Satoru being very into consent and a lil freak, reader being cute and falling- and lots of saying 'fuck' bc I do that - based on these Pornstar Satoru hcs

It's HERE

It’s not just his skill, how good his thick finger feels inside of you, how beautiful his lidded eyes are, it’s the energy emitting from his being, with every exhale, how he looks at you underneath him. You gasp as he hits a spot deep inside your slick walls, making you see white hot stars for just a moment, soft cry escaping your lips, you’re so wet you can hear it, the squelching of your cunt so loud in his penthouse.

But it’s not just how good it feels, you know it’s something more, how Satoru looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing there is, like you’re all there is. His other hand strokes your hair back, as your thigh hitches up over his hip, allowing him to sink deeper with an impossibly long finger now. The way he feels, his weight on you, everything about him overwhelming all your senses.

“Look at you, fuck…” His soft murmur causes his hot breath to brush your lips, you taste just how sweet he is, your hands gripping his expensive shirt, as your eyes roll back with how his fingers hit. “There you go, feel her pulsing around me, can you take two sweetheart?”

“They’re thick…” He chuckles now, cocky in his little grin, pulling one out to suck it off, and your throat goes dry, seeing his cheeks hollow, and his own eyes fluttering shut as he moans.

“It tastes so sweet, god.” He sucks his other clean finger, tapping your thigh now. “Relax, if you can’t we’ll go back to one, okay?”

“Y-yes.” You’re so cute laid under him, the little squeak when he slips two into your tight little cunt making him chuckle. “You’re laughing at me.”

“You’re so adorable. Sorry.” He’s smiling at your half assed little glare, but you’re all flustered, your cheeks heated to the touch when he presses his lips on one, sinking both fingers in now, making you cry out at the stretch. “Loosen up, sweets, relax. Just feel it.”

Just feel.

But you feel too much.

Fuck.

You nod as he leans up, dying to yank his lips down on yours, craving the connection even as he eases you to relax, to take more of him, and when you do, when you’re that full, your moans get throatier, cunt slicker. He exhales as he feels it, as he watches you, easing back to shove that skirt higher up, to look at your little hole sucking him in so greedily.

“God I wanna bury my fucking face in her, can I?” Your lips part in a gasp, when he’s laying prone between your thighs, easing his fingers out to spread your lips, watching your little hole wink and twitch as it leaks more of your arousal out of it.

“Y-you do?” He smirks now, soft tousled hair falling over his brow, you brush it back then, making him even harder, cock twitching in response to that, as he inhales your scent.

“I would die to have you cum all over my face, drown me in it.” Who is he. He’s insane and ruining you. “Your cunt is even fucking cute.”

“How can it be cute?” He’s chuckling again, breathing against you, and yours comes faster, breasts rising and falling in your open sweater.

“They can be cute, especially yours.” He smacks a kiss on it - ‘muah’ making you giggle then, instantly relaxing, as you realize…

You trust him.

He’s a stranger, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like you’ve known this insane man forever, exhaling and spreading your thighs more, he notices the action, you relaxing under his palms, earning more of him dying to enter you. But he has this feeling, that once he does?

You’ll fucking ruin him.

Your taste alone is sweeter than any wine he’s had, the most corny shit he should not come up with in his sex addled mind, but you make him think of more, of every reaction of your pretty body. How you cry out, your sighs, the way your hips shift now, your little hands gripping his shoulders, nails pressing in, making him vividly picture how good it’ll feel when they’re raking down his back.

“You want it, hmm sweets?” He asks again, kissing higher, sighing as he nears you, feels your heat against his face. You nod then, shyly, and he leans up a bit, pressing one more kiss over your hood, chin brushing your needy little clit. “I need explicit consent, enthusiastic consent before we go further.”

Fuck he’s perfect.

You’re playing a dangerous game, you already feel yourself falling into the unreal swirling blue storms of the eyes looking up at you, from between your thighs. Your hands relax then, cupping his cheek, which he presses a kiss on your palm, and you decide any of him is worth it, how badly he makes you need him, how willingly your body is ready to respond, your heart needs to stay in its chest.

“Yes, I would love you to, please.” Your words end him, sweeter from your lips than he could imagine, and with that he doesn’t just lick you, no, Satoru Gojo devours you then and there. “Ah! S-Satoru!”

“Mnh…” He’s buried his face against your pretty pussy, and fuck he’s ruined further just from it, from sweet arousal seeping into his tastebuds, as he dives that tongue in your pulsing little hole. You’re tensing under him, tummy trembling when he presses down on it, making his next stroke so intense you start to fall apart under him, hands yanking his silky locks.

You taste sweeter than anything.

And fuck if Satoru Gojo doesn’t have one hell of a sweet tooth.

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @raendarkfaerie @shokosbunny

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x you #gojo x f!reader #divider by anitalenia #gojo x reader smut #gojo x you

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digitald0rk · 17 days ago

Text

TEAR YOU APART

pairing : sinister! mark grayson x afab! florist reader.

synopsis : in which mark discovers your dirty little secret and decides to help you recreate it in real time.

(18+) warnings : kidnapping. nasty petty perv mark. allusions to cannibalism. mention of kinda gory violence. hair pulling. biting. mean name calling duh. giving each other head. p in v unprotected sex. creampies. marathon sex as in multiple orgasms. squirting. overstimulation . . . ++ just really nasty smut lol [ all consentual though! you two are freaks like in capital FREAKS ]

w.c : 5.5k.

notes : erm. yeah idk what possessed me to write this but lemme know what you think ! it's my first time writing smut this long and detailed [ my search history is crazy rn lol ]. let's just say this takes place in sinister mark's universe before he starts acting like a murder machine and all, so yeah :] again interactions are always appreciated, also do let me know if you think there's any warning i should add!

taglist : @vm4879bb-blog [ for the others, i wasn't sure if you guys would be okay being tagged in a fic like this so i didn't, let me know if you wanna be added tho :p ]

now on ao3 too!

he's going to kill something, or someone.

“oh yeah this? my boyfriend got it for me!”

he hears you talk about him, your lover, everyday and it annoys him deeply, the subtle furrow of his eyebrows barely noticeable but definitely there — sometimes a twitch of his eye, clear cracks in his carefully constructed facade give away his irritation if you choose to look closely.

