#this is one of those fantasies that's nice in my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 month ago

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eyes on the prize

a/n: me writing a fic where rafe is actually wholesome and nice? i didn't see it coming either... this idea just came to me when you were all voting for the kinktober fic a while ago, and i was prepping that it maybe could go in this direction and then ended up falling too much in love with the fantasy, so i simply had to get it out of my system.

summary: “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.

warnings: mma!rafe cameron x reader, smut, college au, study buddies to lovers, soft!rafe, autumnal vibes, takes place in the beginning of november, studying, friday the 13th references, scaredy cat!reader, violence, mma fights, kissing, semi-public sex, clothed sex, dirty talk, manhandling, ripping pantyhose, size kink, spit kink, hole inspection, penetrative sex, unprotected sex

word count: 2626

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“So,” you hesitantly broke the silence that had fallen over both you and the partner that had been assigned to you on this current project, “did you get up to anything fun on Halloween?”

Glancing up from the thick book Rafe’s bored gaze was rushing through, it instead lingered on you for but a moment as his mutter reverberated in the quiet corner of the university’s library, “uhm, yeah. I popped by a party for a bit.”

“The one at delta neu?” a glint flickered in your eye as soon as he offered you a nod, “me too! Though I went home kinda early, so we might have missed each other… what did you going as?”

“Jason,” he simply uttered.

“Jason who?” the soft smile didn’t fade from your lips as his short answer hadn’t landed the way he’d hoped.

“You know,” his brows furrowed slightly at your cluelessness, repeating once again as if the name alone should be enough for you to understand, “Jason.”

“…Jason Statham? Jason Momoa?” your eyes squinted as you quietly attempted to hit the bullseye, “uhm… I can’t really think of any other famous Jasons right now…”

“No, Jason from Friday the 13th. You know, the dude with the hockey mask and the machete.”

“Ah, him… yeah, I haven’t watched those movies,” you shrugged, “but, cool costume.”

“Wait, you’ve never seen Friday the 13th?” he tilted closer to where you sat across the table from him, “not even the cheesy remake?”

“Nope,” you simply returned your gaze to the textbook beneath your fingers.

“Seriously?” his eyebrows didn’t float back down yet, “well, I don’t know if I should be offended that you’ve never watched that masterpiece before or jealous that you get to experience it for the first time, but either way, that’s a problem we need to fix.”

At first, you thought you’d entered the wrong building.

That was until you rounded the corner, and your gaze fluttered up from the map still open on your phone, guiding you to the mysterious address your study partner had texted you, asking you to meet up with him there before the rest of your plans could unfold, that you discovered that you hadn’t stumbled into the wrong place.

Though that wasn’t the only thing you discovered in that moment as the culmination of that enlightenment was spotting Rafe in the middle of the industrial and cold gym, going through the tail end of some drills with his trainer.

As he went through the combinations and grunted like a guard dog, sweat dripped down from his brow and rolled so low that it cascaded over his already glistening and bare chest.

You hadn’t really noticed how your feet had stopped or how your pulse had picked up so fiercely that you could feel it between your thighs before his own eyes located you and he flashed you a smile.

“Hey!” his voice cut through your trance as he patted his coach on the shoulder and began to near the edge of the ring.

“H-hi,” you blinked, shaking your fuzzy head slightly to clear it, “I didn’t know you were into this sort of stuff,” you briefly waved a hand to the gym around you and tried your best to rip your stare away from his heaving chest.

“Yeah,” he began to loosen a glove, “sorry I asked you to meet me here, I’m just really busy these days cause I’ve got a fight coming up.”

“Oh, well we don’t have to have a silly movie night if you don’t have the time,” you averted your gaze, recalling how before you’d been paired with him on the assignment for Callahan’s class, you hadn’t even been sure of what his name was. You’d just known him as the hot guy, three rows behind you.

“No, no, I want to, unless of course you’ve changed your mind.”

Blinking back up into his eyes, you smiled, “definitely not.”

“Well, great,” a grin spread across his lips, “then just give me a second,” he cast a brief glance over his broad shoulder at the locker room, “and then we can head back to my place,” a notion you hadn’t expected would have ended with you up on the back of his motorcycle, a terrifying concept that you’d somehow been unable to deny as the crush that had blossomed and bloomed within your heart for him had made it near impossible for you to say no to a single one of his suggestions.

“You never told me what you went as,” Rafe hummed beside you, causing your eyes to tear away from the horror movie buzzing on the TV.

Blinking over at him next to you on the leather couch, your fingers began to fiddle with the blanket you’d slumped over yourself, “oh, well I didn’t wanna buy anything new, so I just went through my closet and ended up going as Britney Spears because I found the skirt of my old school uniform. I don’t even remember why I brought it with me the last time I went home, but–, ah!” a shriek suddenly shuttered through your form as your eyes accidentally fluttered back towards the screen just in time to witness the villain sink a large blade into the head of one of the drunk teenagers, “oh my god!” your frame couldn’t help but jump at the fright, nearly tossing the blanket across the room as you instinctively hid your features in the mass of Rafe’s bicep.

As your heart raced and thumped in your chest, you felt Rafe’s shoulder begin to move before you heard his laughter.

“Shut up, it’s not funny!” you smacked him lightly in the chest, though kept your vision darkened by his shirt, “so I’m not desensitised to the horrors of scary movies, big whoop!” a mutter then slipped out of your lungs, “fuck, why did I agree to this? I’m probably gonna have nightmares for weeks…”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just a movie,” you felt his palm find your arm in a soothing rub as his voice hummed directly above the crown of your head, “and the scene is almost over.”

“I can’t look…” you felt yourself lean more into his touch.

“…do you want me to describe it to you?”

“No…” you lingered in the security of his warmth and felt the terror slowly melt from your bones. Cupping a hand on the side of your face to shield your eyes from the horrors on screen, you carefully plucked your face just shy out of his safety before you uttered, “…just tell me when it’s over…”

The blaring light from the television reflected against the side of Rafe’s face as he gazed down into your eyes and breathed, “okay,” his stare slowly dipping and fluttering down towards your lips.

It wasn’t till now that you noticed how close you’d accidentally scooted to him as you weren’t far from just sitting in his lap.

Sharing his breath, your mind went entirely blank and only switched back on when you’d closed the distance betwixt your lips and now found yourself kissing your study buddy.

Thankfully, your brain didn’t get a chance to begin spiralling as it only took Rafe half a second to reciprocate the sudden move and kiss you back.

His strong hands found the small of your waist buried beneath the woollen blanket before he began to drag you closer, pulling you so near that you actually did wind up sitting in his lap, your fingers fluttering against his buzzcut as his own scooped down over the curve of your ass.

When the movie gently humming from behind you was long forgotten and your soul instead had drifted straight to heaven, you felt Rafe tilt his head back to breathlessly utter, “come watch my fight…” his forehead still pressed against your own.

Scarcely picking up on the words behind his honied hum, you breathed, “what?”

Reeling back just enough for his eye to catch your own dazed pair, he said, “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.

You’d never seen a fight in real life before.

Not boxing, not mixed martial arts as this was, not even a juvenile one in a schoolyard.

At one point, when you thought all hope seemed lost, when Rafe got pinned by his opponent and blood was trickling down from the cut at his brow so clearly that you could make it out from the second row seat you found yourself planted in, he somehow managed to turn the tides and capture the boulder of a man in a lock so fierce it made them nearly melt into one pretzel-like being.

As he flexed his arm around the other’s throat with the rest of his limbs restricting him as well and rendering an escape near impossible, Rafe’s eyes then flickered up to catch your wide ones in the crowd. A grin appeared on his features as he held your stare a moment longer, watching as you shyly began to mirror his smile, before he tightened his hold and squeezed till the opponent opted not to bruise his pride and tap out, instead going limp in the grasp.

Once the trophy was in his gloved hand and he’d leapt out of the ring, on his way back towards the locker room, he zigzagged through the cheering crowd and caught onto your arm, dragging you with him as he exited the buzzing hall.

“That was insane,” you heard yourself babble as he pulled you through the corridors down towards the backroom he’d been in prior to the fight, “I mean, I know I went into it kinda blind, but I had no idea it would be like that,” adrenaline still rushed through your veins as he tugged you over the threshold and closed the door behind you, swiftly dropping his trophy to one of the long benches, “sure, it was as insane as I probably imagined, but the way that you moved, the way you slipped in and out like you were made of water or something, I mean, that was beautiful–,” the fighter then suddenly cut your rambling short as he yanked you to his sweaty form and pressed his lips to your own. However, as his feet shuffled and your spine collided with the back of the door to the small locker room, your fingers fluttered over countless of the spots where he’d been hit, causing you to jerk back and ask, “wait, shouldn’t you have someone check you out?” your eyes flickered from the cut splitting his brow to the various fresh bruises already beginning to blossom and reveal their true colours, “are you okay?”

“I’ve never felt better in my whole life,” he tried to lean back in to capture your lips once more, though you tilted away just in time for him to miss.

“You sure? Because–”

But your words were quickly snuffed out as his hands then flew up to grasp the sides of your face to force you to notice the glint in his eye and the desire dripping in his tone, “just shut up and kiss me,” he commanded before he practically devoured you whole.

As Rafe’s tongue danced against your own and made you feel dizzy in his tight embrace, his fingers then blindly fumbled for the lock and twisted it with a click that harmonised with the throbbing that had appeared between your thighs as soon as the fight had commenced.

A low growl rumbled deep within his chest and melted into your mouth as he then plucked you off of the ground and lifted you into his arms. Broad palms spreading wide below your bottom, he brought you as close as possible, causing the skirt you wore to ride up and crumble at your hips. The thin barrier of your pantyhose and the underwear beneath nearly incinerated from the heat that sparked as his hips greedily rocked against your covered core, lending you to feel just how hard he was in his shorts.

“I want you so bad,” he groaned between pecks, his fingers digging into your softness.

“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your victory or something?” a light giggle bubbled out of you.

“I thought that was what I was doing,” he smirked before dropping you back down onto the ground, making you gasp at his sharp movements as he suddenly spun you around to face the closed door, “unless you have a better idea of how we could celebrate,” he nipped at your neck, making your eyes flutter.

“I–…” your teeth briefly captured your bottom lip as his front pressed against your back, and your spine instinctively arched back into him, “no, yeah, this one’s g-good…”

“Good,” he murmured in your ear before his fingers found your pantyhose in a pinch and ripped a big hole in them, nearly splitting them in two as he exposed your underwear, “do you want it?” he gripped your hips and titled them for his hard-on to perfectly nudge against the soaked cotton.

“Y-yes,” you panted, even just that one word haven been a struggle to utter through the fog he’d cast you into.

“How bad?”

“So bad–, Rafe, please,” he made you squeak desperately, “I just–, please…”

Cheek smooshed against the door, you glanced over your shoulder and watched as he then kneeled down behind you. Both hands still firmly planted on your hips, keeping you in place for him, they only strayed for a moment in order to shove your skirt the rest of the way up and letting him see the wet spot decorating your panties.

“Oh, shit…” he groaned as he tugged the gusset of your underwear all the way to the side, a string of your glossy want clung to the fabric till it snapped back against your aching core. Nearly salivating as he inspected your holes, his fingers dented your ass as he pulled you apart, splitting you open that much further and watching intently at the way your drooling cunt throbbed in anticipation for his touch.

As if your pussy’s embarrassingly leaky state wasn’t enough, a dollop of his spit then roughly landed upon your folds, the lewdness causing you to let out a moan as he swiftly rose back up to his full height without as much as a tickle to your tingly petals.

The next thing you knew, the adrenaline coursing through you both drove Rafe to free his length from its confines and, without as much as another kiss, slammed inside of your weeping pussy in one fell motion.

Balls nuzzled tightly against you, the very tip of him nudged against a part so deep inside of you that it made you lose your breath as he took a moment to savour the sensation, freezing up within you and huffing against your cheek as you gasped for air through your whimpers.

“Oh my god!” one of your hands curled back to crawl at his waist, “Rafe!”

“Now,” his hips slowly drew back, dragging his fat girth back out of you and letting you feel every little detail of him, “you just gotta be a good girl, stand right here for me,” only the bulbous head of his cock remained, keeping you plugged up as he purred in your ear, “and take it like the perfect little prize you are,” he then buried himself once more with such vigour that his heavy sack tapped sloppily against your puffy clit, “can you do that for me? Will you be my reward?”

#lea’s writing #mma!rafe #mma!rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron au

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spencerreidenjoyer · 3 months ago

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we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve.

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it.

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly.

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar.

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you.

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp.

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room.

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you.

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end.

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do.

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect.

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch.

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock.

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy.

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person.

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit.

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point.

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend.

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off.

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him.

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big.

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion.

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him.

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them.

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his.

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you.

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer.

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is.

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot.

