#throbbing-illusion

[universalthaumaturge]

ok i get why anthy has creature of delirium now

[phlegmboymessiah]

I just had the fright of my life (Scary)

[playfully-sadistic]

Getting yourself off again, angel? Second time today, isn't it? Or already the third, fourth, fifth? You're such a greedy, insatiable thing. Now, now, don't stop on my account - no, keep going, you're doing great.

But your touches are a little too intense, don't you think? A little too... on the nose, too obviously intended to make you come. Good little pets don't finish fast - if at all - no, they edge and edge, over and over again, until they finally get permission to let themselves go and succumb to their primitive needs. So... Lighter. Slower. No rubbing, only caressing, no fingering, only teasing your hole with your fingertips.

But first things first, fingers off entirely. Apparently, you need someone to guide you through the entire process, don't you? You're just too impatient and worked up, full of hormones and heat, to be able to regulate yourself, poor baby. Don't worry, I'll do it for you, step by step, nice and slow. Nothing makes it easier for you than having someone to order you around and tell you exactly what you're allowed to do. Now, isn't it extra fun that, even though nothing stops you from going further before I allow you to, we both know that you won't? You'll be good and behave, just for me, less even, just for a few written words, the illusion of a dom hovering over your barely clothed body and whispering sweet commands against the shell of your ear.

Touch your chest first. Even if it does nothing for you, even if you barely have any sensation in it, I want your fingers circling your nipples, your fingernails gently scratching over them, pinching them between two of them, pulling, massaging. Put on a show, as if someone was watching you. If you have some clamps around, get them, and tease yourself with them - not quite putting them on, but rubbing over your areola, using it to pinch and pull as well. Feel that, treasure? That's what you get for being patient and taking your time. That nice pulling feeling in your stomach... Yeah, that's good, isn't it? Good job. Toy with your chest and nipples some more, make them swollen, sore, red, make sure they already ache before you finally put on those clamps. If you don't own any, you go ahead right now, and order some. The most humiliating, the prettiest ones you can find. And I want you reading through this post again when they arrive, so you can properly get off to it.

Now, I'm sure by now your legs have fallen open all by themselves, mh? Revealing a soaked, hot mess in between, throbbing and begging for attention. So tempting to put your hand right in the middle of it and grope yourself, but you'll be good for me and keep your hands to yourself, love. For now, all you're allowed to do is let your fingers brush over your stomach... Drawing little circles around your belly button, long swirls that slowly go further down, ah, there's that nice feeling of your guts tensing up, isn't it? God, you're so predictable, such a simple thing. Oh, it's fine, you're merely a body in need of being fucked right now, no wonder your brain turns into simple mode.

Gently tease yourself with your fingernails along your lower stomach, before you move onto your thighs - oh, my, you're really desperate, spread them out as far as possible, and let me guess, you only just noticed now how far you've opened up, haven't you? A proper slut for the taking, good job, my angel. Touch your thighs, not the inner parts yet, just explore yourself, palms tracing your muscle, reaching up to your hip, moving onto your stomach again, where that nice, tight feeling comes back. Slowly let your fingers glide to the inner part of your thighs, where your ticklish, and it usually only works to get touched there when it's someone else's fingers, but, oh, fuck, darling, today's different, isn't it? Touching yourself so intensely, yet thoughtfully, it's really showing its effect on you, mh? That's perfect, you're doing so well, yeah, touch and tease your thighs some more, move those fingers up until...

Now you're allowed to move them right in between your legs. That feels good, hm? Finally letting your fingertips feel your own heat, swollen and twitching, feeling your own wetness, only caused by a post. Doesn't that truly show how desperately you need guidance and being made to feel utterly submissive? Don't keep those moans in, show everyone that you're such a needy, horny doll, so desperate to touch themselves. Why the modesty? Let it out. Rub yourself - slowly, dear - and feel yourself up, and know that you've done anything to this point because you followed orders, because you obeyed, because you just couldn't do it yourself and needed someone else so fucking badly, you needed someone to tell you what to do, does it feel like I'm there with you, do you like it, mh? Does it turn you on to know that I took the time writing this, for you to follow every step and work yourself up?

If you own a vibrator, you'll use it now. If it's the kind that you shove inside your needy hole, then do it, don't be gentle, don't be slow, shove it inside of you on the highest settings, as deep as it can go, and use your hand to continue rubbing. If it's the kind that you put on yourself, lay it on you, don't press it against you - we wouldn't want you to get too excited now, would we? - and shove your fingers inside of your instead. Fuck yourself. Make it good. Make it hard to not fall off the edge. Make it as rough and fast and overstimulating as you possibly can. Make it feel humiliating how fucking close it gets you that you're doing this in the first place. Feel the weight and tension that your heat brings - lean into it. Open your mouth, let the moans and whines and all those pretty noises out, don't close it to swallow, let your drool run down your chin - pant. It's getting hard to not come, isn't it? Poor baby.

Do you want me to give you permission? You do. I know. It's okay, baby, relax, keep fucking yourself open like that. A little patience.

Getting harder, mh? Feeling it in your guts already? God, you're so...

Think you can manage a bit longer?

Soon, my angel. You sound so good when you're desperate.

Almost there.

Ready, love?

Come for me, right now.