“that reminds me, this one time he-”

he loves that pretty voice of yours — dare he say, he's grown fond of it, but he wants to shut you up forever whenever your boyfriend's name leaves your lips.

mark wants his name to be on your tongue — to be said with the same love and fondness that accompanies the name of your lover.

he tried, he really did, to give you signs — a squeeze of your hand there, a stare that can practically undress you on its own. but it seems you're oblivious to it all, or you're playing hard to get, either way his patience is running thin.

he'll get what he wants. just you wait.

every time he visits your little shop, it smells like flowers mixed with your perfume, that sweet and sugary scent with just a hint of citrus — he had asked you about the perfume you wore during his third visit, bought it the same day so he could finally get off because his imagination wasn't enough at this point, that kept him somewhat satisfied for a bit, but it wasn't nearly enough.

so when he stopped by next time, not even buying flowers to play along with whatever this is, he asked you, “where do you buy your clothes?”

you blink a couple times, clearly taken aback back by the sudden question but nonetheless, answer him — although you're not quite sure what to make of his disheveled hair and blown out pupils.

here he is, acting like a feral dog in heat, buying anything and everything that he can at the shops you frequent that resembles your clothes. and when he's back at home, he's spraying them with the perfume you always wear, rutting like a madman into the mattress as he mouths at a pink shirt — the same one you own and the one you were wearing when he first saw you, his drool leaking and staining the shirt as he holds it close to his mouth and closing his eyes, your scent surrounding him as he suckles on the chest area of the shirt, imagining it's your chest instead which has him groaning and cumming in his pants. that keeps him going for another week or so.

next thing he knows, he's acting on pure instinct and his desires — snapping photos of your panties underneath your little skirts like a fucking pervert, looking them up online so he could order them and make a mess of them. and he does, he stains each and everyone of those panties with his hot, thick cum and sometimes his spit when he imagines eating your pretty pussy out. his desires however continue to only grow.

he visits your little shop, like he always does, mentally preparing himself to not grab your throat and shove you down to make you shut up if he hears about your stupid boyfriend again.

he's being nice, can't you see? you should be thankful.

mark sees a new ring on your finger, the small silver zircon on it shining underneath the sunlight, he wonders if it's another gift from your boyfriend.

the thought leaves a bitter taste behind, regardless, he maintains his usual aloof facade, waiting for you to finish wrapping up his bouquet that he's going to end up tossing away the next day — just like the other flowers he's bought from you, they don't compare to you or your beauty, he wants you, a flower that won't rot away once he's done playing with it.

surprisingly, you don't mention the name of a certain man who he wants dead and buried six feet deep but he doesn't comment on it, in fact, a small barely imperceptible smile tugs at his lips.

he's just about to leave your little flower heaven when he hears something that makes his heart, uncharacteristically skip a beat.

“yeah i heard, i’m so sorry,” a voice, which he recognizes as your friend speaks softly, sympathetically.

“yeah, i don't know what i was thinking,” you start, “the signs were there, i just never thought he'd cheat like that,” you blink away the forming tears, “i trusted him.”

he stops dead in his tracks. that bastard cheated on you? he'll make him pay for being the reason you cry, although your tears do make his cock twitch in his pants. he'll lick them off of your face if you let him, god he really wants to.

should he simply keep your boyfriend to torture? he's sure he could lure you in with it, after all you are way too sweet for your own good.

he'll slowly tear each of his limbs apart, making sure the man hears his bones cracking and skin ripping, he'll make that fucker bleed to death. hell, he'd even record those painful, agonizing sounds that your ex would cry out, he's sure you'd cry more if he lets you hear them, maybe he just wants to see you cry — though he's sure you'll do that when you choke on his cock.

he snaps out of his little fantasy when the bell rings, indicating the opening of the door — another customer in, he sighs. he's losing it, he's not sure how much he can withstand not having you with him. but he's trying, for you.

for the sweetest girl who he can't wait to devour.

with his restraint hanging on by a thread, he steps out of your shop, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists by his sides. he needs to have you.

and that restraint finally snaps the next day when he discovers that his favorite florist is a fucking freak.

as you're tending to customers — clearly overwhelmed by their number as valentine’s day is approaching and flowers are definitely a safe option for your partner, his eyes stay locked on your laptop's screen that you had put on one of the small tables, lid only half closed, his eyes frantically scan over some of the words as he fully opens the screen, trying to stay out of your vision.

he quickly decides to go somewhere where there aren't so many people so he could take a look inside his sweet girl's sick mind. and with that he skillfully slips outside — he feels awfully excited, sneaking into the small bathroom of some shop.

and with each click of the cursor and another tab opening, he learns your most depraved, disgusting fantasies — the kind of porn you're into, your kinks and fetishes, the smut you read, all of it.

he even stumbles upon a small blog you run, oh now we're talking. each lewd image or post you've reblogged, followed by some words of “wish that was me rn”, has him hard. and these date back before your break up, meaning your boyfriend was definitely not keeping you satisfied and that has him grinning like a maniac.

oh he'll give you what you want.

he shamelessly palms himself when he finds your dairy entry with his name, rambling about how you feel guilty fantasizing about him ruining you. he would've cum right then and there if it weren't for the knocking on the door, “hey man, you mind hurrying it up?”

oh right he's still in a bathroom and not in you, like he should be.

he manages to sneak your laptop back in, thanking the absurd amount of customers mentally which helped him go in and out without raising suspicion.

he can't take it anymore, it's only been a couple hours since he's discovered your filthy secret and also saw you tearing up earlier because of that asshole who broke your heart.

he knows he's a hypocrite — he doesn't care for your dumb feelings and your big heart, okay well maybe that's a lie.

it is a lie.

and there are definitely these feelings that he refuses to acknowledge but still, the only reason why you should be crying is because of him fucking your brains out.

and so he waits, like a predator waiting to pounce — he holds his breath, watching as the sun sets and you lock up your shop, ready to go home and get some sleep but your plans are interrupted as a hand sneaks up behind you with some sort of cloth, muffling your panicked noises and before you know it you're knocked out.

it takes you hours to gain your consciousness back, eyes all heavy and mind disoriented you blink, once. then twice, your eyes widen and your mouth suddenly feels too dry. you're all tied up to a cold hard metal chair, you're only in your bra and panties, the rope is too tight, it's constricting and will definitely leave behind angry marks on your skin.

standing before you is one of your regular customers, mark. you stare at him, dumbfounded — eyes darting around to look for an escape okay to see a single door, desk and some chairs, panic settles in your bones, the coldness of the room does nothing to soothe your nerves.

you mindlessly try to shift around, a desperate attempt that leaves you wincing in pain — the friction of the thick black rope burning against your skin.

you try to speak, but nothing comes out, only a small choked sob — looking at him with those wide eyes which are brimming with tears that are oh so close to spilling and staining your cheeks, you look utterly helpless. the sight alone makes him excited.

he takes a deep breath, he wants to take his time with you, savor you. but goddamnit, if you keep looking at him like that he's sure he'll end up doing the opposite of that.

“open your mouth,” he commands, leaving no room for argument and you hate the way it sends a shiver down your spine and a throb to your core.

you hesitantly open your mouth, with his back turned to you — doing god knows what, you try screaming for help, it is a weak attempt that makes him chuckle, “no one's going to hear you sweetheart,” he coos mockingly, “i suggest you play along if you wish to live.”

he's not joking, his voice makes it clear.

so you reluctantly keep your mouth opened, hot tears falling down — lucky for you, he's being nice, at least for now because he brings a glass of water, holding your jaw and pouring the water in your mouth, some of it spills, the coldness of it on your bare skin making you shiver — but you swallow all he gives hastily, hoping it really is just water.

you sputter a bit of the water out onto him in surprise when he licks a stream of you tears away, his tongue hot against your skin and his spit leaving a shiny trail on your cheek. scared, that he'll hurt you because of what you've just done, you close your eyes shut as if the mere action would actually rewind back time and do something for you.

he laughs, loudly.

god, you're adorable. he could just eat you up.