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought.

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you.

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart.

So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?”

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one.

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum.

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his.

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame.

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out.

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers.

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say.

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.”

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender.

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling.

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take.

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencerreidenjoyer writes

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slytherinslut0 · 2 months ago

Text

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 28th. theodore nott. lorenzo berkshire — humiliation / degradation

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: never let enzo berkshire find out about one of your kinks. unless….

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, halloween ghostface costumes, threesome, fwb!theo, bestfriend!enzo, reader is involved in a bet unbeknownst to her, mask kink, humiliation on high, degradation, fingering, denied orgasm, oral m!rec, PIV, dirty talk, manipulation.

"Black cat mask?"

You shake your head, barely sparing the thing a glance.

"Mm, no. Too unoriginal."

"Right," Enzo sucks his teeth, tossing the mask back into the bin you're both half-heartedly rifling through. "Orange cat, then? That's far more fitting for you anyways."

"Enzo—no cats, please," you mutter, running a hand through your hair, staring down at the disheveled heap of plastic. None of it catches your eye, none of it sparks anything. "It's Halloween. I want something...scarier."

"Of course. Only day of the year you get to pretend you're as terrifying as me." He croons—half-laughing through the words. The tease itches in your mind, and you're halfway to some retort when he's already holding up another mask. "How about this one?"

You glance up, ready to dismiss whatever nonsense he's holding this time, but the sight of it stills the air in your lungs. A Ghostface mask. Stark white, hollow eyes staring back at you—it's grimace cast in a faded glow under tired shop lights. It's nothing—just a mask, just a piece of cheap plastic in Enzo’s hand—but your heart skips, stumbles, clutches at your ribs, and you can't look away.

And there's no goddamn reason for it, no logic—but you're already seeing it, aren't you? Your current fwb—Theo, standing over you; his face hidden, mask in place of those half-lidded eyes that you’ve learned to read so well. And you know—you know the thought is fucking absurd—yet, it knots something in your stomach, spreading heat like a fuse just lit.

"You alright there?" Enzo's teasing pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he'd been staring at you that entire time. "You're looking a little...hot."

Hot. Right. Of course he'd notice—of course your best friend would notice the way you went still, frozen in place as if someone struck you with Glacius. You're no good at lying to him, not even on a good day—and right now, your mind is in shambles, already too far gone into the fantasy and—

No. No more of this.

You tear away, fumbling for the edge of a cloak that suddenly seems like the most fascinating thing you've ever seen, your fingers tracing the fabric as if it can save you.

"It's...fine—it's nice," you blurt out, too quickly, too forced, the words tumbling over themselves. "Just—no, not really my thing."

But Enzo knows better. He can spot your lies from miles away. You hear him shift, the quiet rustle of the mask in his hands—and then, he's pulling it over his face, tilting his head just to spite you.

You don't have to look to know he's smirking behind it.

"Bullshit." He steps closer, casually closing the distance, but you know it's deliberate. "You're into this, aren't you?"

The warmth on your face feels like fire now, prickling heat across your skin. He shifts closer again, and for a moment you consider jinxing him—mind scattering into dark, unbidden places—filthy, wild things, flashing behind your eyes, too real. Enzo tilts his head the other way now, letting the mask catch the light, letting it grin.

"Should I get it?" He asks, as innocent as a serial killer. "For Nott, of course."

"No."

It scrapes out of your throat, barely audible, far too small to hold truth. You’re sure he can read you right now—all your depraved thoughts in the rasp of your voice, painfully transparent.

There’s a huff, a snort of sorts. "Are you sure? I think he'd love it."

Despite his insufferableness, he’s probably right. Theo has never shied away from indulging your kinks before. That’s what no strings is about. Maybe he would love it, you know you certainly would—gods how you’d love it—even if you’d rather die before admitting it.

The cloak—you focus on the deep purple velvet, the dark lace edging. "I'm sure. Put it back."

"You don't sound so sure." Gods, he's such an asshole—point only proved further as he takes another step closer. "Does this...does this turn you on?"

"Enzo—For Godric's sake, stop." The humiliation is suffocating. This is just a glimpse at your future should you ever decide to disclose this information to him. Relentless and bloody insufferable. "Let's just—pick something and go. Please?"

A pause, then, and you don't dare look up. The mask slips from his face with another soft, satisfied hum—you don't need to see him to feel the damage done. He knows.

"Sure, angel," he says, trailing as he turns. "Whatever you want."

————

"Matt—have you seen Theo?"

"Uh—not since earlier." Mattheo replies without even looking up, his focus on pouring another dangerous looking drink rather than on you. "He's probably just out for a smoke."

Yeah. Right. Forsure—because his smoke breaks last all bloody day. Doubt twists your stomach, but you nod anyway, grabbing your own drink—something bubbling, far too bright a green to be safe, but it burns down easy all the same. The room spins in a foggy haze, lights bleeding together over costumes, wizard and Muggle and something in between—and you struggle to tell who's who.

Theo had refused to tell you what he was dressing up as—claimed he wanted it to be a surprise. Now, that surprise is nowhere to be found.

"What are you supposed to be?" You raise a brow at Mattheo's striped inmate costume. “Your future?"

Riddle's eye flash as he pretends to be offended for about two seconds until his gaze drops to your own costume and his tongue darts over his lips, taking it in. Beer-maid, tight bodice, shorter than preferred. It's not what you were going for, not in the slightest, but it's all Pansy had in her closet to save you after you and Enzo failed to find anything interesting at the shop the other day.

"Maybe. But you definitely aren't dressed as yours." His attention shifts back to the crowd, a failed attempt at hiding his grin. "Way too much fabric."

You scoff, but that's just how Mattheo is—always a sly comment, always pushing. You roll your eyes and swat at him, but he sticks his tongue out at you and steps back, slipping off into the crowd with a final goodbye wink—and just as you lose track of him, Draco saddles up next to you, prattling on about something you don't care to listen to.

Great, that’s two annoying Slytherins accounted for. Where the fuck is Theo?

Five seconds into pretending to be interested in whatever Malfoy is babbling on about, you give up, turning back to the drink table and skimming over the options when someone new brushes up behind you—

"Enzo told me," the words barely register before you feel it—a hand settling low at your hip. "About your kink."

With lightening speed you twist your neck, glancing over your shoulder—only to fucking gasp at what you find there. That mask. The mask. The Ghostface one from the shop; the one Enzo hasn't let you forget, hasn't stopped teasing you about—you blink, your heart barrelling out of the room, fingers tightening around your cup until it hurts—

The mask tilts, just slightly. "Looks like he was right."

"Theo—"

"Go." His voice is muffled, but sweet Merlin—the sound of it makes your knees threaten to buckle right then and there. His hand slips lower, teasing against the ruffles of your dress. "Run, Bella. Let's play."

Your body locks up, muscles tense and poised on the edge of something feral. You can't look away. Can't think. Can't breathe. His fingers slip lower, lower, until you feel it—cold leather against the heat of your skin and your throat tightens, words dying dead on your tongue.

Run.

A slight lean, and the mask brushes your neck. "Now."

He steps back, a slow retreat, but it feels like he's tugging you with him. You spin to face him, smirking, your voice barely above a whisper—

"And when you catch me?"

"Find out." His head tilts toward the door. It's your cue.

Your feet move before your mind even catches up, slipping through the rowdy crowd, darting through the half-drunk revelers in their costumes—everything blurring into an afterthought as you push past the cobwebs, pumpkins, fake spiders, all the other Halloween decor filling the fogged ballroom. Your fingertips buzz from the adrenaline—pulse echoing in your ears as you dart down one hall after another, not quite sure where you're going, but knowing you need to keep moving.

Theo told you to run—so you run.

You sprint through the castle, the corridors empty save for your hurried footsteps and the scattered Halloween decorations lunging at you from the shadows. You round a corner, making for the dungeons. It's as good a place as any, right? Dark, quiet, somewhere to hide.

Few more minutes and you make it, lungs burning as you stumble into the dreary main hall. You realize the detention room is empty—and it's perfect. You take two steps inside, already thinking you'll be able to catch your breath when—

You slam headlong into something solid.

Head swirling, your vision barely refocuses before you feel a grip on your wrists, pulling you forward with enough force to make you gasp. Everything happens so fast you don't have enough time to process what's occurring before you're forced to focus on the thing you're seeing—ghostface. Staring down at you with those empty, gaping eyes. Unreadable.

It's then that you realize you're caught.

Something shifts behind the mask, an almost imperceptible movement of his head. You'd almost think you imagined it but given that there's nothing else to look at you know it's impossible. The silence is ballooning and you wonder if this is part of the game, if Theo is just savouring the moment, relishing in your reaction. The way you're trembling, your breath stuttering, the way you've gone still—waiting.

You swallow, throat drier than the Sahara, but something about this has you emboldened, the fact he's playing into your fantasy like this—so you decide to tease him, breaking the silence with a soft, breathless laugh as you pull one of your hands free from his grip.

He wanted to play. It's your turn to act the part.

"Looks like you caught me...Mr. Ghostface..." you purr—the silence sticks heavy, making the space between you feel thick, electric. All you can feel are his eyes devouring you. "And now...now that you've caught me...what are you gonna' do with me...hm?"

Gods—the thrill of this is so real, one your certain is more addictive than any drug. An adrenaline rush—not knowing what he's thinking, what he's about to do. Not being able to read him like you normally could. It makes your thighs quake—and there’s half a second where you wonder how much Enzo would pay to see this, how much he’d fucking taunt you for it.

But just as quickly as it came, you shake that thought—focused on Theo, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and sink to your knees, fingertips teasing from his chest to his abdomen, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes.

"...please don't punish me." You giggle—and the debauched absurdity of it all makes you nearly choke. "I'll be so good—I'll do anything, Theo—"

You feel him huff, tense, and when your fingers graze the front of his pants—just barely touching his crotch— his hand snaps down like a vice, gripping your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks.

And then, you hear it. "Salazar sakes—shit—"

Your heart plummets. That voice—it's like being thrown into ice-cold water. No, that's not—it can't be—

"Enzo?"

Your voice cracks as you all but screech, your head whipping up so fast you feel dizzy. No, no, no—

Enzo, who you previously thought was Theo, pulls the mask off and all but verbally confirms it. Your nightmare born to life. Spooling to fruition right in front of you. He smiles, lips curled into something thoroughly entertained, and gods, how his eyes glint with pure assholery—you could fucking kill him.

"Enzo—" you stammer, horror flushing through you, burning through the mortification lodged in your throat. "Gods—what the fuck—"

"Surprise," he breathes, like this is the most casual thing in the world to him.

You scramble back, knees scraping against cold stone—mind spiralling in every direction at once—shame collides with shock and it all burns under your skin, the kind of heat that never settles. You know Theo's voice. You could never mistake it. You know for a fact that was him back at the party— but this, this makes no sense.

"What...what the hell-" your voice stumbles like you're trying to outrun the words. "Why would you—what were you—"

"Relax," he is all too fucking calm. "It was a prank."

"A prank?" You're still on the floor, and for some reason that makes everything worse. "You call that a prank? A—a funny little joke?"

"That's usually the definition—"

"No." You hiss between clenched teeth, anger strangling any hope for composure. "What were you doing in here? This— this isn't—you were trying to-"

"Trying to what?" He sounds so goddamn innocent but you know better. He's toying with you, making sure you know it. He's been your best friend since you were kids but you never said it was by choice. He steps closer. "I was trying to what, angel?"

Your blood boils, the heat spreading fast—pooling low in your core against all specks of your sanity. He's relishing this, drinking in your mortification like it's fine wine—and for some reason, it makes you weak.

"You—" words die with another one of his steps, the toes of his shoes brushing against your skin as he crouches down in front of you, elbows resting casually on his knees. You sit back, ass meeting cold stone. "Enzo—"

"Yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow. "You just gonna' parrot my name all night? Maybe you're too embarrassed to speak?"

The constant mocking feels like ice and you want to slap that smug look right off his face but instead your fucking thighs tense. You have nothing to say—can only stare at him, lungs seizing further as you notice the smirk fading from his lips, something darker replacing it—

"You didn't even know who was under that mask, and you were ready to suck me off," he's whispering, but he may as well be screaming. "You'd do anything for anyone with a mask, huh? I wish I knew about this kink of yours sooner."

He leans in closer, his knees pushing yours apart—you and Enzo had never been strangers to toying the line of friendship one too many times while drunk, but this—

You blink. Staring at him. "You...you're enjoying this way too much."

"Guilty as charged." His smile spreads wider, cockier, his eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. You shiver involuntarily. "I know I should have stopped you sooner, but seeing you on your knees...in front of me...I just..."

He shakes his head before he slowly stands back up—and his eyes flicker to your chest, lingering on your fucking tits and not even trying to be subtle about it.