[princessbrunette]

kinktober : oct 18th

simon riley x uniform kink

simon riley was a perceptive man. infact, he’d been waiting for you to whine out the words “keep the mask on.” since he’d let you see him wear it. from that point on, he knew sometimes you didn’t just want him, you wanted Ghost too.

opposed to contrary belief, simon isn’t actually a violent, degrading, rough, villain in the bedsheets, infact — quite rather the opposite. he’ll keep a soft cotton tshirt on over his scarred built body, sometimes if he’s been off duty for months his tummy would be a bit softer, pressing against yours as he rolls his hips against you, deep husky voice calling you his girl in your ear— and you love it. it’s your simon, the man you love.

but there’s an itch, and it must be scratched.

simon, only wanting to make you feel good is more than happy to oblige. he must admit, there is that side to him, the side that wants to let Ghost take over sometimes. he see’s that side to him as a whole different person, detached, cold, only one thing on his mind and it’s getting what he wants. he likes to leave that at the door when he comes home, his worst fear being scaring you the way he’s been made feel frightened in his past. however, when you’ve caught him coming home late, not bothered to remove all his gear, large and loud as he steps through the house — he notices that it’s not fear in your eyes, rather lust.

its almost the feeling of ‘we shouldn’t’ when you approach him, looking so much smaller than usual because he just looks all the more bigger. your hand curiously traces along his tact vest, the stiff material creating the illusion that he’s even bigger, even impossibly broader than he already is and you bite your lip. he doesn’t say a word, staring down at you through the skull mask. if it were anyone else, you’d shiver — feeling like prey. and you do, but in the best way possible. knowing it was simon in there, still dressed in the dust of his enemies, cold and hard — you couldn’t help but feel your panties dampen beneath your nightgown, thighs pressing together.

“look so good.” you whisper, barely audible— and he doesn’t say a word, almost concerned when his cock starts to bloat in his pants. it was the way you looked up at him, so vulnerable and needy. he could never resist.

you eye him — the vest, the holsters, straps around his thighs, the mask, you needed him. just like this. “can you fuck me, just like this?” you request, so shy and sweet, hands still grasping him like you were worried he’d take the uniform off. simon wants to say no, doesn’t want you to meet Ghost, not ever — but his gloved hand is stroking your cheek now, his thumb tracing over your lips and he realises it’s not his decision anymore, moreso Ghosts.

“bite.” he demands quietly, the air thick and immovable with tension and you realise he’s granting your wish. you obey, biting his glove and he slips his hand out, taking the glove from your mouth and tossing it away before he’s walking you backwards through the house, towering over you, boots grazing your feet every so often until you’re at a wall and he’s looming over you, all you could see.

his touches are rough and greedy, pawing at your tits and yanking your dress up impatiently to get to where he wants, his hand disappearing between your legs to abuse your throbbing clit. “this what you wanted, hm?” you swear his voice has gotten deeper and you nod, mewling up at him, his eyes dark behind the mask. “you’re asking to get fuckin’ ruined, you know that yeah?”

you respond with a “yes!” immediately, the word bursting out of you and he realises this must be something you’d been eager to try for a long time. if that’s what you wanted, he was gonna give it to you tenfold.

“on your knees.”

[dmitriene]

cw: toxic relationship.

könig likes to create an illusion of choices for you in your relationship, to let you think that you can be responsible for where you go, and with whom you go, and that you can be responsible for your own pleasure and life, while nothing of this is held in your own hands, played by the strings like a doll.

to see the way your eyes bead with tears when he forbids you to go out for drinks with your friends at a brand new bar, he's not sure you'll be safe there, anyone can take advantage of your fragile state, dummer hase, and your friends won't be able to shield you from the dangers outside.

your plump lips pouting, tears rolling down your pretty cheeks with fat salty drops, as you say that then he can come with you, but könig ain't feeling like getting out anywhere currently, which means, you gotta strip down from this short little dress of yours and curl obediently on his lap, staying home.

könig knows better for you, knows every detail of what you like, from your favorite food to the color, every point in your body, and he knows how to make you obey him, whining softly on his lap like an adorable puppy when he makes you spend yet another evening nuzzled against his chest.

your pleasure is also in his hands, könig knows how to direct your hips and where to press to make you whimper prettily for him, gooey walls of your pussy clamping around his fat cock, tightening with gushing slick as your eyes flutter back, heat swirling in your gut, so close to cumming.

but könig denies you, easing his meaty cock out of your squelching pussy that clutches desperately to him, bright eyes crinkling as he watches the way your hole clenches, supple thighs shaking as you sob with tiny whine, looking at him with glossy eyes and clawing at his burly hands, desperate for an orgasm only he can grant you.

yet, whiny pups don't deserve to be rewarded, only to lay beneath him like a docile pet while spreading your puffy folds, letting könig stroke his veiny cock between them, coating the girth in glossy sheen and his own precum, fat tip tapping at your engorged clit meanly, until he won't coat you in the warm spurts of his thick seed.

könig makes you stay with cum sodden panties and throbbing pussy, aching badly for any attention to relieve the way you clench pathetically, but you won't get any relief until you won't understand that he just wants for you to be happy and safe, and it's gonna be in only his arms.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[crushmeeren]

thoughts on the bnha guys grabbing/pulling your hair? it just sounds so hot

keep up the work crush ♥️ everything you touch turns into a masterpiece

Hi anonnie friend! Your comment is so kind and when people send me stuff like this it encourages me to keep writing, I appreciate you more than you know! I hope this fulfills the fantasy. (ˆ ̳ , ̫ , ̳ˆ)

⋆ ft. katsuki, eijirou, shouto⋆ ⋆ﾟ꒰ FEM READER ꒱ ⋆ﾟ

master list link

Katsuki, without a doubt, would pull your hair. He’d be the man to fuck you from behind, ass in the air and face shoved into the mattress. He’d spank the hell out of you when you try to stifle your moans in the sheets. He’d chastise you, playful yet mean until your fingers curl into fists.