“are you scared of me?” he asks, knowing damn well it's a pointless question but the genuine fear in your eyes has him reeling with joy and a desire only you, his sweetheart, can fulfill.

he puts the now empty glass of water back on a small table, “you know, you look real pretty like this,” he starts, dragging a chair to sit across you, “but i bet you'd look real pretty without anything on.”

you don't answer, you don't know how to. your eyes are still looking around the big room for any exits, any openings — he smiles at your desperation, it's cute really.

“or maybe you'd look even prettier with some blood on you hm?” his tone although amused is firm enough to leave you unsure if he's being serious or not, he drags a finger across your belly, “what if i make a cut right here?”

you immediately shake your head, trying to speak but he shuts you up by pinching one of your hard nipples through your bra, your protests die down into a small whimper — the sound has him grinning from ear to ear.

his eyes glint with something sinister that has you both scared and turned on. “i know you want this slut,” he holds your jaw harshly.

shame settles in your bones as you realize he's right.

“don't play coy sweet girl i saw all of it,” when you give him a confused look, he continues, “that little blog of yours, that disgusting shit you're into.”

oh fuck.

he sees the look of absolute horror mixed with embarrassment on your face and he tuts like he's disappointed, “dirty girl,” like he isn't the one who literally kidnapped you here.

“i don't know what you're talking about,” you both know you're lying, but sure he'll play along if that's what you want — he's feeling good today.

he reaches for your bag and rips it open — a clear display of who's still in charge here and how he definitely could kill you in an instant.

mark opens your laptop and asks you the password. you don't tell him at first as if that would change anything.

“i asked you a simple question,” he walks closer to you, grips your shoulder hard enough to make you regret your words, “or do i need to rip something else for you to answer me hm?” his grip tightens and you know he's not playing around, your voice shakes as you give him the four number pin, breathing heavily when he lets go of his hard bruising grip on your shoulder.

“good girl,” fuck him, he's doing this on purpose now! and the smug look on his face only confirms your suspicions.

he shows you the deepest, filthiest fantasies of yours that you keep tucked in your laptop, away from the world.

“what's wrong? don't pretend you're not dripping wet right now.”

again, he's not wrong.

“why are you doing this?” you ask him, still struggling a bit against the ropes that bind you.

“i wanna give you what you want,” he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. he also wants to make you forget about your ex boyfriend, but he's not admitting that, jealousy is a weakness. and one that he suffers from immensely.

“you what-”

“drop the act,” he huffs, irritation visible in the way his eyebrows furrow. “just admit it already. you're a sick disgusting pervert who goes prancing around like she's not thinking of having her holes filled,” he tugs at your hair to keep your head up, his eyes dark with lust boring right into yours.

“are you crazy? you fucking kidnapped-”

he cuts you off again, “so you don't want this?”

silence.

“i’ll untie you right now and let you leave, just tell me you want to leave.”

silence, again.

you're not fooling anybody.

“yeah that's what i thought,” he let's go of your hair, “the safe word is-” he mutters your ex’s name and before you can even comment on the sheer absurdity of it all, he's ripping your panties away from your throbbing pussy, groaning at the sight of your glistening wet folds, all needy just for him.

he quickly pockets the ripped panties. pervert.

“look at this needy cunt, all for me hm?” he muses aloud, spreading your legs apart and breaking apart the ropes that tried to interfere with his ministrations. he shakily inhales when he sees your arousal slowly spill out — you're so fucking wet. his heated gaze leaving goosebumps on your skin.

he presses a chaste kiss to your folds, practically salivating as he breathes you in — he's gonna end up cumming in his pants, he's dreamt of this exact moment for so long.

he gathers a considerable amount of saliva in his mouth before spitting it onto your neglected cunt which twitches at the action, the sight is downright filthy and it makes you moan.

he wastes no time — getting on his knees, licking a strip up your slit before devouring your pussy like a man starved for days, shamelessly rutting into the chair you're sitting on at your taste. you taste so good, he wants to drown in it.

he's messy and loud, your hands are still tied behind your back so you can't push his head away and grip his hair when he attacks your clit with his tongue, sucking on it relentlessly. your hips lift up and buck into his face, your noises only getting louder as he fucks his tongue into your warm wet hole. he moans at the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head and nearly suffocating him — your walls clenching around his tongue as you cry out his name in utter pleasure.

he shoves two of his thick fingers in without any warning — a surprised small squeal leaving your lips, while his tongue works in torturous circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves and eagerly licking between your folds. your pretty whimpers are music to his ears.

clearly overwhelmed with pleasure, you make a pathetic attempt to squirm away from his touch, which earns you a harsh smack to your thigh followed by a bite — his teeth dig into your flesh, leaving behind bruising marks that will sting for days, the line between pain and pleasure blurring.

a familiar feeling settles in your belly, it only builds up as he continues to go down on you. “mark! mark! i'm i’m-” you try warning him, but his fingers only speed up, he sucks harshly on your clit, holding your hips down when you cum — your body shaking, crying out his name oh so sweetly, he wants to hear it again and again, until the only word you know is his name.

he doesn't pull away from your cunt though, drinking up every bit of your release and arousal that you offer — holding you down and forcing you to submit to the relentless pleasure he's giving you, moaning into your pussy like he's having the best meal of his life.

he doesn't let you rest, inserting another finger in — easily massaging that sweet spot that you can't reach as easily as he does.

“oh fuck!” you whine out loud, when he keeps overstimulating your poor pussy, the squelching wet noises only increasing as he eats you out. he loves the way your brain is turning to mush, mindlessly babbling his name along with your sweet noises.

and when you cum again, he still doesn't stop.

you've lost count of how many orgasms you've had at this point, body too sensitive and shaking almost like a leaf.

with eyes brimming with seemingly never ending tears, vision practically blurry from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, it doesn't take him long to bring you to the edge again — except this time you end up squirting all over his pretty face, a surprised noise leaves your mouth as your body jolts hardly.

he finally pulls away. a small moan leaves your lips as you take in the sight in front of you.

mark grayson, on his knees, face all wet and drenched in your juices and his spit, breathing heavily — looking at you like he's going to eat you alive.

he's breathing really heavily, your dazed state makes it hard for you to comprehend things but you can clearly see the big wet spot on his pants. he came — from just eating you out.