Then, there’s a sound—the sound of the door creaking open.

You barely hear it, the faint shuffle of footsteps, but it's enough to pull the grin from Enzo's face as he looks up. You're not sure your heart can handle anymore of this—plummeting to the stone beneath you as Theo steps into the room, dressed just like Enzo—black robes, black gloves, Ghostface mask.

"Nott." Enzo's voice is too casual, too easy. "Great timing, mate."

Theo’s silent as he takes in the scene. You—still on the floor, dress hitched up, legs spread. Enzo standing over you, smug, unbothered. Theo's presence fills the room as he shuts the door behind him and locks it, stoking your humiliation into something even hotter, something impossible to escape.

Theo's voice is flat, his tone too even. "Looks like you got caught."

Wait—

"You—" your gaze jumps between them, a wild panic bubbling up inside you. You're so fucking confused. "What is this? You two—"

"Like I said, a prank." Enzo says as he steps toward Theo, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "A bet, really.”

Theo doesn't respond. He doesn't move. He doesn't look away from you.

"A bet?" You choke out, trying to piece everything together. "What bet?"

"Well, you see, angel," Enzo pushes away from Theo and slumps down into a chair just off to the side of you. You feel the dread rolling in like a storm. "I bet big Theo here you'd get so weak in the knees over the mask, you wouldn't even notice the switch. As usual, I was right."

Andddd, there’s the dread. Yup. As expected whenever Enzo is fucking involved in anything.

"Oh, wow—" you'd laugh if you weren't this utterly mortified by the entire situation. "You guys are—gods. You’re going after a whole new high score in the prick olympics, aren't you—"

"Oh, I don't know if you believe that, topolina...I think you're just being shy." Theo cuts through your rambling and you flinch at the sound of his voice. "It's clear this is a fantasy of yours."

Your head tilts up, eyes widening as they meet the empty, hollow eyes of the mask drawing closer.

"I bet you're just embarrassed," Theo's pressing—he's fucking pressing and you don’t think you’ve breathed since he walked in. "Embarrassed that you got on your knees for your best friend...or maybe you're afraid I'd be mad." He pauses, and his gaze sweeps down over you. "Which, to that I'd have to say, I'm far from."

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "You're...you're not mad?"

Perhaps you were afraid of that—even if you and Theo are unofficial in every aspect.

His answer is instant. "No."

He crouches in front of you, gloved fingers finding your chin, tipping your head up so he can look at you— really look at you.

"In fact...I think you should let him watch..." his thumb ghosts over your lower lip, so soft, so slow��without thinking, your tongue flicks out, barely grazing the leather covered tip, and you hear the soft exhale he releases in response. "After all, this was his idea. He deserves some fun too, don't you think?"

Heat floods your cunt, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You glance at Enzo, sitting back now with his mask on—legs spread wide, leather hands clasped, calm—you wanted to kill him five minutes ago, but now—

Oh gods—you're really losing it.

"Yeah," you whisper, barely managing the word. "He probably does."

Theo's hand slides down to your thigh, leather fingers curling into the soft skin, pulling your legs open further.

"Mhm." He mutters. "You like being watched, don't you?"

Your breath catches, your pulse thundering in your ears as you nod, your eyes glued to Enzo. "Yes..."

"Say it." His fingers trail higher, teasing the soft skin beneath your dress, fingertips grazing closer—too close—just below the lace hem of your panties.

Salazar save you.

You bite your lip, and the air between you feels like it's thickening, growing too dense to breathe in. That fucking mask. You've fantasized over it. And now, there's two of them. Two sets of eyes—faceless, emotionless, and watching you. It's like something out of your fucking dreams.

"I—I like being watched," you manage to whisper, voice breaking between building lust.

"Louder," Theo growls this time like he's pulling it from somewhere deep in his chest—it sends liquid heat spilling through you. "Louder, topolina. He can't hear you if you're whispering."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and Enzo—gods, Enzo is still watching—stays silent, the mask concealing whatever reaction he might have, but his posture speaks volumes. Stillness, dark fabric of his trousers tight across his thighs, a coiled tension that radiates off him, permeates the space between you.

"I—fuck—" a breathless moan cracks through your words as Theo's leather-clad fingers slip under your panties, grazing your slick slit. "—love it. I love being watched."

Theo hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and rewards you by pushing two fingers into your dripping heat. So slow, the pace of his strokes torturous—slick sounds of leather working you open filling the room, mingling with your quiet, shuddering breaths. His thumb brushes your clit, teasing over it until you moan—hard and shameless—

"So loud," Theo mocks, your spine arching into him as his fingers curl inside you. "Eager, filthy little thing. You love being on display, don't you?"

A whimper catches in your throat, your gaze still locked on Enzo, watching him watch you.

You're shaking. You're close. Too close.

Your voice cracks again, nothing more than a whisper caught in a moan. "Theo...fuck—"

"You're so wet, bellissima," Theo breathes behind the mask. You're burning, every nerve sizzling. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You can't speak. Words don't exist anymore, only the pressure—only the way Theo's fingers curl inside you, the way your thighs tremble and ache from holding yourself open, from being watched, from being this goddamn humiliated.

"Y-yes," you choke out, desperate. "Yes, please, I—"

"Ask him." Theo's cuts you off. "Ask Enzo to let you cum."

The room spins. The air thickens into something cloying.

Ask him. Ask Enzo—

You swallow hard, your eyes darting between the two masks. Enzo is silent, still motionless, but he tilts his head slightly, the only indication that he's heard. That he's waiting.

"Please, Enzo—" the humiliation is sickening but you force past it. It’s a broken prayer, vulnerability in verbal form. "Please...let me cum—please—"

Time stretches. It feels like hours, an eternity where nothing exists but the weight of their hidden eyes on you, the way Enzo's fingers twitch, curl over the thick ridge at his crotch, leather knuckles tensing as if he's restraining himself from something primal. You're being devoured whole by this moment—by the unbearable tension, by Theo's fingers inside you, relentless in their assault, and gods—you're going to die if they don't let you—

"Yeah," Enzo finally murmurs, breaking the silence. Theo's gaze flickers to him, waiting. "Yeah, you can cum, angel…”

But as he says it, he shakes his head, and Theo—the absolute bastard—pulls his fingers out without a word.

"…just not yet." Enzo finishes.

The sound that leaves your throat isn't even human, some guttural, helpless whine torn straight from your throbbing, empty cunt. Theo shushes you.

"You'll get to cum, Bella," he coos, standing up slowly. "It'll be soon."

They're toying with you, playing you like a goddamn puppet on strings and it's infuriating in its deliciousness. You've known these men for years, yet it's almost laughable—the way they feel so foreign, so terrifyingly new.

"Oh, Enzo," you sigh, feeling your arousal cool, your body suddenly aware of the icy stone beneath you, of the wet heat slicking down your thighs. "I'm going to kill you tomorrow."

Enzo snorts. "You're welcome to try."

Theo exhales a half-chuckle, helping you off the floor and onto a desk, his hands firm on your thighs as he spreads you open like he's done a hundred times within the last few months.

A moment passes before he moves to loosen his belt and you realize just how close Enzo is now—his chair right beside the desk, his hand palming the bulge in his pants, shameless in his observation. The sight makes you fucking dizzy with filth. Surely, you've lost your mind. This is madness. Every line between friendship and lust—between restraint and indulgence—has blurred and bled into something you can't define, and the thrill of it is intoxicating.

"This is insane," you hiss, breathless, feeling the way Theo's gloves scrape over your skin, two thick digits dragging in your slick. "You're both fucking insane."

"Too much talking," Theo mutters, so infuriatingly calm, even as he drags the head of his dick over your folds, teasing your clit. "So much attitude for someone dripping down their thighs. You want to stop?" The silence stretches, your eyes locked on his, and you can feel the smirk behind the mask. He nods. "That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me fuck this wet cunt."

His hands grip either side of the desk, his body looming over you—the scene from your fantasy you've envisioned a million times. Ghostface—dominant and rough—gods, you want it. So bad it fucking hurts.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes immediately finding Enzo's again—forgetting for half a second that he was even there. His jeans are unbuttoned now, his hand moving rhythmically beneath the denim, mask locked onto you with a single-minded focus that makes your breath stutter.

"Enz-ohhh—" you go to say something to him, but then Theo pushes into you—no warning, no slow build—just a deep, unforgiving thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs, and your voice cracks on his name, the syllables lost in the moan that spills out of you.

"Shit." Enzo groans in response. "Did you just—"

"She did," Theo snarls, his grip on your hips punishing as he slams into you again, harder this time. "The little slut just moaned your name."

There's cursing, from both of them, but it's all a blur in your ears, drowned out by the sound of Theo's hips slamming into yours, the fevered slap of skin on skin, the obscene sounds you can't help but make—

"Yeah, I noticed," Enzo mutters, and fuck, he sounds ruined, completely lost in the sight of you—his best friend, getting fucked by his other best friend. "Fuck."

Theo's hand finds your jaw, forcing your head back to face him, Ghostface mask looming above you like a delicious nightmare.

"Who's fucking you?" His voice is caught somewhere between a snarl and a purr. "Is it Enzo?"

"N-no—" you manage, trembling with every thrust.

"Of course it's not," Theo hisses, driving into you with punctual thrusts to make you feel him, making you cry out when he slams your cervix. "So why'd you moan his name? When it's—fuck—my cock inside you?"

"I—I didn't mean—" you whimper, eyes squeezed shut, but there's no escape. Not from the relentless pace of Theo's dick, not from the way Enzo's eyes never leave you, burning into you like fire. You can't form words.

"Mm—don't be shy now, topolina," Theo purrs, his voice thick with effort. His hips snap forward, and your back arches, a broken sound escaping you. "I think you just love having him in your mouth—his name, his—"

"Fuck, Nott, shut up," Enzo cuts in, his head thrown back, chest tense. "I don't want to hear your voice—"

You can hear the strain, the way he's barely holding it together—

"Look at him," Theo ignores Enzo's words. He lets go of your jaw. "He wants you. He's always wanted you."

Your eyes dart between them, head spinning, unable to form a coherent thought—Theo's fucking relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge—and every time you glance at Enzo, you see the way he's breaking, hand moving faster, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths—

"I never knew you were such a voyeur, Nott," Enzo spits, trying to sound casual. "Never took you for being such a filthy bastard."

"What can I say?" Theo groans in response, propping your legs up over his shoulders to drive into you deeper. "Just discovered a new interest, you should try it sometime."

They're still bantering, like this is some kind of fucked-up competition, like you're not about to shatter into a million fucking pieces while your best friend watches—after he got you here and humiliated you with a fucking bet—gods, you'd laugh if you weren't so utterly lost to the pleasure ripping through you.

"And watch you get off on it?" Enzo spits back, voice rough. "I'll—"

Theo snorts, cutting him off. "I think there's more than one person getting off on—"

"Shut the-fffuck up—please-" you manage to moan, the words barely intelligible. You look to Enzo, eyes wide and pleading. "Enz...come here."

"Yeah...?" Enzo breathes out, his voice catching, tipping his head back forward to look at you. “What?”

"Come here," you moan again, trembling, fraying under the pleasure that's building inside you from Theo’s insistent dick. "Let me help you."

For a moment, he hesitates, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking because the goddamn mask hides everything. He's always been the calm one between you—always stopping your drunk kisses, always refraining from taking things too far. But tonight, there’s no more of that calm left in him—

He stands.

Each step he takes feels like a lifetime, but when he's standing next to your head on the desk, towering above where you're laid out like a feast, you don't know whether it's the mask or the situation itself that has your pulse racing. Erotic and terrifying, the not-knowing—a power exchange in its purest form. Theo growls infront of you, his thrusts growing harder, more vicious, as you reach out to pull Enzo's hips closer.

You're already eyeing the throbbing bulge in his jeans, your mouth practically watering as you stare.

"Go on," you rasp, lips parting as you look up through your lashes. "Take it out."

The breath Enzo sucks in is sharp, a hitch in the darkness. His fingers tremble, just barely, as he pushes his pants down his thighs, and the noise that escapes him when his cock slips out and smacks his stomach—low, strangled—makes you moan and clench in response—he's huge.

Your breath catches, a soft exhale of, "oh, fuck."

And the words are barely out of your mouth before both Theo and Enzo respond—low growls and breathless groans that echo in the shadowed room, vibrating through you like electricity.

"Open your pretty mouth," Enzo whispers and you obey without hesitation, tongue slipping out, wanting, eager. His breath shudders, and you wish you could see his eyes. "Good girl."

And then he's pushing into you, sliding hot and thick over your tongue, and at that exact moment, Theo thrusts harder, deeper, and suddenly you're overwhelmed—both of them inside you, filling you, consuming every breath. Moans ripple through the dungeon air, a chorus of sin, and you shake with the sheer intensity of it all.