Doesn’t matter if your hair is down, in a braid, in a bun, whatever style you have it in, that man is forcefully lacing his fingers through it or wrapping it around his hand and yanking you up until your fingertips are all that support your weight. Your neck would be bent at an awkward angle, scalp burning and tingling but the pain would only electrify the blood in your veins and makes your pussy flutter.

Katsuki would snap his hips even harsher than before until you’re crying out his name with abandon, pure sinful noise crawling out of your throat.

The position would bully his cock into you just right each time and it’d be soon after that you find yourself resisting his pull, trying to escape the overwhelming build of your oncoming orgasm. You’d need anything to hold onto for leverage, but he wouldn’t give even an inch. He’d click his tongue and tug harder, a breathy laugh leaving him as he watches you struggle.

Your breath would get caught in your chest when he pushes inside you so roughly you’d face plant if not for the death grip in your hair.

“Katsuki!” You’d gasp brokenly. “Fuck, please please don’t stop.” Your scalp would start to throb at this point and your cheeks would be burning and hot to the touch.

“Fuckin’ pussy is suffocatin’ me baby, you’re gonna cum aren’t ya?” He’d be unbearably smug when he teases you and you’d want to bitch back but you’d have no time to reply because the coil in your belly would release and all your muscles would lock up as you cum.

Your mouth would drop open in a silent scream and Katsuki would give you a throaty moan and speed up the rhythm of his hips if only to drag out your pleasure and work you through it.

Safe to say Katsuki would really love pulling your hair.

Eijirou’s the kind of man who enjoys yanking on your hair when you’re sucking on his cock. When he thinks about how he can control the way you move and the speed at which your head bobs, he gets shivers. Granted, he’s often gentle in the beginning, when you first push his soft tip between your lips and creep down his thick shaft until you’ve almost swallowed him entirely.

He’ll delicately lace his long fingers through the hair at the base of your skull, a barely there pressure to guide you.

He’d make soft sounds of encouragement when you start to really move, fingers curled around the base because you can’t possibly fit all of him into your mouth without working up to it first. He’d watch your features pinch with concentration as your jaw started to ache, sucking obscenely when you pull back and swirl your tongue around the head.

He’d be so sweet and kind it’d rot your teeth, cooing at you while he lets you play into the illusion that you’re in control and you’d fall for it every. single. time.

At some point though you’d get tired of doing the work and you’d whine around his cock in frustration. Eijirou would laugh softly in return. He’d know what you want without words.

Then Eijirou would tighten his grip in your hair until the pain is pulsating and tangible underneath his commanding hands. He’d hold you in place and roll his hips again and again until you can comfortably take most of him as he fucks your mouth like a cock sleeve.

You’d squeeze your eyes shut, nails digging into his thighs but ultimately you’d love the way Eijirou uses your throat to make himself feel good. It’d make your pussy drool and your thighs clench together until he’d be gasping your name and jerking back to rest his cock head on your tongue.

You’d open your mouth and lock your half lidded gaze with his as stripes of his cum coat your tongue and hit the back of your throat. It’d be too easy to swallow it all and the sweet grin Eijirou would shoot you afterwards would be more than worth the sore throat you’re sure is to come.

Lucky for you the man is an overgrown puppy, eager to keep going and make you feel just as good if not even better.

This time though, you’d pull on his hair.

Shouto would specifically fixate on pulling your hair when he’s got you laid out on your back. When he’d be in between your thighs and fitting his cock snugly into your pussy.

Shouto would fuck you in such an undemanding but intense way. He’d get a thrill out of forcing you to keep eye contact with him as he brings you closer and closer to cumming. He’d love the way your lips part to gasp his name when he curls his hips a certain way. Or when your eyes would get so wide and shine with an almost panicked look to them when the pleasure gets too close to overwhelming.

Mostly, he’d pull your hair when you toss your head to the side or squeeze your eyes shut. Shouto would sneak his hand underneath your head, cradling the back of your skull before fisting a handful of your hair and tugging until your throat stretched painfully.

“If you look away from me I won’t let you cum,” he’d murmur in warning, a piercing cold trickling onto your scalp when his hand frosts over. You’d nod if you could but he keeps you motionless. Shouto watches you closely when you bite your lip in lieu of an answer. The reality is you know he’d make good on that promise if you didn’t listen and you aren’t taking any chances.

Shouto would sneak a hand down and press on the underside of your knee, bending it until your thigh is close to touching your chest, your other leg hanging loosely around his hip.

The look he’d give you then could never be called anything other than heated. His half lidded stare would be unashamed and his mouth would drop halfway open as he memorized your expression. He’d easily make you feel naked and vulnerable underneath the weight of it but it’d send you to the edge.

Shouto would lean down until your lips barely touched, waiting until your pussy clenches in response. “That’s it baby, you feel amazing. You’re about to make me cum.” His praise will get you every time and then you’d be cumming, desperately trying to keep your eyes open as you do so.

He’d follow you after a few thrusts and finally he’d release his iron clad grip on your hair, burying his face in your throat and scratch your scalp gently in apology. Your head would throb but your limbs would be jelly and you’d admit that you fucking love when he pulls your hair.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Whispers of Him

Or the shadows of Jason Todd always seem to linger. Hurt/Comfort ~2.8k words

Jason Todd's death changed you irrevocably. It was the ache in your bones, the pounding of your veins, the dull throb in your heart that never seemed to leave.