“messy fucking slut,” he spanks your already oversensitive pussy making you hiss and cry out, body still quivering and twitching from that intense release.

he pushes your legs apart again, spreading your pussy open for him to see, he mutters a curse under his breath as he sees remnants of your release clinging onto the sensitive skin. he needs to get up before he ends up eating you out — as much as he would love to do that, he can't wait much longer, he needs to be buried inside that sweet cunt of yours and make you see stars.

he gets up from his knees. grabbing your hair, mark makes you lick his face clean, you taste yourself on his face and feel yourself getting worked up again. “good fucking girl, gonna put that mouth to better use, just you wait,” his hand reaches down to pinch your clit, laughing when you let out a small pained noise.

he hastily tears away your bra, the fabric discarded somewhere on the cold floor. he pinches and lightly grazes his nails against the perked up sensitive buds, making you squirm and let out small whimpers — it stings, but it also gets you insanely wet.

“look at that, pretty pussy’s practically begging to be fucked,” he bites down on your shoulder, a pained groan escapes your mouth and he bites harder, pulling away to admire the mark his teeth left.

you barely have time to look at the new addition of marks he's left on your body so far, before he's untying your hands behind your back, taking your wrists into his and pulling you down. you stumble a bit at the harsh tug — legs practically jelly from all those orgasms.

he draws you closer by your arms, manhandling you easily so you're sitting in between his open legs — the cold floor against your warm body.

“take it off,” he commands, gesturing to his pants. you hesitantly take them off, his ruined boxers coming into vision.

he's an impatient man, he always gets what he wants.

mark grabs a fistful of your hair and forces your head down onto his clothed — aching cock, making his impatience very clear.

“dumb bitch, can't do anything herself,” his tone demeaning, shutting up your protests by shoving his thumb in your mouth. he lifts his hips up to finally free himself of his boxers, his cock standing up — bobbing and leaking with pre. you gulp, eyes flitting back over to his face.

he lets out a small moan as you gather some of your saliva to spit on his hard cock, licking teasingly up his length over one of his prominent veins.

“don't be a fucking tease,” he takes ahold of your jaw harshly, tugging your tongue out before you can close your mouth — that he can't wait to be in and spits on your tongue, making you swallow it, before shoving you back a bit.

he pushes your hair out of your face so he could watch you better, the gesture so sweet and gentle — it makes you almost forget how mean he's been.

you slowly start pushing his length into your mouth, “thaaat's right, take it like the good slut you are,” his words die down into a groan as he feels your tongue swirl around his sensitive tip.

he's being nice for once, letting you take your time, your head bobs up and down as you suck him off while your hands jerk the rest of his cock that you can't fit in your mouth, tongue working against his sensitive spots.

but your mouth feels so good, so warm, so wet — his hips jerk up involuntarily, making you gag and tear up at the burn you feel at the back of your throat.

you look so pretty like this, those pretty lips wrapped around his cock, eyes glassy — don't blame him for wanting to ruin you when you look like that.

he pulls himself out of your mouth slightly — just to make sure he doesn't end up cumming too soon, before shoving himself back in, moaning in pleasure at the sensations he feels. you keep sucking, forcing all of him in your mouth, almost choking on his cock, some drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, but it's worth it — worth those small whimpers and grunts he lets out, ones he can't hold back because of how good he feels right now, all because of you.

and when your hand reaches down to lightly toy with his balls, cupping them, he shivers and lets out a low moan of your name, without a proper warning his cock twitches in your mouth and he cums, hard — flooding your mouth with his thick salty release.

you try to swallow as much as you can but it's too much, however, mark being the fucking asshole he is, forces your head back down on his twitching cock and pinches your nose shut making it hard to breathe.

he breaks into a full blown laugh. oh how he loves the way your eyes water up — that panicked expression on your face as you struggle to breathe, some of his cum leaking out your pretty mouth, squirming and still trying to push him away. it only turns him on more, “it's rude to talk with your mouthful,” he quips, holding your gaze.

he lets you go finally and you pull him out of your mouth quickly, throat already feeling sore — you cough, wiping away his cum and your spit from your face with the back of your hand.

“you should've seen the look on your face,” he chuckles darkly — clearly pleased with himself, shifting closer to you to pin you down, wasting no time shoving his tongue in your mouth, messily kissing you. he lets you pull off his shirt, his hips buck a little when you start feeling him up.

he can taste himself on your tongue and god that only adds to his growing arousal.

he pulls away a little so he can start biting and sucking down your neck, his other hand sneaking down to tease your pussy — tracing circles onto your clit, he grinds against you, “gonna fucking ruin you for everyone else,” he bites your earlobe, tugging on it, his fingers moving to tease your other hole, “gonna make sure this fucking pussy is always full of me,” he slaps your pussy, making you cry out his name.

he quickly aligns himself with your wet entrance, taking a deep breath before nudging his tip in — shoving it all in one go, making you tremble in both pain and pleasure that'll build over time, “come on i know you can take it, isn't this what you wanted?” he coos mockingly, pressing sloppy wet kisses to your face, licking your face like some fucking dog, leaving your face covered in his spit.

as soon as your muscles relax the tiniest bit he's thrusting in and out of you like a madman — you yelp loudly, holding onto him for dear life, nails digging into his back.

“fuck- oh my god!”

the only sounds in the room are the fast wet sounds of him thrusting into you, your pussy squelching loudly at the action and your combined moans and whines.

your gummy walls clench around him harder with each thrust, his cock hitting that sweet spot so well it has you seeing stars, all you can think about is him.

“oh fuck,” he grunts into your ear when he feels you tighten around him, gripping him like a vice, “think she needs to be filled all nice and warm with my cum, don't you agree baby?” he accentuates each word with a harsh thrust, relishing the way your body writhes under him.

you nod mindlessly, desperate for that sweet release more than anything.

“aww what's wrong?” he leans down to suck on one of your nipples, pinching and toying with the other one — a choked out sob leaves your lips, you feel tears pooling in your eyes, you clench around him even harder, desperate to milk him for all he's worth. he lets out a whine when he sees the outline of his cock in your belly going in and out, fuck he's going to cum.

the movement his hips falter at the feeling of your pussy gripping him tightly, “oh fuck,” he breathes heavily, muscles tensing up a bit. he pulls out, moving you on your stomach, giving your ass an appreciative spank when you arch your back for him.

“guess she answered for you hm?”, he muses — pumping himself a few times before settling back into your warm needy cunt, “fucked too dumb to answer but can still arch your back like a needy whore? you're so fucking pathetic,” he licks over the opening of your little hole, an arm coming around to hold you in a headlock that has your vision blurry — in the best way possible. getting impatient, you try to fuck yourself back onto his length but he doesn't let you.