Theo's thumb finds your clit, starts swirling over it, and you keen—eyes rolling back in your head, Enzo’s leather hands in your hair to hold you still. Tears stream down your face as you gag, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but neither of them stop—if anything, they're both lost in it, in the wrecked, messy beauty of it all. Your hands claw at the desk, desperate for something to hold on to as the pleasure builds, tightens, spirals out of control.

Time collapses. It's been moments—it's been hours.

And then it happens—all three of you tipping over the edge at once, crashing into a release so fierce it shatters you. Your climax rips through you, violent, leaving you shaking, milking Theo until he's spent—until he's pouring his cum deep inside your cunt at the same time Enzo groans deep and spills his own over your tongue. A moment passes, and then Theo is the first to pull away, panting, tearing off his mask and dropping into the chair beside the desk, and Enzo follows, tugging his jeans back up before slumping into another chair, mask still on—

Both of them are sprawled there, utterly spent, just as wrecked as you.

And then, after a few long, tense moments, you hear it—the clink of Galleons exchanged. You don't even need to look up for it to register. Theo tosses the coins into Enzo’s greedy palm because he was the true fucking winner here. The sound cuts through the stillness, and with it, that smug, unmistakable sneer in Enzo's voice.

"Told you she'd love it."

Asshole.

You roll your eyes. Your limbs feel like they're moving through molasses as you stand, your hands mechanically fixing your costume, adjusting the fabric against your thighs.

"You know, Enzo, if you wanted to watch Theo fuck me that bad, all you had to do was ask."

"What can I say," he shrugs, lazy, like he's discussing the weather. "I enjoy a bit of gambling."

Theo snorts, adjusting his collar, as if none of this fazes him. His eyes flick from you to Enzo. "Next time you'll be paying me."

"Next time?" You cock an eyebrow. "How generous of you."

"There will be a next time," Enzo says, flipping one of the Galleons between his fingers, that same smirk playing on his lips. "And I'll get my turn."

Your pulse quickens at the sheer arrogance of it, the way he says it like it's not even up for debate. You hate how much you like this side of him.

"Maybe next time you should."

They nod, both of them wearing their smirks like crowns. "Until next time, then."

3K notes · View notes

yieldtotemptation · 3 months ago

Text

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting. It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets. You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.”

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants. “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

#kpop smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut #male reader

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year ago

Note

boob obsessed ethan!!

I have very few smut requests for Scream characters and I'm in that mood to write that... Please send more for Ethan and Billy (I can do Billy x reader x Stu too)

Warnings: 18+, boobs touching/sucking, Ethan being obsessed

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

It all started clicking one night you and Ethan were studying for finals. He was having difficulty concentrating, easily distracted by flipping his pen or even whistling, so you decided to give him a little bit of motivation.

‘’If you get five answers right, I’ll show you my boobs.’’

Automatically, Ethan’s eyes lowered to your boobs — still covered by your shirt — and bit the inside of his mouth to not moan.

‘’And if you get ten right,’’ you added, ‘’I’ll let you touch them.’’

His jaw almost dropped. There was no way you were being serious. No one ever made deals like that and honored their part of the deal — except in his late night fantasies.

‘’Y-you’re playing,’’ Ethan said, shifting on the bed, feeling himself harden just at the thought of your breasts.

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘’I’m not. You helped me when I was struggling last semester, now it’s my turn to help you. Do we have a deal?’’

Seventeen minutes later, you put the pile of flashcards down and Ethan held his breath, knowing what was coming. He got five answers right. It was an understatement to say he was nervous, however he was also so excited — very excited.

You grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it off, then unclasped your bra, nipples hardening from the cool air of the dorm.

Watched intently, Ethan let out a strangled moan, his eyes wide with wonder and staring directly at your chest. ‘’Holy fuck, those tits are so nice. Way better than what I imagined through your shirt,’’ he said, his blunt honesty making you laugh. ‘’Shit. Did I say that out loud?’’ His face flushed, embarrassed at himself. He really wanted to crawl into a hole and die right here.

‘’You did,’’ you confirmed. You gave Ethan a soft smile, pulling him out of his trance by placing your hand on his kneecap. ‘’Let’s not get distracted. If you want to touch, you gotta give me five more good answers. Remember?’’

Ethan nodded, shifting again to cover the slight tent in his pants. Controlling that part of his body was impossible. He took a deep breath and you hit him with the next question.

It was harder to concentrate this time, his eyes dropping back to your chest every three seconds, but he did it, successfully correctly answering five more flashcards.

‘’Can I touch them, now?’’ he asked shyly, his fingers tingling with excitement.

‘’Go for it.’’

That's exactly what he did. Ethan placed both of his hands over your boobs, covering them with his palms and splayed fingers like a kid discovering something for the first time. He squished them both, his fingers sinking into the softness of your breasts.

Ethan could feel his cock twitch slightly in his pants as he continued to feel you. ‘’Oh my god. Oh wow,’’ he said, breathing heavily. His finger tweaked your nipple, experimentally pinching at it and rolling it between his fingers, drawing out a soft gasp from you when he used more pressure than you were expecting. ‘’I could cum just from touching them—’’

‘’Ethan!’’ you gasped, shocked by his words.

His eyes snapped up and he mumbled apologies, but you just laughed.

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn @bt.oliana @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy @s-al-em @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely @aqshua @lynbubble @luiise @planetkt @vampyrgoff

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry smut #scream #scream 6 #scream imagine

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arminsumi · 1 year ago

Text

S. GOJO ★ DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE IN MY FANTASIES?

Pairing : fem reader / teacher!Gojo

Synopsis : Gojo j*rking off to fantasies of you until eventually the two of you do it together on a phone call.

Warnings/tags : 🔞 smut, solo male m*sturbation, p*rnstar fantasy, d!ck visuals, big d!ck Gojo, risky m*sturbation (office), slight perv behavior, toys, breeding kink, use of sl*t, dirty talk, m*sturbating on phone call, pillow humping, mutual m*sturbation, phone sex

Note : lol this is the post that got accidentally published once. i hate tumblr mobile!! 😿 i still want to edit the original bc it has some juicy stuff. but i put some of it into this 😈

Library | Gojo

The first time he does it, he doesn't actually realize that he's fantasizing about you. You enter his mind randomly one night as he winds down after a long day of teaching. He naturally slides his hands down his pants.

Satoru starts massaging his growing hard-on through the fabric. His big hand wraps around the veiny shaft and he gives it a few squeezes, sighing at the sensation.

Satoru hastily unbuckles his belt and slides it off with a whip-like snap, pale veiny hands rolling it neatly before setting it down on the table besides his bed. Those pale veiny hands quickly push down the hem of his pants and grab the base of his stiff cock.

He starts stroking it slowly up and down, with his eyes closed in relaxation and his other hand snuggled behind his head.

Jerking off leisurely, not rushing at all, just enjoying how it feels to pleasure himself with his own hand.

He pictures you naked. It's just a brief thought. He grumbles at himself and shakes the image out of his mind, as if he was indulging in a taboo act.

You're the teacher he works alongside. Every day you greet him with that sweet smile and kind voice that makes his heart tick. You're so innocent and untainted, he holds back from imagining you lewdly even though he really wants to.

He bites his lip at the thought of you.

Today was hard for him, you know, because your tight uniform seemed... especially tight. He commented on it in the afternoon, of course very subtly;

"Nice tits." he flirted jokingly. But his eyes were glued to your breasts like he'd never seen a pair before.

"Thanks. My uniform shrunk in the wash." you giggled in response.

"Ah, I see." he nodded understandingly, gulping when you bent over to pick something up — even if you tried to keep your skirt down, it still rose up your thighs just enough for him to find out that you wore a G-string.

The image of your body is stuck in his head now, when he's all alone in his king-sized bed.

It makes him cum. And he cums gently, letting out a barely audible grunt of breath while it dribbles out of his cockhole and runs down his shaft.

He swipes some cum off the underside of his cock and sucks it off his finger, tasting himself. Then he falls asleep like a baby, not thinking too deeply on the fact that he came to the thought of you.

****

The next few times get more and more intense.

His cock feels so much better when you're on his mind. Even when he's in a risky setting... like his office.

Though no one would dare to walk into Gojo Satoru's office without permission, there's still the risk that you could just burst into the room — maybe to complain about him slacking off.

He thinks about the risk, and it turns him on more... his cock twitches at the fantasy of you walking in on him stroking his big cock while sat in his office, long legs spread wide and head tilted back in ecstasy.

You'd find out the obvious but dirty fact that even Gojo Satoru needs to let off steam every now and then. He's not just a teacher all the time, he's also a frustratedly horny man.

Satoru squeezes the tip of his cock and clenches his jaw.

The angry veins decorating his shaft are all raised. His cock pulses harder at the thought of you walking through his office doors — he'd love to see your reaction. Would your mouth drop open? You'd find out just how huge his cock is. Would you offer to help? Nah, that only happens in porn, right? He keeps fantasizing about the scenario as if you and him are two pornstars on set.

In this fantasy, you're just sooo shocked and thirsty for Gojo Satoru's big cock, you can't help but ride him in his office even though you risk the whole school hearing the skin slapping and moans.

He pumps his fist up and down his cock faster. You know, originally he intended to nap — he rarely gets any sleep because of much he's needed in the Jujutsu world. But for some reason, after passing you by in the corridors, he got an angry boner that just wouldn't go away.

Working up a sweat under his black uniform, Satoru slumps down in the chair while totally getting lost in his pornstar fantasy of you. He gets too hot so he splits open his jacket and unbuttons his expensive shirt until his abs are exposed. It's funny, he's slowly turning into a performer... and all he's doing is just jerking off alone for himself.

"Fuck." he mutters under his breath.

He orgasms so hard while thinking of you deepthroating him that his toes curl — that never happens. Cum splatters on his abs and he breathes heavily.

You knock on the door and he gets shocked out of his skull.

"Gojo? I have those files you requested." you spoke through the door, "Can I come in?"

"Shit uh, wait! Just give me a second!" he yells, hurryingly cleaning his cum off his abs with a tissue.

He hastily discards the tissue, and buttons up his shirt, leaving a slit of his chest exposed to catch your eye, and calls for you, "Come in."

You swish your hips when you walk in, and it drives him nuts. He acts ordinarily, like he wasn't just getting off to a wild fantasy of you, his co-worker.

"Here they are." you say, and set the files down on his desk.

"Thanks." he stares at you hard.

You'd look so good bent over my desk.

"Gojo?"

"Yup?"

"You look flushed, do you have a fever?" you ask innocently.

He swallows and replies shakily, "Nah, I'm good. I was just... doing push-ups."

"In your... office? Fully clothed?" you eye him out confusedly.

He makes a cute, dumb face and shrugs his shoulders.

****

Satoru's made jerking off part of his nightly routine. It helps him sleep. And he also can't help himself; you're more in his life now than ever, he keeps your company often and his feelings are growing quick.

He's laid in bed.

His lips part erotically and his legs tremble as he furiously jerks off. Suddenly, he shoots forward and groans "Fuck!", cumming hard all over his crotch.

Satoru's cock doesn't want him to sleep tonight. It stands up again a few minutes after he cleans up his cum and rolls onto his side to sleep. He grumbles and tosses around, hoping his boner will go away.

But it doesn't.

So he starts grinding his cock into the bed, whimpering your name into his pillow. Why is he whimpering your name? And why can't he stop himself?

He scrunches up the duvet and humps it, ass muscles tensing with each rough thrust. The friction isn't enough, he starts stroking it with his hand.

But even that isn't satisfying enough.

I need a fleshlight so bad.

He squeezes his cock tight, massages his fat balls, switches hands even, does everything he can. But his cock is needy for more and his orgasm refuses to come along.

Satoru grumbles and stops, glaring up at the ceiling for a good long while before coming up with an idea.

He props a pillow and buries his heavy cock into it. Then he plants two big hands on it, grabbing it as if it's your hips, and thrusts his greedy cock back and forth.

The bed squeaks under the force of the Strongest's hard thrusts. He fucks the pillow and talks dirty to it in his mind, pretending it's you.

"Just let me have your pussy, please."

"You wanna have my babies? Of course you do. Slut."

"That's it, lay there and let me knock you up."

The thought of you squeezing his muscular biceps in your tiny hands is what makes him cum. He groans and clenches his teeth, jawline becoming super defined as he cums into the crinkled up pillow. His gooey cum spills out and stains the fabric.

He gets hit with a wave of post-nut clarity. "What the fuck..." he pushes his hair out of his eyes.

His forehead is sweaty, his chest is heaving, and he feels so guilty for getting off to you again.

****

So Gojo Satoru bought a fleshlight after that frustrating night. He rushed to leave work early, so you caught him.

"Don't be lazy, 'Toru." you frowned, "You're really gonna let me finish this paperwork all by myself?"