It was a weight on your mind, and it wore away at everything you were, until you weren't sure what was grief and what was you.

The doctors tried to help, the therapists and all their medications that made your head foggy and your body sluggish.

It's not like you didn't want to get better, you did, but the agonizing guilt and despair always seemed to rise in your throat.

They told you it wasn't healthy to constantly mourn, and maybe they were right. Well, they were right, but even knowing that little fact couldn't seem to help you find your way out of the sorrow in your soul.

They said that's why you started to see him. Not just in dreams or visions, but really see him. Hallucinations, they diagnosed you with, your mind and heart desperately trying to cope with a loss you shouldn't have experienced so young.

It scared you at first, seeing him around and in your space like he belonged there. Then you were excited, hopeful, that somehow they were wrong and he was alive. But then you blinked. And he was gone.

It shattered you all over again.

The second time, you were more prepared, and just as hopeful. It was delusional, you knew, to believe he was some kind of ghost, some figment of magic you don't understand. At least, then, he would be real.

(It was Bruce, stony faced and cold, who told you it wasn't possible. That Jason was really, truly gone.)

You learned to take it as it was. A comfort. A solace when you had no other.

The Jason your head conjured never spoke, but he always listened. He never got close, but he always hovered. It became reassuring, to see him in the corner of your vision while you went about your day.

Sometimes, he wore a hoodie, an ever-present sly smile painted on his face and pointed at you.

Sometimes, he wore his Robin suit, practically glowing as you rambled idly to something that wasn't really there.

Not all of the hallucinations were a relief to see, though.

Sometimes your mind would conjure him at his worst. Bloody hair. Bruised face. Torn costume. Twisted limbs.

No matter how hard you squeezed your eyes shut and willed your mind to fix it, the truth of what happened didn't change. You knew he was there. Waiting for you to open your eyes.

You always did.

Even after all the years after his death, years of illusions of him, you still haven't managed to let go.

The delusions change, as you grow older. Sometimes, your head creates visions of what he would have looked like, what he could have been if he had gotten to grow at your side.

It wasn't common, though. At least, it wasn't until last week.

The same hallucination had been visiting you on your fire escape nearly every night.

At first, you weren't even convinced he was an illusion. But he just stared at you, and when you stared back, you began to recognize him.

The same eyes that haunt your every day, the familiar, and unfamiliar, scars that cover his skin, the steadiness in his gaze, all things your brain had created for you to see before.

So you treated him like all the other visions, only noting half-heartedly that he's not completely like the other Jason's.

He's always silent, always watchful, just like others, but his appearance never changes. He doesn't exactly move like all the rest either.

He stays still, tense, careful, while the others always seem to be swaying or rocking. But he tilts his head towards you when you talk the same as they do, picks at the ends of his clothes the same way the real Jason did when he was alive.

His constant presence, always after the sun goes down, is honestly the most routine you've had in years.

You told him that, a day or two ago, and he seemed to stiffen. None of your hallucinations had ever done that before, and you told him that, too.

It's just– you really can't get over how alive he seems. You think it's somewhat cruel of your brain to have created such a perfect image of him, but you can't help but relish in it, spilling your secrets and feelings to your quiet companion.

"I think I was in love with you," You say into the cold, Gotham air. The illusion flinches at the edge of your vision, but you don't turn to look, half afraid he'll fade into nothingness in front of you.

"Maybe that's why I never really moved on," You ramble, words you've never admitted before spilling off your tongue, "We were just kids, ya know? But, you were special. Always were. Guess that's why my brain keeps doing this."

You shift your weight, almost embarrassed to be confessing to no one but yourself, "Isn't that sad? That I can't move on? People die all the time," Your voice breaks a little at your own words, misery making its way onto your face, "Especially in Gotham."

"There's no timeline on grief."

Your head snaps towards him. That– that's never happened before. They've never spoken to you, not once, not ever. He's not supposed to talk.

Your chest tightens, and you jump through scenarios, that you've been talking to some random stranger on your fire escape for a week, that you're going crazy (crazier at least) and need to be put into arkham, or that he's really Jason.

"What," You stutter out, eyes wide and locked on him.

He leans back against the wall, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, "Everyone grieves differently. What you feel isn't any less just because other people cope faster."

You blink, half expecting him to disappear, "What are you saying?"

"You're too hard on yourself," he mutters, lacing his fingers behind your head, "that's all I'm saying."

You blink again, hard, willing him to disappear this time, to show that this is all in your head. But he's still there when you open your eyes, "Okay."

You both fall silent. You want to talk, to hear his voice, to pretend he got to grow up. Maybe the two of you would sit out here like this, find safety in the mundane of just being together.

But a part of you knows it would only hurt more to pretend. So you stay quiet.

You're not sure how long you sit there, but it's long enough you start to yawn.

"Go on inside," he suggests, voice even and soft.

You nod, as much as you don't want to break the moment, to stay with the Jason that actually talks to you, to hear more of his steady, gravelly tone, you know falling asleep out here would be dangerous, "Can you come back?"

You know it's a farfetched request, to ask your own hallucination to return, but the tension leaves your body when he nods.

You tug your window open, shooting him one last glance before he calls your name.

"Yeah," You breathe out, halfway inside your apartment.

"Were– are you sure? You loved..." his voice trails off, and you think it's a bit strange of him to ask.

"I'm sure," You tell him, firm and without a hint of doubt.