“nasty girl, i can feel you clenching around me” spank “you like it when i’m being mean hm?” spank “oh right you can't answer,” spank “not a thought behind those pretty eyes hm?” spank “don't worry, you don't have to think at all, you wouldn't have to, when i’m done with you.”

he starts rutting into you again, his filthy mouth doesn't stop as he dicks you down like his life depends on it. his arm around your neck — squeezing, leaving you dizzy as he pounds into you from behind like he's in heat, you've given up on trying to control your noises. he sneaks a hand down to pinch and toy with your clit — making your walls clench and toes curl and you cum for the nth time with almost a scream of his name, your body shakes vigorously as a result of your intense orgasm.

it doesn't take long for him to cum as well, especially with you screaming his name like that. with a few more sloppy thrusts he fills you up with his warm sticky white release, head thrown back as a soft whimper of your name is uttered out of his mouth.

breathing heavily, he makes sure to not waste a single drop — once again buries himself as deep as he can, admiring all the various marks that he has littered your skin with.

he pulls out after awhile, keeping your thighs apart with his rough calloused hands so he can see the sight of his cum mixed with yours leak out of your hole, shit, he's getting hard again.

he's honestly not sure if you can keep up — he doesn't want to end up hurting you- well you're his toy, nothing more than that he doesn't care if he hurts you, he really doesn't.

he wants to break you, ruin you. yeah, that's it.

his eyes definitely do not soften the slightest bit as he takes in your disheveled state, back still arched prettily for him, your ass red from all his spanking, skin battered with various marks, a proof of the intense passionate sex you two had.

but when you crane your head back, looking at him, “I can take it,” you're still trying to catch your breath, wincing a bit as you shift your body around, “give it to me mark,” you sound so sweet — swaying your hips side to side to make him give in and fill you up again.

you want him to break you.

and he does just that.

again and again, until he's sure your cunt remembers each vein and curve of his cock, stuffing your hole full to the brim each time.

so when your body finally gives out — almost passing out after another orgasm that he pulls out from you, lying on top of the only desk in the room as he drills into your cunt, he stops. pulling out and painting your tits with his release with a loud groan, his hair is sticking up in all different directions from the way you've kept pulling on it, body coated in a sheen layer of sweat — shaking as his chest heaves unevenly with each breath he takes just like yours.

he watches as your eyes close shut and you drift into a light slumber after a few minutes. his heart beating weirdly in an erratic manner, he chalks it up to the sex, although he has to admit he finds your sleepy face quite adorable, he may or may not want to hear that giggle again — the one you let out when he ended up cumming a little too fast when you praised him.

but he'll think about that when his face is not buried between your thighs, tongue sinking back into your folds — he can't get enough of you.

and with the way you whimper loudly, tugging on his hair oh so eagerly.

it seems like you can't get enough of him either.

so he'll indulge you to your heart’s content — maybe he'll save that video of him torturing your ex boyfriend and leaving him to die in a ditch for some other day.

#ㅤㅤ✶ㅤ digitald0rk's library !#DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT /jk #look im not me on my period okay #also i was kinda going for the whole “he keeps contradicting himself with how he feels”#like i said i wrote this with like sinister mark in mind but before he goes full on murder machine mode if that makes sense?#basically he's always been a little fucked up so no shit he turns out doing all that once he does go full evil #AM I MAKING SENSE #because he's still mark grayson you know?#so he will lose his shit if you praise him #IT'S THE LAW GUYS #all mark graysons are munches #invincible smut #invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson #invincible fanfic #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson smut #sinister mark #sinister mark grayson #sinister mark x reader #sinister mark smut #sinister mark x you #invincible variants

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cloudtransprncy · 1 month ago

Text

Purr

Wonyoung X Male Reader | 5700 words Tags: Hookup, backshots, manhandling, rough, hot as fuck, WAP

White ears, pink ribbons, and an invitation to find out what this kitty does behind closed doors.

The house is packed. Bodies everywhere. Bass so heavy it makes your drink ripple in its plastic cup. Some frat's Halloween party where the costumes get lazier and the drinks stronger as the night stretches on. You've forgotten whose place this even is. Friend of a friend of a roommate, maybe.

You lost your friends about an hour ago—last saw them heading toward the keg in the kitchen, now they're ghosts in the digital ether, not answering texts. So you've been wandering, drink in hand, caught in the limbo of being alone in a crowded room.

You adjust your half-assed cowboy hat—the only real evidence of your last-minute costume besides the checkered shirt and boots you already owned.

Four drinks in and the world has that pleasant blur around the edges, like someone's applied a subtle filter to reality.

That's when you see her.

She's leaning against a metal railing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by three equally stunning friends. They're all laughing at something on someone's phone, heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that creates an invisible force field. One gloved hand wrapped around the bannister, posed in a way that seems both accidental and perfectly calculated. White cat ears with pink ribbons perched on dark hair that falls straight down her back. Her makeup is precise—eyeliner sharp enough to cut, blush high on her cheekbones, lips glossed pink. There's something distinct about her features—delicate but arresting, wide eyes that seem to absorb everything while revealing nothing.

Her outfit is simple but effective. White halter top. Pink satin skirt. Thigh-high black boots. Pink gloves past her elbows. Her body creates a silhouette that doesn't seem entirely real, like she was drawn rather than born.

She watches the crowd with this expression—not quite boredom, not quite amusement—like she's mentally captioning everyone's photos with comments they'd never want to read.

Then her eyes catch yours.

And they stay there.

You drain your drink. It's more for something to do with your hands than courage, but it serves both purposes. As you watch, a group of guys in basketball jerseys approach her circle. There's some back and forth, laughter, and then her friends are peeling away, following the guys toward the kitchen. She stays behind, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand.

Perfect timing. You push through the crowd toward her, bumping shoulders with strangers who've already forgotten you exist before you've passed them.

Her eyes track you the whole way. She doesn't pretend she wasn't looking. When you reach her, she straightens slightly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like everything else about her seems to be.

"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" You gesture vaguely at her outfit.

She blinks slowly, a half-second too long to be natural. "I'm a slutty cat," she says, voice softer than expected but somehow cutting through the music. "Can't you tell?"

You look at her again, taking your time now that you have permission. "I see the ears. But I don't know if that explains"—your eyes move down deliberately—"everything else."

She doesn't react to your gaze the way most would. No embarrassed laugh, no looking away. If anything, she seems to catalog your reaction, filing it away for later reference.

"And you're... what? A cowboy?" She reaches up, adjusting your hat with one gloved finger, letting it linger just long enough to make a point. "A little basic, don't you think?"

"Last minute," you admit. "Not all of us plan our slutty animal costumes weeks in advance."

She laughs—genuinely, you think. It sounds different than the practiced social laugh most people deploy at parties. "Maybe you need to get closer to appreciate the details," she says, voice dropping into something more private.

You step in. Close enough to notice things. The expensive perfume that probably costs more than your monthly coffee budget. The tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes that catch the light when she blinks. The almost imperceptible chip in her nail polish on her left index finger—the only flaw in an otherwise flawless presentation.

"I don't even know your name, cat girl."

"Wonyoung," she offers, gaze alternating between your eyes and mouth with scientific precision.

"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"

"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, something playful but challenging in her expression. "Tonight's not about names."

The directness catches you off guard in a way that makes your pulse quicken. You place your hand on the railing beside her hip, close but not touching. A question.

"No? What's tonight about then?"

She considers you, teeth briefly catching her bottom lip in a gesture that seems both calculated and unconscious.

"Alright, cowboy. Dream date vibes—go," she says, leaning in with playful curiosity in her eyes.

You grin casually. "Oh you know... some Boba, then some backshots."