The doe eyes you gave him stuck in his mind. All he replied with was a suspicious chuckle and a lame excuse.

"I'm so tired, gimme a break just this once, please?" he pleaded, feeling his blood rush south. You looked especially good.

"Alright, fine then. Get some rest, okay?" you said caringly, letting him off.

He squeezes his cock into the pocket pussy and pumps it up and down quick, relishing in the sound of lube squelching.

The toy is too small for his big cock, but he likes that. It makes him think about how tight you'd be — oh damn it, there he goes again thinking of you when he really shouldn't be.

"I know it's too big, baby, but take it please..." he's dirty talking to you in his mind.

Satoru's got an unsuspecting kinky side to his personality, and it really shows as he fucks his toy. His heavy balls slap against the silicone, causing lube to squirt out.

He momentarily stills inside to suck the sticky cherry lube off his finger, imagining it's your juices. Thinking of how you taste makes his cock twitch, and he starts up with his pounding thrusts again, grunting under his breath and clenching his jaw.

Satoru's got an awful breeding kink. He once told you at a Christmas party that he hoped to start a family one day. Now suddenly as his orgasm works up with each thrust, he thinks back on your response;

"Me too, I'd love to have a big family."

He groans and twists your words in his fantasy; "Cum inside me, Satoru! Gimme your babies!"

"Fuck." he hisses, cumming hard inside the fleshlight.

Once isn't enough, he keeps filling it until he works up a sweat and his cock tires out.

After cleaning his cum out the toy, he washes his face in the bathroom and leans over the sink, shaking his head at himself for thinking of you saying such lewd things.

****

Fact: Satoru sleeps naked.

When passing the mirror in the mornings, he rubs his eyes and takes a moment to check himself out. He flexes his abs, and then a raunchy fantasy brews in his mind;

What if she rode my abs? Could I make her cum like that.

"Oh my god." he mutters out loud, rubbing his face in annoyance at his own horniness.

He slides on his sweatpants without underwear — cock too big, you know, gotta let it breathe without underwear. And he goes to the kitchen to make an super-sweetened coffee.

But his boner is annoying him. It stands up, making a bulging tent out of his sporty sweatpants.

Abandoning his coffee, Satoru gets his fleshlight and tapes it to the kitchen countertop, and squirts lube into it until it oozes out. He likes it sloppy.

Still thinking hard about the fantasy of you riding his abs, he lubes his abs up and caresses them slowly, feeling up and down his chest and tweaking his pink nipples for a bit before paying his cock attention.

"That's it, ride my abs. I know you like them."

He'd love to see you humping on his stomach like it's your pillow. As he slides into the fleshlight and slowly pumps in and out of it, he wonders how you touch yourself. Do you use toys, or your fingers? Do you take your time?

Pressing his two palms flat on the kitchen countertop, Satoru starts fucking the fleshlight harder and harder until the squelching sound is loud enough to reach his ears.

He's starting to think more deeply about you — how soft and warm your cunt must feel. How it would squish under the weight of his heavy cock. He'd definitely slap his cock onto your tummy to show you how much cock you were about to take inside.

Without thinking, he brokenly moans your name as he cums hard.

****

One night, you're on a call with Satoru. He lays back on his bed, long legs stretched out. Even though you're talking business stuff, the sound of your voice gets him hard and he rolls over — soft grunts carry through the phone to you.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Moving around. You were saying?"

As you keep talking, Satoru starts subconsciously humping his pillow.

"Ugh, fuck..."

"What was that?"

"Sorry, got a cramp." he lies, sensitive cock twitching against the pillow.

He humps it harder and harder, sometimes slowing or stopping to reply to something you say.

"Are you okay? You sound like you're breathing heavily."

"Yeah, just... working out."

"... what's with you and working out so often? Didn't you work out in your office the other day? Freak." you giggle.

Your giggle makes his dick throb. He smiles guiltily.

"I've just been enjoying myself lately... um, with exercising." he speaks, voice sounding oddly sultry.

He keeps sliding his cock back and forth on the pillow. You return to the previous topic of grading problems, and he listens intently.

"What do you think, Satoru?"

He lets out a squeaky grunt that could easily be excused as one of those noises you make during exercise.

"Couldn't hear you, c-can you repeat that?"

"(blablablagradingsomethingsomething) Satoru." he hears you say his name at the end again and it brings his orgasm closer.

He nearly chokes as he swallows. "Yeahhh that sounds g-good... so good. Ugh, fuck."

"Satoru?"

He cums so hard hearing you call his name. As his cum spurts out, he pretends like nothing's happening and keeps talking to you in a shaky voice. A few seconds pass and he speaks a little more normally.

"Must be some work out routine to make you swear like that." you joke, voice suggesting that you knew exactly what he just did.

"Uh... y-yeah." he acts a fool. His face burns red hot realizing that he just possibly fucked up big time.

"Well, you're probably all sweaty and gross. Why don't you go shower and I'll call you back?" you suggest.

His heart beats hard and he cringes at himself. "Yeah, I think I'll go do that..." he looks down at his cum staining pillow. "... wish you could join me." he mutters under his breath.

"Wow," you giggle. "I didn't think you liked me in that way."

He grins, cheek squishing against his phone screen. "Sorry for being a perv."

"Not at all. I like the attention you give me."

His heart flutters. Well since the mood is set, he thinks, maybe he should prod and see how far he can take this.

"Do you think of me when you're alone in bed?" he asks.

When you hesitate to reply, he gets a little nervous.

"More than I'm willing to admit." you reply.

He smirks. "Oh yeah?" he flusters you with his deepened voice. "What do you fantasize about?"

"Mmm, come find out." you tease.

His boner is sticking up, begging for some relief.

"... I'm hard."

"Yeah, I'm wet."

"Uh... do you mind if I...?"

"Exercise?" you joke.

He giggles guiltily, "Yeah."

"... why don't we do it together?"

He widens his eyes and blanks for a second.

"You wanna touch yourself with me?" he asks in disbelief.

"I am already." you reply.

He chokes up, "Oh."

"So... what exactly were you doing earlier?" you ask suggestively, rubbing yourself through your panties slowly.

Satoru hums, "You wanna know my exercise routine?"

"Haha, yeah..."

"... I was just fucking my pillow. I never usually do that unless I'm really sensitive."

"Oh, so my voice got you sensitive?" you tease.

"Maybe." he replies breathily.

Precum beads out of the tip of his cock, enough to make a squelching sound as he jerks his hand only up and down the first few inches of his cock.

"... are you going fast or slow?" you ask.

"Kinda fast..."

"... okay, then I'll go faster, too."

Satoru listens intently, desperate to hear you moan. When he puts you on speaker, he can hear how wet you are.

"A-are you using a toy?" he asks, hearing some sort of thrusting action through the phone.

"Yeah... I'm trying to hit my G-spot but it's hard. Wish you could come help me." you pout and he can hear that cute pout.

"Shit, I'd love to. H-hold on a minute, will ya sweetheart? I wanna use my toy too. Keep touching yourself, don't stop."

Satoru hears your soft noises as he reaches over into his bed-side table drawer to fish out his toy and lube.

He hastily lubes up the fleshlight and slides into it. "Fuck..."

Biting on the hem of his shirt, Satoru exposes his flexing abs as he fucks his fleshlight loud enough for you to hear. He lazily tugs his shirt off with one hand, never stopping his thrusts.

"Satoru, I'm really close already..."

"I-it's okay. I can cum q-quick if you just say my name."

You can hear him pounding into the toy harder when you start moaning his name. All he needs to tip over is for you to announce your orgasm, and then he lets out a low growl and rolls his eyes back, releasing a hot load of cum.

His balls are squished up against the entrance of the toy as he stuffs every inch inside. And then oops, the poor toy breaks.

"Haha, fuck." you hear him

You ease out of your orgasm state and come back to reality. Oh, did you just have phone sex with Gojo Satoru?

"What happened?" you ask.

"I broke my toy." he replies smugly.

You laugh, "Oh, that's unfortunate." you say, "Well, if you need a new toy come pick me up tomorrow and take me out on a date."

"Wow."

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

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pearlymel · 5 months ago

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𓏲 ˖. sum. Neuvillette has this urge to show everyone you are his. And also to worship you as his beloved wife.

Warnings: NSFW, fem!reader, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, breeding, creampie, mentions of children, mention of petnames (Mon amour, Mon cœur, honey, etc.).

Wc: 2k

Notes: to my bestie who knows who they are, if you see this, no you didn't (you're blind you just don't know it.)

You feel like you're resting above the clouds with how comfortable you were in Neuvillette's arms, cradling you like you were the most precious thing, savouring each featherlight caresse of his hand around your thighs and stomach.

His face was buried in your hair, both the strands of your hairs mixing colours into the most beautiful shades and textures. You're too sleepy to listen to his soft whispers, but you can hear him talk... about some baby...

Baby... Wait, baby? He was referring to you, right? Surely.

"Wouldn't it be nice?" His soothing voice snapped you out of your daze, your body rolling around to face him. "Sorry, i wasn't listening." Your lips curl downward, which makes him kiss your sleepy eyelids with a soft chuckle.

"My apologies, i was discussing a certain fantasy to myself... How it would be lovely to see our little ones one day being in our arms."

It takes you a hot minute for his words to soak in. You blink twice, part your lips slightly in shock with the gears in your head moving ever so slow, "Honey, it's a lovely thought. Are you serious about this?"

He nods, “the satisfaction I feel at the thought of everyone realizing that you’re carrying my child makes me want to throw all my propriety out the window.” His hands moved down to your hips and he slowly rolled you onto your back, with him now on top. He kept a firm grip on your hips as he laid himself between you, his head resting on the area where your neck and shoulder met.

“I’m aching,” he muttered. “To see you bear our child, dear one. To fill you up completely.”

"To be filled?" You swallow thickly, the air was suddenly getting hotter, or was it just the heat of this summer that's making your neck all warm?

“Filled up to the brim, mon amour.” he spoke so softly, it was criminal to even have a sweet voice while speaking such words.

"A little vulgar, coming from the Iudex." You fail to bite back the urge to tease.

“My lady,” he spoke in a low, gruff tone this time, lifting his face to lazily kiss your jawline. “You of all people should know how you manage to make me lose my composure." Neuvillette muttered while peppering your skin with the marks of his lips.

All this baby talk was surely rubbing off you, and surely it wasn't because of his sweet talking or that you were ovulating...

"I need you." It was your turn to whisper, fingers finding their way to brush his hair and to wrap your arms around his neck. He continued peppering your neck with soft, sensual kisses, his hands slowly starting to caresse under your thighs, playing with the elastic band of your panties under your oversized shirt, tempted to just rip them off you.

"Are you trying to tempt me to take you right now?"

"Yeah?" You bat your eyelashes innocently at him, "i want you to fill me up like you said."

Oh, archons.

Neuvillette visibly shivered as he heard those words — your smile was as innocent as a lamb’s, yet the sultriness of your voice spoke of nothing but sin.

He claimed your lips in a deep, bruising kiss, his tongue seeking entry and exploring the sweet confines of your mouth. Neuvillette’s hands roaming across your body again, but this time they were more assertive — desperate, almost.

He wanted you. Needed you. In the rawest, most primal way possible.

"We can always go slow, no rush." Neuvillette relaxed a little at your words, his breath shuddering as the tension slowly left his body.

“Slow it is, then.” He murmured against your skin, as he slowly, painstakingly began to move himself down your body, pressing kisses down the expanse of your stomach as he continued to trail his way down. “You tell me when to stop if it hurts, alright?”

"Mhmm," you smile lazily at him while he looked up at you from his spot between your legs, his expression a mix of both tenderness and hunger. One tug down, and your panties were down to your ankles. His lips began trailing kisses up your inner thighs at first before licking a long stripe along your slick folds, and you were already trying your hardest not to crush his head with your thighs, even when that's all he'd ever want.

And when his tongue starts flicking and sucking on your already sensitive clit, like he was practically making out with your pussy, treating it with such gentleness and care, is when you also start being more vocal.

He made sure he was never hurried because this was an intimacy act he enjoys having the pleasure doing with you.

Neuvillette would occasionally glance at your face, watching your expressions closely for even the slightest hint of discomfort, but your face was only twisted in pleasure, eyes half-lidded while you panted softly as you stared up straight at the ceiling. It fills him with pride knowing you enjoy this just as much.

You don't notice how your fingers weave through his hair, not yet pulling, more like pulling him back so you could grind against his face. He was more than happy to accept your invitation, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he moved his lips closer to your core.

He began to move his mouth in earnest at the sound of your moans from above, his tongue working with determined flicks, sucking harder so he could finally taste the reward of your honeyed essence.