He doesn't respond, but something in your chest seems to fix itself.

You thought maybe that it was some kind of breakthrough, opening up to yourself, hearing him speak. Maybe you would get better, maybe you wouldn't see him again.

But as you're getting ready to sit on the fire escape the next night, Jason, dressed in the bright colors of Robin, appears at your side.

You're strangely disappointed, as he waves at you. A part of you hoped the illusion that talked to you would come back. You slip outside anyway, Robin practically on your heels as he settles on the railing, kicking his legs and showing off his handstands.

You don't bother hiding a giggle, even if you were well practiced in not reacting to the illusions in public.

"What's so funny," a voice asks lazily.

Jason's there. The older one. But that can't be right. You've never seen two of them at once.

Your gaze flicks between Robin balancing on the railing and the man pulling himself up on the edge of the fire escape, "I– um, you can't see him," You ask dumbly, half considering making an emergency call to your therapist.

He quirks an eyebrow at you before his face grows more serious, "It's just us here. Promise."

You take in a slow breath. Us. Us implies more than you're ready to deal with. Us implies that he's real.

You're not thinking when you reach out to grab the sleeve of his jacket. He doesn't pull away, doesn't even flinch, only cocks his head at you in a way that's so Jason it nearly makes you sick.

You rub the rough leather between your fingers for a moment, grappling with the stark realization that you've been trauma dumping on this stranger, on the person who reminds you so much of the boy you lost, for the past week.

You tug a little at his sleeve, weighing the facts. Jason is dead. The man in front of you acts like him, looks like him. You've been taking your medication. Nothing worse has happened this week to have set off your brain to create something like this.

So that leaves three options. There's a random stranger letting you touch him outside your apartment window. You're actually doing so poorly that you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy. Or Jason is alive, and he hasn't felt the need to explain that to you for the past week.

You drop his sleeve. A part of you doesn't want to know. It would be easier to stay in the limbo you've created, to settle against the cold grating of the fire escape and pretend nothing has changed while you talk about your day.

The Robin your brain created waves at you again, catching your eye. He twists in the air, shooting a line that attaches to nothing before disappearing into thin air.

The man calls your name, soft and careful, as you draw your attention back to him, "You still with me?"

"I– feel kinda lightheaded," You admit, and you do. Your heart feels like it's in your throat and in your stomach at the same time. Because this can't be real, can't be right.

Jason is dead. It's been drilled into your head at every therapy session, by everyone you've ever known. Jason is dead, and you've been making him up.

So why is this Jason hooking his arm around your waist? Why is he helping you into your apartment? Squeezing you to his side when you stumble? Helping you sit on the couch as your vision gets darker and your head spins faster?

You want to cry when he brushes his fingers over your jaw, "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I don't know how to do this. I thought this would be easier."

His eyebrows knit together when you shudder, and he drops his hand, "I shouldn't have– this was selfish of me."

"Don't," You plead, panic lacing your features as you reach for him, "Don't go. Don't leave me alone."

He looks conflicted, but grabs your hand, threading his fingers with yours. They're rough, calloused. And they're warm.

It makes you hold him all the more tighter.

"I'll only make things worse," he warns you, but there's no malice in his tone, only an emotion you can't quite pick up on.

You shake your head, trying to steady yourself, "You won't. You help. You always help."

He frowns, eyes dropping to your linked hands, "I did this to you."

"No," You breathe out, squeezing his fingers.

He doesn't respond, just stares at your hands like he's scared that they'll break, like he's waiting for you to come to your senses and rip yourself away from him.

He eventually nods a little, and settles himself against the edge of the couch, "Just get some rest," he sighs out, idly tracing your knuckles with his thumb.

"I don't want to," You protest, not wanting him to disappear once you've fallen asleep, "I want– I want–" You stutter over your words.

You don't know what you want. Answers? Maybe, but it's clearly something he's not willing to give. To talk to him? Sure, but you don't even know where to begin.

"We can figure it out later," he says, trying to soothe you into sleeping.

It frustrates you, and you confront him through the heaviness threatening to close your eyes for you, "You'll leave."

He presses his mouth into a tight line, unable to deny your accusation, his thumb stilling its motions over your knuckles, "I would come back."

"And if you don't," You choke out, tense and almost afraid to ask.

"I came back today, didn't I," he murmurs, seemingly unbothered by your anxious state.

"Jason," You plead, almost begging, but you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore. You think you want proof. To know that this isn't something you're making up. To know that he's real.

He freezes at his name on your tongue, the air leaving his lungs. You have the distinct feeling that he would run if your fingers weren't curled around his.

"I would come back," he says, voice growing stronger, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, "Okay?"

"Okay," You echo. For some reason, you believe him, and that belief lets you succumb to the exhaustion that's settled over your body. You close your eyes, pushing back the gnawing feeling that falling asleep would be a mistake.

Dreams win you over fast enough. The drowsiness so heavy, you miss it when he starts to trace his thumb over the back of your hand again.

He's gone when you wake up.

You wake up dazed, the events feeling like a dream, and you inspect your apartment in a near frenzy, looking for any signs that he was actually there.

You find none.

No visions of Jason visit you that day, and neither does he. You wait on the fire escape as the sun sets.

He doesn't show.

Even as the hours grow late and the air chills, he still doesn't show.

But when you fall asleep on the cold metal, you find yourself curled in your bed in the morning. It almost makes you angry. No, it does make you angry, that he didn't wake you up.

Another part of you thinks that you messed up. Asked for too much. Told him too many things. The thought hangs heavy as you make your way to the kitchen.