Her eyes widen before she erupts into genuine laughter, head thrown back. "Oh wow! Honestly, I respect it." She leans in teasingly. "But I don't think you're hot enough to be saying shit like that."

"Oh, so you are checking me out?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.

She tries to suppress a smile, gives a playful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Too late—you already laughed." You smirk, stepping closer.

"It was a pity laugh," she says, biting her lip, playfully defensive. "I felt bad."

"Nah, you're a bad liar. I'm definitely your type."

There's a beat. The music pulses between you, bass dropping on some remix everyone will forget by morning. She glances down, then back up, eyes mischievous.

"Alright, fine. You're halfway to my type."

"What's the other half?" you ask.

Her voice drops lower, as she traces her fingers lightly down your arm. "Someone who can handle me."

"I can," you say, voice low, matching her energy.

She smiles, fingers tangling with yours, pulling you closer. "Let's see if you're all talk, then. My place is 10 minutes from here, and you saw my roommates leave with some guys so..."

The bass drops. The crowd surges. Bodies push and her body presses against yours for a moment. Something clicks into place. Simple chemistry. Complex consequences.

Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow with purpose. You've both just recognized something neither of you has named yet.

You look at her—really look at her—and wonder briefly about the reality that exists beyond this moment. The classes she attends. The coffee she drinks in the morning. The books on her nightstand. All the ordinary things that make up a life outside of this charged exchange.

But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about following the electric current between two bodies and seeing where it leads.

"Lead the way," you say.

...

You don't even remember the Uber ride.

Just fragments. Her thigh against yours. Her mouth hot on your neck. "God, I want you," whispered against your ear, not caring if the driver heard. Her gloved fingers slipping under your shirt, tracing your stomach, then lower. Her climbing halfway onto your lap, skirt riding up, while the driver pretended not to notice.

"God, I can't wait to get you alone," she'd breathed against your mouth, her tongue sliding against yours again, tasting like cherry and tequila and bad decisions you'd never regret.

All you know is that now you're in her bedroom, and Wonyoung is on her knees on the edge of her mattress, those glossy lips stretched around your cock while you stand before her.

Her room is a trip—glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, walls plastered with posters and polaroids, fairy lights strung around her bed frame casting everything in a soft pink glow. A Hello Kitty plushie stares at you from the pillow. The contrast between the cutesy bedroom and what she's doing to you right now is fucking with your head in the best way.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, watching her take you deeper.

The cat ears are still perched on her head, though slightly askew now. Her pink gloves are soaked with spit, one hand wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth, the other cupping and squeezing your balls. The satin fabric against your skin feels unreal—slick but with just enough friction to make your knees weak.

Spit drips down her chin, pooling on her white top. Her lipgloss is destroyed, smeared across her lips and your cock. She pulls back, just enough to swirl her tongue around the head before taking you deep again, making a show of it.

"Get on the bed," she says, pulling off with a wet pop, voice raspy in a way that makes your dick throb. "I'm not done with you."

You climb onto her pastel sheets, pushing aside a few stuffed animals. She's on you immediately, shoving you back against the pillows, her body lithe but surprisingly strong for someone so small. The way your hands practically span her entire waist is a heady reminder of how delicate she is compared to you.

"Stay still," she orders, straddling your thighs, then lowering her mouth back to your cock. Your hands find her shoulders, feeling how narrow they are beneath your palms, how fragile her collarbones seem under your fingers.

She takes you deeper this time, relaxing her throat around you. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much. You reach for her head, but she grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your hips. The look she gives you from under her lashes is pure power—this tiny girl somehow in complete control despite her size.

"Fuck, you're strong," you murmur, testing her grip and finding yourself genuinely restrained.

She pulls off just long enough to say, "Don't underestimate me just because I'm small," before sinking back down, taking you impossibly deep for her size. The contrast of her petite frame handling all of you makes your head spin.

"Fuck, your mouth," you groan, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder.

She pulls off completely with a wet gasp, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately lets a string of spit fall from her mouth onto your shaft, using it to stroke you with one gloved hand while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone nearly makes you cum.

"You like it messy?" she asks, her voice husky, already knowing the answer.

Before you can respond, she swallows you down again, taking you impossibly deep in one fluid motion. Her throat constricts around you as she holds there for several seconds, nose pressed against your pelvis, before pulling back with a desperate inhale. Saliva runs down your length in rivulets now, soaking into the sheets beneath you, dripping down to coat your balls.

She establishes a rhythm that's driving you insane—deep, gurgling strokes with her mouth while her gloved hand follows, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Her other hand massages your balls, now slick with her spit. The wet sounds are obscene, sloppy and loud in the quiet bedroom.

"Wait," you gasp, feeling the pressure building, "I'm getting close."

She doesn't slow down. Instead, she somehow intensifies her efforts, one hand working your shaft in perfect sync with her mouth, the other pressing firmly behind your balls in a way that makes your vision blur. Your muscles tense, toes curling against the sheets as you fight the building pressure. You want this to last, but her technique is unreal.

She pulls off suddenly with a gasping inhale, strands of spit connecting her mouth to your cock in a spider web pattern. Without missing a beat, her gloved hand maintains the rhythm, now twisting on each upstroke, her thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head.

"Not yet," she says, her voice raw and husky. "I want to play with you longer."

She looks up at you through mascara-smudged lashes, face flushed, hair clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and you've never seen anything more erotic in your life. Her lips are puffy and red, glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. She licks them deliberately before taking another deep breath and swallowing you down again.

This time she does something with her throat—a controlled swallowing motion while you're deep inside—that has you seeing stars. Your hips buck involuntarily, but she takes it, accommodating your thrust with practiced ease. Her nose presses against your pelvis as she holds you there, throat contracting rhythmically around your head. The pressure and heat are unreal.

She keeps you on edge like this—bringing you close with intense deep-throating, then backing off to focus on your shaft with her hands or gently sucking just the tip—for what feels like an eternity. Your breathing is ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as you struggle to hold back. Your hands fist in her hair, not guiding anymore but just holding on for dear life.

The sheets beneath you are soaked with her saliva, your thighs slick and shiny in the dim light. She seems to revel in the mess, deliberately letting spit run down your length, using it as lubrication for her gloved hands. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth and hands working in tandem fill the room, punctuated by her gasping breaths and your strangled moans.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, when the teasing edge has become almost painful, she takes you deep again, her throat working around you with purpose.

"Fuck, now I'm really gonna cum," you warn, your voice strained and desperate.

This time, she doesn't back off. Instead, she looks up at you with determination in her eyes, maintaining that crucial eye contact as she takes you deeper than before. One hand grips the base of your shaft firmly, the other massages your balls with precise pressure. She swallows deliberately around the head of your cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, hitting that perfect spot.

You lose it, your release hitting the back of her throat in hot, heavy pulses. There's so much that some escapes the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to swallow it all. She doesn't stop or slow down, continuing to work you with her mouth and hands through your orgasm, extending the pleasure to almost unbearable levels.