"S-so good to me—" you start panting heavier now, your hips rubbing against his mouth, and he found it impossibly alluring — the knowledge that you were deriving such pleasure from his mouth alone was driving him mad. To the point that it was hard to try not to hump against the bed mattress with how painfully tight and uncomfortable his pants felt.

Your husband wanted — needed — you to come. He wanted to feel you unravel on his tongue. He intensified his assault on your core, his lips, tongue and mouth working in tandem, determined to draw out every drop of ecstasy from your body.

"A-ah, wait—" your thighs twitch together when he starts sucking harsher on your swollen clit. You felt your throat already dry up, how you were on the verge of tears when you finally came with a shuddering breath.

Neuvillette took in every second of your climax, groaning in satisfaction as he felt you come undone under his ministrations. His mouth continued to work against you as you came down from your climax, greedily licking and tasting you as he continued to draw out the last throes of your orgasm.

His face emerged from between your legs, the evident glisten on his face from the slightest light from outside was enough to make you breathless.

"the sweetest treat," he murmured, his voice low and huskier than before as he began to make his way back up to your face. "So pretty, coming all on my tongue.." You don't say anything but bring a hand to the back of his head and pull him in for a sweeter kiss.

Finally.

He leaned in to meet your lips, groaning against his mouth at the taste of you that still lingered on his lips. He quickly deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entry as he claimed your mouth in another romantic dance.

Neuvillette was all too happy to satisfy your hunger, He was like a man possessed, as if he was trying to devour you whole — his kisses were hot, hungry, and full of want.

You helped him off his tight confinements so fast next, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool air hit his weeping flushed tip.

Not wanting to wait any longer, he inhaled sharply as he slowly, deliberately began to push himself inside you — his eyes fixed on your face, watching closely as your face contours everytime his fat tip would inch in your hole.

He let out a long, low moan at the sensation, his arms shaking as he held himself up above you, "so tight..." He continued to ease himself inside of you, every inch seemingly drawing out another low groan from his lips. It took all of his willpower to keep his pace slow and gentle, he was restraining himself, trying his damndest to go slow for your sake.

"s- so good," you whimpered, back arching off the bed, fingernails marking crescent on his skin while your other hand tore the bedsheet off the mattress from how much you were twisting it.

He was losing it. every sound and movement you made was driving him wild. He lifted one of your legs, holding it against his hip as he continued to push inside of you, deeper, deeper, making you unintentionally clamp down around him with each welcomed inch of his cock.

"H-hold on," he panted, his voice a low, strangled hiss, "don't... don't do that, or I'll... I'll..." He trailed off, holding your thighs in a bruising grip to ground himself from spilling too quickly inside of you, and he could, but he would never leave you unsatisfied.

"you okay, Neuvi?" You try teasing him a bit, this time tightening around him on purpose. His entire body shuddered violently at your action, a strangled moan escaping his lips as you tightened around him again like a vice. His hips instinctively jerked forward, seeking friction against you, and his control snapped.

"Mon cœur, you're teasing me..." he uttered in a hushed tone against your ear, "you're trying to drive me mad, aren't you?" You start to slowly rock your hips back and forth against him, taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together. "I'm just trying to please my lover." You hum back.

"I'm trying so hard to be gentle and patient... and you're not helping—mhm, at all."

"It's okaaay. Don't be gentle."

His restraint finally snapped, Neuvillette let out a low growl as he grabbed your hips and slammed himself into you. The sounds your moans and whimpers of pleasure were like music to his ears, he could vaguely feel your nails scratching down his back, the pain only adding to his ecstasy as his continues ramming into you like a starved beast.

Neuvillette's strokes would be powerful, rough, bordering on brutal, as he sought to breed you with his seed. He would grip your hips, holding you steady as his cock throbbed with every thrust. nothing but ragged pants and grunts filled the air, his body straining with the effort of holding back his release, he was close, so close to finding his release, but he needed to watch you fall apart first.

He let out a growl as he felt your teeth sink into his skin, his cock continuing to kiss the deepest and sweetest parts inside of you, making your eyes instantly roll back. his pace becoming brutal as he slammed into you relentlessly, his voice nothing more than a ravaged whisper against your ear.

"Come for me, love. Let go."

As he felt you come for him with a strangled cry of his name, he followed after, burying his face deep into your neck as his own release came over him, a thick load shooting straight into your womb, it's so much— creamy ropes of cum that quickly filled you to the brim.

It was hot and dizzying.

with his seed slowly seeping out of you, he immediately tried pushing himself deeper into you, if that was even possible, keeping it all plugged in, "S- so much for you, my sweet." He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he comfortably laid on top of you, his other hand tracing down to your hips and belly.

"shall we start thinking of baby names, hm?"

Do you guys think he moans in french (sorry)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #Neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin smut #neuvillette smut #genshin impact smut

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yawnderu · 1 year ago

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Captain's Wife - John Price & TF141 x Reader

work starting to feel like I do belong in the kitchen 💀so here's some Price domestic stuff to keep me going until Friday so I don't lose my mind.

Content: small drabbles, fluff, domestic!Price, vouyerism, John ''I share my wife'' Price, TF141 x reader.

I actually think about being Price's housewife quite a lot. Being a cute little thing he has waiting for him back at home, a domestic life for the first time ever, something he never even thought was possible.

He bought big house in the British countryside, just to make sure you're free from all the stress city life brings. Any hobbies you may have he fully supports and funds, giving you extra spending money on the side despite knowing you don't usually spend it, having all your needs and interests taken care of by him.

This man spoils you rotten without you even asking, having savings for years before he even met you and a good salary as a captain in the SAS. Anything you even glance at when you're out with him at the mall? Bought for you with no hesitation at all. Jewelry, clothes, lingerie; you don't lack any of those things when you're with him.

Any affection you miss while he's deployed is given to you once he's back, his fat cock filling you up in different positions, despite how tired he might be, he always has the energy to fuck his darling wife good. He always puts your pleasure first, making you cum with his fingers and tongue before he even thinks about putting his dick inside. His efforts don't come without rewards, of course, and it has become one of his favorite things to see you down on your knees, praising his thick cock and heavy falls, praising him.

Being a Captain comes with sharing many things with his boys- from gear, to his wife. The first time you're introduced to the boys, the thought of straying doesn't even cross your mind, fully loyal to your husband and simply happy to meet the boys he considers his family. It isn't until Price has you sitting on his lap with your legs wide open, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of you in front of the younger men that the thought of having someone other than him hits your brain.

John doesn't miss the way your eyes linger on the younger men. Soap shamelessly has his dick out, stroking up and down slowly, basking in on the sight of his captain fingering your soaking cunt. Gaz is more subtle about it, though eventually he can't ignore his boner, pulling out the prettiest dick you've ever seen and stroking it with more enthusiasm than the others, free hand massaging his heavy balls, begging for release.

Ghost is the one who takes the longest to give into it, ignoring his painful boner being strained by his jeans up until John is fucking you. The sight of your attractive body bouncing on his captain's cock is too much for him, legs spreading wider on the couch to adjust his boner until his hand hesitantly starts to rub his length over his clothes, shamelessly thinking it's him the one fucking you.

And that fantasy becomes a reality soon enough, once you're fucked-out and your cunt is ready to take more, nice and wet for the men he trusts the most. He has rules for it, of course. They can't fuck you without a condom, anything you feel uncomfortable with is off limits, and if you show any signs of discomfort, they have to stop. Soap only whined about not being able to fuck you raw, earning him a look that got him to shut up immediately.

Gaz is a gentle lover despite how excited he was, eating your cunt out nice and slow, plump lips latching onto your clit while your hand gently pushes the back of his head closer, a teasing ''patience, love.'' escaping his lips as he lines up the tip of his cock to your entrance, slowly pushing in and giving you time to adjust to his thickness before he's fucking into you slowly, making sure every thrust hits deep inside you. He switches positions a few times, settling in for the one that makes you moan louder, hands holding onto your hips as he fucks into you from behind.

Johnny is more eager, more... youthful, just happy to be able to fuck you. He'd never admit it, but he's had his eye on you ever since he first met you, wishing he was as lucky as his captain. He eats you out for the longest, messily sucking and licking all over your cunt, lips latching onto your clit, tongue swirling over it, your moans encouraging him to go for longer even when his tongue is tired. He's on his knees in front of the bed, one of his hands busy jerking himself off and stopping right when he's about to cum just by tasting you. H's not enthusiastic about putting a condom on, though he quickly forgets about his annoyance once he's balls deep inside you, hands holding onto your waist as he fucks into you, fast and deep.

Ghost is the only one who doesn't eat you out yet, being slightly uncomfortable about the whole thing and about being watched. John knows Ghost ever since he was Simon, so he tells the boys to go clean up while he too leaves the room, making sure to be within earshot in case anything happens, despite knowing he can trust Simon with his life. He makes up for it by fingering your cunt, long digits sinking into it slowly, brown eyes fully focusing on your expression to make sure you're enjoying every second of it. It takes a while before he fucks you, condom rolling down his thick length and making sure you're all nice and wet before hesitantly pushing in, holding you in a nice missionary while he thrusts in and out, his massive body caging you in and making you feel safe. The mask goes up halfway, giving you sloppy, inexperienced kisses as a reward for taking him so well. Simon is a talker when he's close, face seeking shelter into the crook of your neck as he praises you for being so good for him, for taking his cock so well and making him feel good.

Once the boys are gone, Price runs a bath for you, asking you if you enjoyed yourself and if you'd be interested on doing that again in the future. He presses gentle kisses to your forehead, warm hands washing your body with love and care, allowing you to fall asleep in his arms even when you're in the bathtub. He dries your body and puts you to bed after changing the sheets, a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

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mywritersmind · 2 months ago

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SLIM PICKINS - LN4

summary : in which y/n is over her pathetic love life and lando sees an obvious way to fix her situation. inspired by slim pickins by sabrina carpenter ifykyk😘

listen up : no warnings !! i don’t write smut so sorry lol

word count : 600

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“I’m literally going to die alone!” I groan and lay back on my bed, on the phone with my friend.

She laughs on the other side, “You’re so dramatic!”

“I am not! These are just my thoughts.” She makes the point that my phone is constantly blown up by men, “Yes well they’re all douchebags! All I want is a boy who’s jacked and kind!”

“What about Lando, then? You always complain but Lando Norris is the definition of that!” I groan into the phone. My infamous best friend, the subject of my fantasy’s and utterly and completely off limits.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, many times. “No chance.”

“But why!?”

I sigh, “He’s just… my friend! I don’t even see him like that.”

I hear her scoff dramatically, “You don’t see him as jacked or kind!? Do we need to get your eyes checked?”

I hang up.

⋆༺

There’s a boy in my room an hour later, laying next to me after putting out in five minutes. I text Lando to call me with an ‘emergency’ so he’s gone as quick as possible.

Lando laughs over the phone, “That bad, huh?”

I fall onto my bed, screaming into my pillow, “He didn’t even know the difference between their, there, and they are.” I hear his laugh on the other side, biting my lip from screaming even more because he sounds so damn sexy.

“Sorry love…” fuck, that nickname. “ever tried it with a girl? It’s fun.” He’s joking to boost my mood but I just frown.

“I think the Lord forgot my gay awakening.”

⋆༺

I walk with Lando to the elevator, drinks and shopping bags in hand, “So, what? You’re just gonna keep moaning and bitching until a man falls into your lap?”

“The good ones are all deceased or taken.” I shrug, “So yes. I mean seriously- what’s a girl to do? Every man is evil and lazy but I gotta get off somehow.” Lando chokes on his drink.

“Shit, Y/n. Tell it to me straight then.” I roll my eyes as we exit the elevator. We walk his room, swinging my bags and throwing them onto the couch, “So what is your type then?”

I plop down on his bed, laying back and staring at the ceiling, “Any nice man who breathes? Someone who’s jacked and kind!” He laughs, “I’m serious!”

He’s still laughing, I throw a pillow at him, “Come on!” he shakes his head.

“Lando!” I watch him shake his head and throw the pillow back. “What is so funny?”

“I’m jacked and kind.” He shrugs, unscrewing his water bottle top and taking a swing.

I lean back on my hands, tilting my head to look at my best friend, “Lando.”

He's still drinking water when he pulls up his shirt, revealing his *ahem* jacked body. Fuck.

Look, seeing Lando’s face and arms every day is enough to keep me up at night. But this? THIS!? I’m fucked. At least I wish I was (by him).

“You’re staring.” He teases, dropping the fabric and putting his water down. I am staring. And I do not have any plans to stop.

“Lando.” I warn as he steps closer, a slow smirk forming on his face.

“Y/n.” He mocks me in that sexy voice he does. “Say the words, love. I’m there.” His knees knock mine, he’s standing right in front of me and looking down with those green eyes of his.

“Please.” I whisper, and he’s on me in an instant.