You guess your brain tries to make up for it, because there's a Jason sitting at the counter and a paper bag resting in front of him.

You can tell he's not real by the way he fidgets when you walk in. So, you ignore him, more focused on figuring out breakfast.

"I got you food," he says, hesitant.

You nearly trip over yourself as you twist to face him.

"From that spot we liked when we were kids," he continues, clearly unsure of himself as he pushes the bag towards you, "I just– I don't know if you still like it, but I ordered your favorite."

"It's still my favorite," You tell him softly. The fact that he remembered, the fact that he's here and equally as unconfident as you are, it strokes at your heart, makes your anger and hurt evaporate into nothing.

He almost smiles, relaxing under your awestruck gaze.

You pick up the bag, feeling its weight in your hands grounds you as your gaze darts over him, "Are you going to stay?"

"If you'll let me," he says, voice pitching to a question.

"I– yeah. I want you to," you affirm, moving to sit next to him.

He knocks his knee against yours when you do, something so familiar it nauseates you and soothes you all at once, "We're gonna be okay. You know that, right? We'll figure it out."

He sounds confident, so self-assured that you immediately believe him. You fumble with the paper bag, pulling out your breakfast, "I know," you relent.

You eat your breakfast in between quiet, easy conversation, his thigh pressed along the length of yours.

Only one Jason stays by your side that day. His presence steady and warm and real. And for the first time in a long time, the claws of grief seemed to ease their hold on your heart.

[muzansfangs]

i’m such a slut for ukitake and age gaps 😩

imagine him lusting after the reader, who is centuries younger than him. he’s technically old enough to be her father. he shouldn’t be feeling this way about her but he simply can’t help it. especially not after finding out she secretly has a thing for older men 😏😏

(bonus points if reader is his vice captain)

The Captain’s guilt.

Starring: Jushiro Ukitake x f!reader; mention to Isane, Rangiku, Shunsui and Yamamoto;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, language, masturbation, self-deprecating, dirty fantasy, age gaps but the reader is 21+, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, shy!jushiro, struggling with feelings, unprotected sex, pussy drunk Jushiro, praise kink, dom!jushiro, sub!reader, use of alcohol, nipple play;

Plot: Your Captain is falling for you. Jushiro Ukitake, a noble shinigami, finds himself lusting after his young Lieutenant. Hiding his feelings and the effect you have on him is getting harder day by day. Your presence is intoxicating, but he tries his best not to ruin your relationship. When you end up confessing not only you are into older men, but you also have a crush on him, things take a turn. Nor you, neither him are surprised you ended up screaming his name in the middle of the night, after you offered to help him with work.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Good morning, Captain”.

Another day, another smile of yours, another boner he had to camouflage in his baggy robes, as you cluelessly waltzed into his bedroom with a silver tray in your hands to serve him breakfast. Stunning and loving, his Lieutenant, his downfall from the moral principles he had always slavishly followed. He could not control himself around you.

Whilst you knelt next to his futon, you poured some tea in a cup and blew on it to cool it down. When your eyes fluttered closed, Jushiro clenched the sheets in his hands, knuckles whitening for the firm grip as he cursed himself for wanting you. You looked like an angel, taking care of him motherly, as if you genuinely cared for him. Actually, you did, and he was aware of that. He could see it in the way you risked your life on the battlefield to watch his back, when he needed some time to rest, or in the way you looked for the best doctors in the Seireitei to get some medications for him.

If only you were older, or he was a tad younger. Souls aged slowly and, even though you were four hundred-years-old, you still looked like a young woman in her early twenties. He was much older than you. Jushiro was around, when Captain Yamamoto was a black-haired man who had recently fought back the Quincy King. He was still a kid, back then, but he was there.

He could be your father, but the flesh is weak. Or this is what Shunsui had always told him.

He was not the type to hook-up with women periodically like his best friend did. Right now, however, he really wished he had half of the guts and self-confidence the Captain of the Eighth Division had. Why? Just to have you in his arms, even briefly, a fleeting moment of bliss to let you know how ardently he desired you. Jushiro wondered if you knew he cared for you more than a Captain is supposed to for his underlings. What if you knew? What if your heart throbbed in your chest upon seeing him just like his did, when you entered his quarters?

Illusions. He was so delusional. You drove him insane. A medicine to cure his sickness, but a deadly poison to his heart. Life was not treating him kind.

“Captain?” you hesitantly said then, head tilted to the side, a knot forming between your eyebrows.

He had zoned out once again, apparently. Awesome, making a fool of himself in front of you had become his speciality. Jushiro cleared his throat, cheeks flushing as he realized you were holding the cup of tea out for him to grasp. His fingers brushed against yours, a nervous smile curving his lips upwards.

“Oh, thank you! — the white-haired man blurted out, hands wrapping around the warm cup as he shot you a grateful glance — It looks like I’m getting deaf too. It must he a pain dealing with this old man” he jested, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a small sip of it.

You chuckled, shifting onto your seat to push the tray aside “Old man? I’m sorry to contradict you, Captain, but you’re not old at all. Or, at least, you don’t look old” you said casually, watching the way the rational and placid man at your left lowered his cup from his mouth slowly, interested in your observation.

“Care to elaborate?” he asked you softly, admiring the way some rays of the sun set off the color of your hair, the features of your face, causing a warm feeling to engulf his lower abdomen. This was not good. You were there, merely complimenting him, reassuring him, and he was thinking about folding you in half underneath him like some damn Neanderthal.