Her throat works visibly as she gulps down your release, making obscene swallowing sounds that only intensify your pleasure. Her eyes water from the effort, mascara beginning to run in faint streaks down her flushed cheeks, but she never breaks eye contact. There's a look of triumph in her gaze, a satisfaction at reducing you to this trembling, groaning mess beneath her.

When your orgasm finally subsides and you're twitching with oversensitivity, she slowly, deliberately pulls away. Thick strings of spit and cum stretch between her lips and your cock, forming an obscene web that breaks and falls across her chin and neck. Her hand continues to stroke you gently, milking the last few drops from you.

She sits back on her heels, breath coming in heavy pants, lips dramatically swollen, chin and chest glistening with a mixture of saliva and the cum that escaped her mouth. Her cat ears are somehow still hanging on, though now sitting at a rakish angle on her disheveled hair. The gloves that once were pristine pink satin are now darkened with wetness in places, sticky and slick.

"Holy fuck," you breathe, genuinely stunned by what just happened. Your cock is still hard, barely softened by the intense orgasm.

She notices, a knowing smirk spreading across her messy face as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Told you I wasn't done with you yet," she says, her voice absolutely wrecked in the sexiest possible way, rough and raspy from the workout her throat just got.

She reaches behind her, unzipping her white halter top and pulling it over her head. Her breasts are small but perfect, nipples pink and hard in the cool air. The cat ears wobble but stay in place.

"You're so fucking hot," you tell her, reaching for her waist.

She stretches, arms extending above her head, back arching in a way that's distinctly feline. Her small breasts lift with the motion, nipples hardening in the cool air. Her eyes hold a challenge as she slowly moves toward you.

"I want your mouth on me," she says, her voice husky with need.

Instead of letting her climb over you, you suddenly sit up, grabbing her by the waist. She gasps in surprise as you flip your positions, pushing her down onto the mattress with firm hands. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at your show of strength.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, your voice low as you hover over her. Your hands easily pin her wrists above her head, one of yours enough to hold both of hers. "Tell me again."

"Yes," she breathes, arching into you despite being restrained. "Please."

You release her wrists and move down her body, deliberately taking your time. Your hands slide along her sides, feeling how tiny she is beneath you. When you reach her thighs, you push them apart without gentleness, making space for your shoulders. She moans at the manhandling, her head falling back against the pillows.

You hook your fingers into her thong, pulling it to the side rather than removing it. The first thing that hits you is her scent—musky and sweet with a hint of sweat from dancing all night, but undeniably arousing. There's a faint trace of her perfume mixed with the raw smell of her arousal that makes your mouth water.

"Fuck, you smell good," you tell her, your breath hot against her inner thigh.

She's already wet, her folds glistening in the dim light. You study her for a moment—she's pink and swollen, clearly aroused. She's shaved but you can see and feel the slight roughness of hair starting to grow back. The texture is oddly intimate, more real than porn-perfect smoothness, the slight stubble creating friction against your fingers as you trace her outer lips.

You start slowly, just running your tongue along her seam, tasting her properly. She's tangy and sweet, with a hint of salt from the night's exertions. The flavor is addictive, making you groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration, seeking more contact.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you finally circle her clit with your tongue. Her hands find your hair, fingers tangling in it but not directing, just holding on.

You explore her with your tongue, discovering which motions make her thighs tremble, which spots make her breath catch. You alternate between broad, flat strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what she responds to best.

"Please," she whimpers after a few minutes of this teasing. "I need more."

You slide one finger inside her while continuing to work with your tongue. She's incredibly tight, her inner walls gripping your digit eagerly. The contrast between your larger hand and her small body is stark—one finger feels substantial inside her.

"More," she urges, lifting her hips toward your face.

You add a second finger, feeling her stretch around the intrusion. You curl them upward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild. When you find it, her reaction is immediate and dramatic—her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips.

"There," she gasps, her hands now gripping the sheets beside her head. "Right fucking there."

She's watching you now, propped up slightly on her elbows, her gaze heavy-lidded but intense. The sight of you between her legs seems to turn her on almost as much as what you're doing to her. When your eyes meet, she bites her lip, a flush spreading across her chest.

You maintain eye contact as you suck her clit gently while stroking that spot inside her. Her breathing quickens, her stomach muscles visibly tensing with each curl of your fingers. Her wetness increases, running down your palm and wrist.

"Don't stop," she pleads, one hand reaching down to touch your shoulder, nails digging into your skin. "I'm getting close."

You increase the pressure of your tongue, maintaining a steady rhythm as her breathing becomes more erratic. You can feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around your fingers—the first signs of her approaching orgasm.

She reaches down with her free hand, spreading herself wider for you, giving you better access. The gesture is incredibly erotic—her taking an active role in her pleasure while still letting you control the pace.

"Just like that," she encourages, voice tight with building tension. "Don't change anything, please, I'm so close."

Her thighs start to tremble, her hips making small, involuntary movements against your face. You curl your fingers more firmly against that spot, sucking her clit with slightly more pressure, and that's what pushes her over the edge.

You feel her start to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. The inner walls of her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You maintain your rhythm, not changing a thing as her orgasm builds.

"Right there, right there," she chants, her voice tight and desperate. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"

She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as her body goes rigid, suspended on the edge for several breathless seconds. Then she shatters, her back arching dramatically off the bed, thighs clamping around your head with surprising strength. Her release floods your hand and chin, her wetness increasing dramatically as she comes undone.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she begs as waves of pleasure roll through her. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. Her stomach muscles contract visibly with each pulse, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

You work her through it, continuing to stroke that spot inside while gently sucking her clit, feeling each aftershock ripple through her slender frame. Her pussy grips your fingers in rhythmic spasms, pulling them deeper as if trying to keep you inside.

Only when she weakly pushes at your forehead, oversensitive and spent, do you finally relent. You plant a soft kiss on her inner thigh before gently withdrawing your fingers, watching her twitch at even that small movement. Your hand and chin are soaked with her arousal, glistening in the dim light.

She collapses back, chest heaving, limbs splayed across the pastel sheets. Her skin is flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. Her thong is still pushed to the side, her pussy visibly swollen and wet from your attention.

"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Give me a second."

But even as she's still recovering, you're already hard again—painfully so. The sight of her completely undone by your mouth and hands has your cock throbbing with need.

Before she can fully catch her breath, you flip her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps in surprise but immediately pushes her ass up, instinctively assuming the position. She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with renewed interest.

"Harder," she says, her voice still breathless. "You can be rough with me."

You grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as you lean down to bite the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder. She moans, the sound vibrating through her slender frame. Her nails dig into the sheets, bunching the fabric in her fists.

"Yes," she hisses, pushing back against you, her ass rubbing against your hard cock. "Like that."

You trail bites and kisses down her spine, feeling each vertebra under your lips. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingers easily spanning her sides. The pink skirt is still bunched around her waist, exposing her perfect ass and the thong still pushed to the side.

You grab the thin fabric of her thong and rip it off in one motion. She gasps, then laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as you push two fingers back inside her from this new angle.