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando imagine #slim pickins #sabrina carpenter

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leakyrocktarot · 17 days ago

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What you want to hear Vs What you need to hear

Warning: This reading can and will be extremely blunt and a little harsh. Viewer discretion is advised.

DISCLAIMER: Take what resonates and leave what doesn't. If you are seeing this, you were meant to see it. How you take these readings and what you choose to do with them is entirely up to you.

If you need any extra help, a place to talk and heal, somewhere to just scream into the void, feel free to reach out!

Pile 1

What you want to hear:

It's going to be easy, it'll come to you naturally. What is yours will always come to you and will never pass you. All you have to do is be in a receiving energy.

What you need to hear:

So- here’s the thing, don’t fault yourself for believing this. Many tarot readers would often say these same few things creating a false sense of security, a false sense of hope. The truth us, none of us ever really considered just how much work is put into our dreams, our goals, bringing them into reality. That’s why it’s easier to fantasize about it, dream about that golden opportunity falling into our laps. Now I won’t be the one to say it doesn’t happen like that- but I will have to say, it’s very rare. The thing is, the universe only presents you what you are prepared for, and you have to really question whether or not you are actually prepared to handle the weight of your dreams.

We think about all of the nice feelings, the good times, the positive sides to our goals but never do we truly consider the weight, the gravitas of the negative aspects of our goals and this is where you, my dear reader are currently at. There are a lot of hidden aspects in this world, things that people wouldn’t consider and I hope this exercise can help you come to terms with what you are truly asking for. Can you handle the physical workload, numerous late nights? What about your mental health? Are you capable of expressing yourself or are you shoving your pain deep down until they explode? What about your physical health? Are you eating enough? Staying hydrated?

Every aspect of this goal of yours needs to be analyzed. What skills will you need for when you achieve your goal? Work on those. It's going to take a lot of actual effort, a lot of work and it will not be easy at every step but it will get easier and be worth it. You have to put in the physical work, but also the mental and emotional work to be able to handle those negative aspects. Heavy is the head that wears the crown and your head is heavy, but you will succeed if you put in the actual work from the moment you see this.

Pile 2

What you want to hear:

You lover is coming in, just around the corner, maybe in a few days, your true twin flame.

What you need to hear:

Let it go, it isn't going to happen because you aren't doing what you're supposed to be doing and taking yourself and your life seriously, you are living in a fantasy, living in your head and waiting for a knight in shining armour and it’s not gonna happen. You are severely neglecting your life, your health, your mental well being because it is easier to live in the delusion that it is to face reality. It’s like you wake up, check out of life for the day to live in your head with prince/princess charming, and then clock back in at night to dream about your perfect fantasy person. Well, because of that, they aren’t coming in.

They are not going to come in because you cannot handle it. You cannot bear the concept, or even fathom what it would actually be like because you’ve convinced yourself it will happen in only one specific way. Listen, you don’t even have the emotional maturity to handle your dream relationship, you will 100% sabotage your own relationship because you wouldn’t even know how to appreciate it being right in front of you and will choose to live within your daydreams even if they were in your face. You will not be grateful, you won’t have gratitude, you won’t be able to pull yourself from the fantasy that you live in your head enough to actually pursue this person. The universe does not give you what you want just because you want it, you have to work for it, show the universe that this is something you can manage because it’s not about you. Especially since it’s not about you. Have you thought about how your future person would feel? This isn’t to get you to be self conscious in your flaws and insecurities, it’s to get you to face the real world and face reality and start being the person you wish to be in those dreams. The universe will not plop your person on your door step because the universe wants whats best for you and your person. Your person deserves to be noticed and loved as much as you dream about them loving you. If you cannot handle actually having a relationship, the universe will not give you one. You have to do your shadow work, you need to heal your wounds, you have to stop avoiding the real world because you’re dooming yourself to chasing a fantasy that will not come. This is dangerous because it is truly bordering on the level of spiritual psychosis here, pull back before it’s too late.

Pile 3

What you want to hear:

You are wealthy, You are rich, You are that bitch.

What you need to hear:

You can be a little bit of a pompous bitch and you need to tone it down. These affirmations are sending you down a path of delusional grandiose view of yourself, you need actual affirmations and not lies. You can't fuel yourself on coffee and crystals. Lol, let me tone it down a bit. The affirmations you are doing are- ok, but they are subpar. They barely scratch the surface, it’s like trying to go deep sea fishing but using a hook with a buoy attached to it. You are barely getting deep enough to get that fish, leaving you starving.

Take some time to sit with yourself, what is it that you are struggling in? What are you avoiding, what is the feeling you are trying to suppress with these affirmations? Let's do an exercise, your affirmation of choice is “I am rich”, the reason why you are saying it is to affirm to yourself and to also manifest financial wealth, but why? Maybe you are struggling to pay your bills, maybe you have debt you wish to pay off. Telling yourself you are rich is not helping, it’s not affirming anything, it’s lying to yourself. Words are powerful, the brain itself, cannot tell a joke from the truth therefore it will believe whatever we think to be fact and if you believe that you are rich without the funds to back it up, you are creating a dangerous dynamic of you overspending because you believe you are rich and can afford it. This is dramatised to emphasise the point.

If you want to actually manifest financial abundance, you have to have the mindfulness to handle it as well. Why do you think when people will the lottery they blow all of their money so quickly? Because when you go without for so long, living in survival mode for so long, the adrenaline of not having to worry overrides everything and you end up buying everything you’ve ever wanted until you have nothing left, now you are back at square one and probably in an even worse position. You have to affirm the mindfulness, instead of saying “i am rich” say “I am resourceful, I am abundant, I receive wealth infinitely” This not only calls the wealth to you, but it sets the notion that you are mindful and know how to wield that sword. You can’t be “that bitch” by lying to yourself, you can’t copy the look and vibe of Regina George and go around acting like her and call yourself Regina because you aren’t her, you’re copying her, you don’t actually have what she has. Find a way to actually make it yourself.

Pile 4

What you want to hear:

You are doing so well, you are doing amazing and nothing needs to change

What you need to hear:

Go eat a fucking bagel, put some food in your stomach and drink some water before you pass out and meet god. You are doing well in many aspects except for self care. Self care is not just running a bath with nice smelling bombs and cute candles and a cup of tea, self care is treating yourself like a human that is deserving of living, act like you are a parent to your body and see what I mean. Choose yourself bitch. you spend your days fantasizing about fancy foods only to eat a small bag of chips and call it a day. nourish yourself.

You are quite literally running on fumes and I’m surprised you even have enough cognitive capability to pick a pike and read this message. You cannot keep overworking yourself, under-nourishing yourself and expect things to be great for you. How the hell are you supposed to receive an award and give your thank you speech if you can barely hold your eyes open long enough to see where you are. I know you want to be successful, I know you want to experience the wealth and stability, but what use is any of it if you can’t even allow yourself to enjoy it? It is okay to take a nap, it is okay to rest yourself, it is okay to have an off day, it is okay to be bored, it is okay to do nothing. You don’t have to constantly be on your feet, always be doing something to earn the right to existence. You need to find the calm in the slow, find the calm in just existing and being you. You truly do not need to be doing a million and one things, it’s truly okay to be bored because boredom spurs creativity. How do you think we were able to create all of the things we have in this world? How they discovered cheese, how they created music? Because they had nothing else to do.

You can take a break right now and I promise you your life will not fall apart. This is not your cue to go and doom scroll on tiktok, instagram, twitter, shit even reddit. This is your cue to sit in silence, maybe a little bit of classical music and have a cup of tea, a bagel, a croissant, an espresso martini if you’re a fancy bitch and relax. Take a nap, do some soothing yoga, take a break from the grind culture, take a break from being productive, take a break from being stuck in the cogs of capitalism. Go out with friends, take a walk, something where you can experience the slowness of life and enjoy the world around you rather than zooming so fast through things. I see you moving so quickly through life that you don’t even stop to enjoy the beauty that is being alive.

Secret Pile 5

You know this pile is for you if: You are seeing this pile, were drawn to one or more pile, or couldn't choose a pile to begin with but still wanted to see the piles.

What you want to hear:

That career wants you too, that job wants you too, that person wants you too, the life you dream about wants you too

What you need to hear:

That career wants you too, that job wants you too, that person wants you too, the life you dream about wants you too. The things that you desire wants you too.

It is a hard world we are living in and sometimes we struggle to find the will to live, to believe that things will be better for us, to find the motivation to keep chasing our goals and our dreams. Here's the thing, the universe will always reward effort, and you are doing the best you can with what you have and the thing about the best is that there is always room for improvement. You know deep down what you must do in order to call in your dream life. You know if you want that dream person you have to heal your trauma. You know if you want that career you have to heal your fear of being perceived. The life that want you, wants you too because that life wants to exist too and it cannot exist without you at the center however, you cannot be superman without the superman powers. Your dream life, your dream person, your dream career, everything that you ever want are tied to you, and they are tied to the best version of you. The best version of you is the most authentic, healthy (mentally, emotionally), the most bold and audacious you.

You may feel discouraged, you may feel like giving up, but you've got this. Your future self wants you to keep going, to see where they are, to look back at what you've made, to be proud of yourself, and for you to experience the life the two of you created. You are doing this for your younger self and guess what? Your future self is doing this for you. The things you face, are lessons to learn, to make the experiences of the future easier to handle.

#tarot #pac reading #pac tarot #pac #intuitive readings #intuitive guidance #intuitive messages #spiritual journey #spirituality #pick a card reading #pick a picture #pick a card tarot #pick a card #pick a deck #I made this in November and forgot to post it omfg 💀

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parkjayssi · 5 months ago

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✦ PAC : TWISTED FANTASIES

what does ur future partner think about you at night? 18+

!MINORS PLEASE DNI

like & rb are appreciated

i'm a beginner in tarot so please take everything with a grain of salt

do not copy or steal my work

🖤 | pile one!

okay, pile one, seems like your fs has a thing for power imbalance when it comes to sex. they imagine you completely submitting to their will and doing it raw and wild. they'd make sure to have a safe word but definitely wants to make sure that you are a stuttering mess or they won't be satisfied because they feel like they haven't even gave you their best. they also imagine indulging you with a nice meal at restaurant or just spending some money on you before doing it. pampering you a lot is something they want to do to make this experience so much more indulging.

they seem to have a strong masculine presence, pile one, because the idea of trapping you under them and making you submit seems to be a repeating pattern here. they also seem to have a corruption kink, this isn't necessarily taking your virginity but introducing you to some new things that could elevate it. bondage is evident, blindfolds and handcuffs or ropes. as I said, definitely wants to make you feel helpless. their only goal is to make you feel the most pleasure as possible and so they'd do everything to enhance the experience, even if it's just a fantasy in their pretty little head (・ω<)

🖤 | pile two!

goddamn, pile 2, your fs really put you on a pedestal for their fantasies. they see you as this untouchable god/goddess and they feel blessed to even look at you. they think that even imagining how they treat you in bed is a sin but they still dare to imagine that doing it with you might alleviate those sins, even if it's just a bit. they really think that only you can liberate them from their dirty thoughts that they should've never had in first place. they are really attentive to your needs too, pile 2. they make sure to be gentle and not hurt you in any way.

this pile is really just soft and sweet, caring sex. they also imagine that having sex with you is a scared experience, wanting to intertwine not only your bodies but your souls as one. they also imagine you voicing your needs as they are also open to anything you'd want to do. they probably seem to be a gentle dom/sub. really precious people, pile 2 <333

🖤 | pile three!

ooh, pile 3, your fs has a really interesting fantasy. they imagine exploring new boundaries with you that they previously placed on themselves. probably trying something new that they were scared to or just did not seem interested before you entered their life. they seem to be quite assertive with what they like or dislike so this is very different from the usual self that they are.

they have this fantasy of trying positions that let you be on top and just admiring you while they sit back and relax. they want to give you this illusion of you being in control and just let you have your way for some time and then they switch up to assert themselves since, as i said, they are quite assertive, both in real life and in bed. there's also another interpretation for some of you out there, that they have this fantasy of having sex to make up, basically angry sex to let both of your frustrations out. also pile 3, if you get attracted to pile 1, there might be extra messages for you

extra : this pile gives gojo satoru from jjk vibes so ifykyk

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dollfacefantasy · 6 months ago

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Under the Influence ♡

pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

summary: when you and dick are left with an extra sedative after a mission goes wrong, you share a little fantasy of yours with him

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, intoxication kink, drugs + drinking, praise + degradation

word count: 3k

tags: @nexysworld @gor3-hound

"I wonder how it feels."

The simple sentence falling from your lips was the start of this whole thing. Dick turned to where you sat at the bar next to him sipping your drink. He raised an eyebrow, trying to determine if that was some sort of attempt at a joke.

"I don't think it's a real mystery," he says and shrugs, "We were basically gonna roofie the guy."