A grin spread on your face, eyes straying away from his “Well, you might be older than most of the Captains and Lieutenants around, but you are a fairly handsome man. — you said, cheeks warming up as you tried to be discreet about the topic — I heard a lot of women praising your appearence, not just your charisma”.

The world seemed to stop revolving for a few seconds, but when you decided to add some other words to your already fluttering note, Jushiro wished the blanket was tick enough to conceal his pulsing cock from your attentive gaze.

“And I agree with them”.

You agreed. You thought he was handsome! You, the pretty girl he loved, the girl who was making him question his morals, the sweet girl he wanted to spend every night with really thought he was handsome. He felt lucky. His pale complexion left space to pinkish hues on his cheeks, his hand trembling as he settled his cup down not to spill the tea on the bed.

Jushiro leaned slightly forward, hands clumsily covering the small tent visible through the layers “R-Really? I don’t know what to say, but … Thanks, I guess. A boost of confidence every now and then is greatly appreciated” he stammered, but your eyes had been faster than his hands, your lips parting as you watched your Captain attempting to hide away his need from you.

How sweet of him. Ukitake Jushiro, your Captain, a man you admired, who had kind of watched you grow and who had trained you for years, was currently hot and bothered because of a couple of compliments. Your heart melted, a soft smile on your lips as you decided to leave some privacy to him. After all, he still had to finish his breakfast and the poor man was surely dealing with a rather uncomfortable problem right now.

You stood up, bowing your head reverentially “I have to attend the weekly Lieutenants meeting, Captain. See you later” you said, sparing him a last glance before leaving his room as normally as you possibly could.

If only you knew how reddish the tip of your Captain’s cock was, how terribly sorry he felt for feeling that way about you, how much he wished the thick white ropes of cum erupting from his member, as he jerked off were painting your tongue, instead of a tissue. He was obviously not better than Kyoraku and he was terrified at the mere thought of his cheeky friend realizing he was practically dying to be squashed by your thighs.

Spring days in the Seireitei meant peaceful nightly strolls for your Captain, but also a chance for you to catch up with your friends during your days off. What a coincidence you were sharing a few drinks with Rangiku and Isane in a pub not too distant from the park your Captain chose to spend his free time at. When Jushiro caught a glimpse of you, chattering with your fellow Lieutenants, drink in hand and exceptionally beautiful, he froze solid and decided it was better to change his path suppress his reiatsu not to draw your attention.

Two weeks had passed since the breakfast incident and he had tried his best not to create embarrassing situations in which you had to be stuck in a room with him alone. You had noticed he had been acting strangely, as of late, but confronting him about it was not a wise move. Who were you to make your Captain, a man you were devoted to, a man who carried himself with dignity, uncomfortable? Time would have fixed the situation, or you were confident things would have worked out just fine from now on.

Jushiro was about to turn his back and leave, when he heard the noisy Lieutenant of the Tenth Division ask you a spicy question “Kyoraku Shunsui. Smash, or pass?”.

He had no idea why he stood there in the shadows, feeling like a creep, as he awaited in trepidation for you to answer that stupid question. For some reason, though, it was important for him. He expected you to blend in with mass of girls swooning at Shunsui’s door and say you would have gladly shared your bed with him. He would have not blamed you for that. Every woman he knew had a thing for his best friend.

Still, you were his jewel. He did not want you to crave Shunsui. He wanted you to choose him. He was selfish, he knew his thoughts were impure and not appropriate. He was in no position to argue with you about the men you fancied.

“Pass” you curtly said, causing Rangiku and Isane to gasp and for Jushiro’s mood to brighten up again. He leaned his back against the wall, staring blankly at the Moon above him, electrified to hear you were not one of the numerous fangirls ready to kill to be Shunsui’s partner for the night.

Rangiku slammed her glass down onto the small table “Pass? Girl, you are the Dilfs’ fucker here! I expected you to throw your panties at him! What’s wrong now?” she piped out, voice too loud for your likings as you covered your face with your hands.

People were watching, obviously, snickering and shooting leering glances at your direction. Isane blushed, shaking her head as she snapped her fingers in front of Rangiku’s face to make her get a grip of herself.

“You drank too much! Lower your voice, people talk a lot!” Isane chided her, only for you to nod your head in agreement.

“I am not into Captain Shunsui, alright? Yeah, he is handsome and hilarious, but not my type” you clarified, folding your arms across your chest, causing the red-haired woman sitting across from you to squint her pale blue eyes suspiciously. She was not going to let this go easily. You were toasted.

She smirked “Oh, that’s interesting now… — she said, leaning towards you with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes — Who is your type then? Someone older than you for sure, but let’s see. Old man Yamamoto is decidely not on the list. May it be his Lieutenant, though?”.

Isane choked on her saké, coughing a few times in shock, while you kept an intense eye-contact with Rangiku “You are going to get us kicked out of this pub. Lower your damn voice” you warned her, as the waiter passing by your table gestured for you to restrain yourselves.

“Then speak up, girl. I have all night long and tons of important men to mention publicly. — she retorted, determined to make you confess who exactly was your crush — Say it, come on”.

“My Captain”.

You had not even realized you had blurted out that answer, until you saw your friends gape at you in genuine incredulity. It was not like they had not expected you to possibly fall for your charming Captain, but you had not been that reluctant to admit you had feelings for your superior. You did not imagine yourself having that conversation either, the urge to disappear into a black hole gnawing at your liver now. You took a swig of your drink, the burning sensation down your throat helping you to cope with your audacious confession.