"Fuck," she breathes, her back arching deeper, presenting herself to you even more. "Your fingers feel so good."

You curl your fingers upward, finding that spot again easily. Her reaction is immediate—her whole body shudders, a string of curses falling from her lips. You add a third finger, stretching her, watching her face twist in pleasure as she looks back at you.

"You're so fucking tight," you tell her, feeling her clench around your fingers. The view from behind is intoxicating—her slender back dipping into a perfect arch, pink skirt still bunched around her waist, her face half-turned so you can see her reactions.

"I want to feel you inside me," she says, voice husky with need, pushing back against your hand. "Now."

You position yourself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. From this angle, you can see how tiny she looks beneath you, her waist narrow enough for your hands to nearly encircle it, her ass perfectly round and invitingly raised.

"You're so fucking wet," you murmur, sliding your length through her folds to coat yourself in her arousal.

"Please," she whimpers, pushing back against you. "I need you inside me."

"Ask nicely," you tease, holding the head of your cock at her entrance but not pushing in.

She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowed despite her vulnerable position. "Please fuck me," she says, but it sounds more like a demand than a plea. "I need to feel all of you inside me."

You push into her slowly, watching your cock disappear into her inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as she's stretched around you. The view is intoxicating—her back arched deeply, her skirt bunched around her waist, her long dark hair spilling across the pastel sheets, and your much larger frame positioned behind her smaller one.

When you're fully seated inside her, you both let out a shaky breath. She feels impossibly tight from this angle, her inner walls gripping you like a vise.

"Fuck, you're deep," she gasps, reaching back to grab your thigh, urging you to move.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, watching her reactions carefully. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow but turned enough that you can see her expressions. Each time you push in, her features twist with a mixture of pleasure and sweet strain.

"Harder," she breathes, pushing back to meet your thrusts. "I won't break."

You tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the chorus of her moans and your heavy breathing, filling the dimly lit bedroom. Her cat ears have somehow managed to stay on through everything, wobbling with each thrust.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against her back, one hand sliding around to her throat. You don't squeeze, just apply gentle pressure, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. Her reaction is immediate—a full-body shudder and a tightening around your cock that nearly makes you lose control.

"Yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your hip, encouraging you to go harder, deeper. "Fuck me like you mean it."

You pull your hand away from her throat only to deliver a sharp slap to her ass. The sound echoes in the room, followed immediately by her gasping moan. A pink handprint blooms on her pale skin, and you follow it with another slap to the other cheek.

"Again," she demands, her voice rough with desire. "Harder."

You comply, bringing your hand down with more force. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you in response. The contrast between the delicate curve of her body and the harsh sound of your palm connecting with her skin is intoxicating.

You pull her upright, her back to your chest, your cock still deep inside her. With one hand, you gather her long hair, pulling it aside to expose the slender column of her neck. Your lips find her skin, tasting salt and the lingering sweetness of her perfume as you drag your tongue from the curve of her shoulder up to just behind her ear.

"Oh god," she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder, giving you better access.

You continue exploring her with your mouth—the nape of her neck, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat, the delicate ridge of her spine. Your free hand slides up her torso to cup one small breast, thumb circling her nipple as you lick a path across her shoulder blade.

She turns her face toward you as much as she can, and you lean in, gathering saliva in your mouth before letting it fall onto her parted lips. Her tongue darts out to catch it, a primal gesture that makes your cock throb inside her.

"Fuck, that's hot," she breathes, her pupils blown wide.

The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall now as you guide her back down to her hands and knees, but neither of you care about the noise. Her moans get higher, more desperate, her body trembling beneath yours as you drive into her with increasing intensity. You can feel her starting to tighten around you, the first telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.

You reach around her slender body, your hand finding her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound that tells you you've hit exactly the right combination.

"Right there," she gasps, her voice strained. "God, don't stop."

You maintain the rhythm, the pressure, the angle—everything that's working for her. Her inner walls flutter around you, gripping you tighter with each thrust. She's close, so close you can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath yours.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck, I'm so close—"

"Look at me," you demand, tugging her hair to turn her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure but focused on you. "I want to see you when you cum."

That does it. She breaks apart beneath you, her body clenching around yours so tightly it almost hurts. A string of curses and broken moans falls from her lips as she comes undone. You can see every emotion cross her face—the initial shock, the overwhelming pleasure, the surrender. Her thighs tremble violently, her entire body quaking with the force of her orgasm.

The visual of her coming apart combined with the rhythmic grip of her body around your cock pushes you right to the edge. You're seconds away from your own release.

She senses it, somehow aware even through her own pleasure. "Wait," she gasps, reaching back to stop your movements. "Not yet."

Before you can react, she's wriggling away from you, turning around to face you. Despite having just experienced an intense orgasm, she moves with surprising agility, pushing you onto your back and straddling your thighs.

"I want you to cover me in your cum," she says, her voice raw and desperate, eyes wild with desire despite her recent release. "All over my face."

She leans down, taking you into her mouth again, tasting herself on your cock. The sight of her—flushed and sweaty from her orgasm, cat ears somehow still clinging to her head, eagerly sucking you after you've been inside her—is almost too much.

That's all it takes. You pull out quickly, one hand stroking yourself as she positions herself, her back against the pillows, cat ears still somehow clinging to her head as she looks up at you eagerly.

Her hands grip your thighs as you stroke yourself once, twice, three times before exploding across her face.

The sight is fucking obscene—ropes of white painting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, one streak catching on her long lashes. She moans as it hits her, tongue darting out to taste what landed on her lips, eyes never leaving yours. A few drops land on the rhinestone necklace still around her neck, creating an obscene contrast with the delicate jewelry.

It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen in your life.

When you finally roll off her, both of you breathing hard, staring at her ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she turns her head toward you with a satisfied smile, your release still glistening on her perfect face.

"So," she says, voice raspy and smug, "convinced about my costume now?"

You laugh, genuinely laugh, turning to face her. "Most convincing costume I've ever seen."

She stretches beside you, body elongating in one fluid motion, arms above her head, back arching slightly off the bed—every movement reminiscent of the animal she's dressed as. The motion causes her breasts to lift, and despite what you just did, you feel a stirring, your cock hardening once again.

She notices, a sly smile spreading across her cum-streaked face. "Careful, cowboy. Look at me like that again and we'll be going for round two before I even clean up."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" you ask, reaching out to trail a finger along her collarbone.

She catches your hand, bringing it to her mouth and placing a kiss on your palm that somehow feels more intimate than everything you've just done.

"First," she says, sitting up and finally removing the cat ears that have somehow survived the entire encounter, "shower. Because as hot as this was—" she gestures to her face, "—I can't have a proper getting-to-know-you conversation with cum in my eyelashes."

You laugh again, surprised by how easy it feels with her despite the circumstances of your meeting.

"Lead the way, slutty cat," you say, and she pulls you up from the bed, toward her bathroom, her naked body as graceful in motion as it was beneath you.

And somehow, you know this night is just the beginning.

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