The two of you had been assigned by Bruce to follow a suspect potentially involved with a string of recent kidnappings. You were to incapacitate him, and then bring him to a rendezvous where he could be questioned upon his return to consciousness. Only the problem tonight was that the target hadn't shown up where he was supposed to, leaving you and your boyfriend with an extra sedative on hand.

"Yeah, I know that," you respond with a roll of your eyes, "But... I don't know. You never wonder how it would feel?"

"No," he nearly laughs at you. He struggled to see why that thought would ever cross his or your mind. Taking another swig of his drink, he can see you leaning in closer out of the corner of his eye.

"You never think about how it would feel, getting all dizzy? Drifting off and feeling totally dazed, other people doing everything for you?" you ask, your voice getting softer as your breath fans over his ear.

"No, but I'm starting to get an idea why you might," he says and glances over at you again, "You have something you wanna tell me?"

Next thing he knows, your hand is on his thigh and you're looking at him with the sweetest pair of puppy dog eyes you can manage. Your nose is close enough to brush against his own. If he had to guess, he'd say you'd had this little fantasy for a while now.

"Lemme try it, Dick. Gimme the pill," you plead, "It'll be fun. Everything'll be up to you, every thought in my head up to you."

A smirk grows on his face at your devotion. Your desire to give him so much control over you that it felt like ownership. His fingers come up to your jaw, holding you by the chin as he kisses you. It's lingering and wet. A little bit of saliva coats your bottom lip when he pulls away.

"Y'know... if you wanted to try something like this, all you had to do was ask," he says lowly.

Smiling, you peck his lips again as his hand slides past you to drop the tablet in your drink. You nip at his bottom lip before pulling back and reaching for your glass to down some more of the liquid within it. You go to put it down, but he stops you by your wrist.

"Not yet, sweetheart. I want you to drink the rest for me. You want your head to get all nice and fuzzy, don't you?" he says.

You nod while staring into his pretty blue eyes. The cup returns to your lips and the rest of the booze slides down your esophagus.

"Good girl," he croons. His amorous smile begins to reach his eyes as his voice continues to lower, his words meant for you and only you. "Let's get you another one of those before we go."

He orders one more, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. Once the bartender brings it to you, his lips find the space behind your ear and tease you there while you drink.

"Look at you, doing so well for me. You're so eager to shut that brain of yours off," he coos.

You nod again and nurse your glass until it's empty. Your head is already starting to swirl a bit, and you wonder if the blossoming arousal in your belly has any effect on it. You can't help melting into Dick's affection right now, your head floating over to rest against his. He hums in approval and nuzzles the crook of your neck.

"Feeling it already, baby? Or do I get you dizzy all by myself?" he mocks.

"Shut up," you mumble, your eyes fluttering shut. It felt like the music was slowly getting louder while your surroundings were sliding further away. Dick was the anchor keeping you from slipping away with it all.

He chuckles at your defiance and decides it's time for the two of you to head out. The drug was entering your system, and Dick didn't think it would be the smartest idea to make your exit by tossing you over his shoulder while you were knocked out.

He tucks you to his side and guides you over through the doors over to the car. He can almost see the gears in your head slowing down on the walk to the vehicle alone. You stay pressed up against his toned torso until he can get the passenger door open and deposit you in the front seat. Once he's done, he leans down, buckling you in and giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

"Such a sweet girl," he praises before heading over to his own side of the car. You lazily preen at the compliment. He can't help but laugh at how delayed the reaction is.

The drive back to your apartment feels like it only takes a minute. You don't know if that's because Dick is as eager as you are or if the sedative has already stolen your perception of time. All you know is that your eyes start to droop, and your head tilts over and bonks against the glass window. It feels nice and cool though, so you keep it there.

When he parks the car, you feel like you're still in motion. The world feels like it's spinning all around you, rotating in every direction all at once. You don't even hear his commands to you before he opens your door and you nearly topple out onto the pavement. His quick reflexes and strong arms spare you a busted up face.

He smiles as he pulls you up to stand beside him and locks up the car. You're considerably more out of it than you were while leaving. He leads you to the elevator and pulls you inside. Standing behind you, he laces his arms around your waist and rests his chin over your shoulder.

"You wanna press the button, honey?" he murmurs in your ear. His grin becomes absolutely smug as your head wags back and forth in a haphazard gesture for no. "Oh, why not? Need me to do that for you too? Silly girl, can't even hit a button by yourself anymore."

He pushes you against the wall as the elevator car starts to move. The spinning feels even stronger than before now that you're physically moving vertical. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth and tussling with your own. He can taste the liquor on you. The manifestation of your mental state.

A few seconds later, a ding sounds through the confined space. You miss it for obvious reasons, but it nearly passes Dick by too. He's so wrapped up in you, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts. But he does reluctantly pull away, reveling in how disheveled you look from less than a minute of making out.

Now he has the privacy to take you over his shoulder, and he does. He boosts you by the hips and drapes you over himself like it's nothing. You giggle too loud for this time of night. Your feet swing weakly in what are probably your distorted mind's version of kicking. He gives you a firm swat on the ass while walking down the hallway to your shared unit.

"Calm down, angel. Don't wanna drop you on your head before we get to the best part," he teases.

You laugh more, the idea of a cracked skill greatly amusing your intoxicated mind. He shakes his head with amusement and squeezes your ass cheek. As soon as he reaches the door, his free hand fishes the keys out of his pocket and makes quick work of the lock.

He kicks the door shut behind the both of you and glides through the apartment to your bedroom. You go flying onto the mattress when he flings you from over his shoulder to the soft blankets. More little giggles pour from your lips, and he takes a moment to enjoy the sight of you, his usually focused and determined girlfriend squirming on the bed and laughing her ass off at nothing in particular.

Crawling onto the bed, he positions himself on top of you.

"What's so funny, baby? Think you should share the joke with me?" he says as he leans down to kiss you again.

Your lips kiss back as best they can. His shaggy black locks brush across your forehead as he deepens the exchange, picking up where you left off in the elevator. You're still simpering slightly against his lips, but it doesn't stop him from keeping your head in place and absorbing you through the kiss.

"What's got you so happy, hm?" he mocks.

"You," you grin against his lips.

"Me?" he asks between smooches, feigning ignorance, "I'm the reason you got that pretty smile on right now."

"Yeah," you laugh and boost your head up overzealously for more.

He pushes you back down and kisses you harder before pulling back completely and gazing down at you. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing over your skin. You return the look with glossy doe eyes, only somewhat aware of everything that's going on.

"Are you sure it's me? Or is it my kisses?" he asks teasingly, "I know how you love kissing."

"Those are the same thing," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, are they? My mistake, princess," he says and ducks down to give you more.

He can feel your limbs wriggling underneath him, trying to slip out of your clothes. It's too big a task for you right now. Your movements weren't strong or coordinated enough. All you managed to do was get tangled up in your outfit and make it look as if you were wearing a straightjacket.

"Woah, woah," he chuckles, "Let me help with that, baby. That's too hard for you right now, isn't it? Your brain can't handle all that."

With his careful movements, he maneuvers your arms out of your top, and removes your bottoms as well, leaving you in a delicate pair of panties and your bra.

"So precious," he coos as his fingertips ghost over your now bare skin.

You squirm like a virgin and smile shyly like Dick isn't your boyfriend but rather a little crush. It's now his turn to laugh at your behavior.

"Yeah, you know you're precious, don't you? Even when you're all dumb like this," he says while his fingers work away at the clasp of your bra, pulling it from your chest.

You sigh as your tits are freed from their confines. His mouth trails down your jaw, over your neck, and to your chest. He kisses your cleavage first, just massaging the mounds of flesh with tender hands. It's not long before his lips move up one of them and latch onto a nipple. He swirls his tongue around the bud and feels it harden from his efforts.

You moan and arch your back, the drug erasing the part of you that suppresses your reaction to pleasure. Your thighs rub against one another until his hands slide between them and pull them apart. He grinds himself against your center, drawing more mewls from you.

"That feeling good? You're never gonna be too out of it to understand that," he breathes before licking a stripe over your one nipple and moving to the other.

He quickly removes his own shirt so his skin can press against yours while his mouth works on your breasts. Your hips roll against his as he continues to grind. His bulge grows harder and he can already tell that the fabric of your panties is clinging to your folds from how wet you were.

His hand slips down to confirm his theory. He chuckles against your tit when he feels how slick you are. Completely soaked. His digits slide through your arousal with ease.

"We're gonna have to do this more. Who knew all it took was a few drinks and a tiny pill to turn you into a total slut," he mocks.

"'m always a slut for you," you slur and reach up to pull his hair, wanting his lips back on your own.

He indulges you and moves up again to kiss you.

"That's true. Bet you were wet before you even took the pill. Your pussy was probably dripping just imagining it," he mutters.

His fingers hook around the hem of your panties and tug them down. He then works on shoving his own pants off and releasing his stiff cock from its restraints.

"My pussy drips whenever I look at you," you say. He knows it's supposed to be seductive, but it comes out sounding like a confession. That and you burst into another giggling fit after. Either way he finds it cute.

"That's cause I've got you so well trained," he tells you as his length springs free. He pumps it while guiding it to your entrance. "She knows to always be ready for me. Even when your head can't keep up."

He slides it in you with no resistance. Your heat welcomes him readily, squeezing around him with instinctive speed. You choke out a moan from how he sinks all the way in. There was no need to go slow or tease. You were ready, and you were in no state to be teased. Your pussy squelches around him as he rocks his hips, starting to thrust. You turn your head to his own to try and bury your face against him. The pleasure felt more distant in a way, but it was still present and building with every stroke.

"There you go, sweetheart. This is so natural for you. Head empty with your cunt stuffed full," he croons, "Taking it like a perfect little whore."

You whine and nod faintly, the words swirling around the air before sinking into your head. He ruts into you harder. Your juices gush from you and smear over both of your skin while your head bobs from the momentum he's putting into fucking you.

"Dickkkkk," you whine and grab at him aimlessly.

He presses you harder down into the bed and grunts against your neck. His fingers hold your hips tight enough to leave marks. Fine with him. He wouldn't mind a reminder for the next few days of tonight.

"Surprised you can even remember my name, babydoll," he taunts.

"I'd never forget that," you babble.

He chuckles breathily at your words. They were pretty sweet to come out of someone getting pounded into the mattress. Sounds of his skin smacking against yours emanate through the room. His shiny hair becomes damp with sweat.

"My baby, all mine, yeah?" he murmurs.

No response comes from you this time. Instead, you yelp as he swivels his hips and drills into a special spot inside you. Every time he strikes it, it's like any remaining power you have to function seeps out of your brain.

"Oh, there she goes," he coos as he watches you slip away, "That's my girl."

"Dick, fuck ah-" you whimper weakly.

He nuzzles your cheek. "Don't try to talk. That's too hard for you right now. Pretty little thing like you just needs to stay quiet and let herself get fucked full."

"Mkay..." you mumble. Your expression is a mix of that stupid little smile from before and a pouty look you often took on when you got horny. He couldn't get enough of either.

"Fuck... 'm gonna cum soon, angel," he groans. You tighten up even more like you're trying to keep him inside forever.

He hisses at the sensation. Shoving his hand between your bodies, he slides his fingers over your clit, stoking the flames of your arousal to get you to explode for him.

You're not lucid enough to tell him you're close. You just let go. Your eyes flutter and your legs kick. Your heels dig into the mattress while you gasp and whine in his ear.

Once you've cum, it's like a switch flips in your brain, and it knocks you the fuck out. You're babbling nonsense for him, panting and clinging to his sweaty body as best you can while going limp. You vaguely feel him cum inside you, the familiar warm and comfy feeling of being full overtaking you.

He collapses on top of you after he releases. Waves of pleasure still course through him like aftershocks. Your bodies feel like one as your chests puff against one another's.

Eventually he climbs off of you, and looks down at you to see how gone you are. He chuckles softly as he watches you try to curl up and sleep right then and there. He goes into the bathroom and grabs a towel, returning to clean the both of you up.

You can sort of feel it. It's a gentle swiping feeling. He's so careful with you though, so gentle. He makes sure no touch startles you or hurts. When he's done, he slides a fresh pair of panties on you and pulls an old t-shirt over your head. You sway in place as he does it, and he finds your perpetual daze as cute as all the moans from minutes ago.

"Almost done, sweet girl," he murmurs as he finishes up. The words don't register exactly, but you understand them as a comfort. The low and soothing tone he used was familiar enough to you for your mind to understand it without specifics.

When he really is done with everything, he finally returns to you. You pull at him with grabby hands and curl right up to his chest, wanting to be held. He was never one to deny you normally, so there was no way he would while you were all sleepy and confused. He pecks your temple and rubs your back, prepared to baby you until the sedative has completely left your system.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson smut #dick grayson imagine #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing smut #dc imagine #dc smut #dc x reader

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