“Have you two fucked?!” Rangiku inquired, only for the waiter to finally lose his temper and come at your table with a livid expression plastered over his face.

“You three! That’s enough, get out of here!”.

Giggling on your way out of the pub, you took the road opposite to the one where your Captain was finding shelter. Emerging from the darkness, he palmed his forehead, your words still ringing in his head like a pleasant song he could not stop thinking about. You liked him, you reciprocated his feelings. This did not make him less guilty for lusting after you, but it gave him the chance to act more confidently around you.

Enjoying the gentle breeze blowing through his long, white locks, Jushiro resumed his walk, head light as a feather, while relishing the thought of you in his embrace. For the night, he could forgive himself.

The next day came and with it some errands to run around the Soul Society. After being summoned by Captain Unohana, you were now entering your Captain’s quarters with a pile of documents to sign tightly pressed to your chest. Sighing, you were glad to find the door open. The fresh evening air provided a cool environment for Jushiro to work. It was not unusual for him to ask you to open the windows and leave the doors open on your way out.

Sitting at his desk, his haori draped over his broad shoulders, Jushiro was reading some reports about some Hollows causing troubles in the Rukongai. He would have not even acknowledged your presence, if you had not announced your arrival.

“Good evening, Captain! I’m coming in” you chimed, crossing the threshold with a small smile on your lips.

Jushiro flicked his eyes up from the papers, his lips mirroring yours in a soft smile that dropped at the sight of another stock of documents he was expected to check. Duties before anything, right?

“Ah, I see. It’s going to be a long night, I guess” he sadly realized, as you knelt down next to him and settled the files onto the desk.

“These are from the Fourth Division. — you explained, hands flatly splayed over the smooth wooden surface — You can’t stay up all night, Captain. You need to rest, or it might be detrimental for your health. With your permission, I would like to stay for the night and help you out”.

You were too sweet for him. He should have sent you away, denied your request, no matter how much he wanted to spend more time with you. He yearned for your company like a starving bear tasting honey and begging for more, striving to get to the top of the tree to reach the beehive and enjoy the nectar. However, it was night. Was he really ready to offer you a bed to sleep next to his one, once your eyelids were going to get heavy after tiring hours of work? He was going to die a painful death, admiring you and restraining himself from kissing every inch of your skin.

He had to refuse, but he knew you would protested. Therefore, he went to the extent to propose you a good compromise.

“I won’t let you work yourself to exhaustion. I will gladly accept your help for a few hours but, when it starts getting dark, you go back to your dorm” he suggested, tone placid but firm.

You shook your head, though, hand reaching for a brush and dipping it into the dark ink pot “I’m sorry, Captain Ukitake, but I will have to disobey your order and refuse your offer. — you calmly replied, signing the first document swiftly with your Captain sighing in defeat in the background — Now, let’s get this over with” you added, encouraging him by splitting the pile in halves and handing him one of them.

“You are way too lenient with me” Jushiro stated, before resuming his reading again.

And hours passed by. You chattered with your Captain, the pile of documents decreasing slowly but surely but you were not even close to be done yet. When dinner time came, you had a quick snack and persuaded your Captain to rest a little more than you did. Naturally, he promptly protested, but you ended up convincing him he would have been more proficient with some hours of sleep over his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he agreed and sleep found him easily.

While you worked, you lost the track of time. You forgot to wake him up as you had promised and you just kept on working until your back hurt. Glancing outside the window, the Moon greeted you and the clock indicated it was midnight. You were ready to grit your teeth and keep on pushing yourself to the limit, when you suddenly felt the familiar reiatsu of your Captain embrace you from behind. You straightened your back, eyes widening even so slightly, as his hands rested comfortably over the top of your shoudlers.

“I overslept. You should have called me” he pointed out lowly, gently, as you apologetically nodded your head and discarded the brush over the desk.

“I should have, but your health is more important than work to me” you objected, turning your head slightly to the side to meet his kind chestnut eyes. Jushiro was sitting right behind you, his large frame almost draped over your back like a blanket, as he grasped your wrist delicately and shook his head.

Goosebumps raised on the back of your neck, his chin grazing over the top of your head “It’s your turn to rest. Lean on me” he offered, causing your lower lip to quiver for the habit of opposing yourself to his kind offer.

But you were too tired to be helpful right now and you knew he was not going to let you continue for any longer.

“Ten minutes will be enough” you said, accomodating yourself, as he helped you lean your back against his chest, the sound of the fabric of your uniforms rustling in the friction was endearingly soothing. Just like his arms subtly snaking around your waist and your hands slithering over his bony ones, making your cheeks heat up exponentially.

You had never touched your Captain like that, albeit you wanted him to. You had played scenes like this one many times in your head, hoping he was going to do much more than simply hugging you. You needed more, you needed him. You wanted Jushiro with ever molecule of your body and, God, he desired you too. Your eyes fluttered close, his warm breath tickling your jawline, as his fingertips began to draw lazy patterns over your abdomen, trailing up towards your ribs and then stopping.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked you, his heartrate increasing notably. His hands itched to cup your breasts, to roll your hardening nipples between the pads of his fingers, to swallow your moans with his mouth. But without your consent, Jushiro was not going to go any further.

You arched your back, eyes opening again to peer up at him adoringly “Comfortable, you say? I’d dare to say I’m in Paradise” you whispered, smiling faintly, before your hands reached up to undo your shihakushō. Bold, you were pretty bold right now, under the gleaming eyes of your Captain.

You heard his breath hitch, his hands trembling when you grasped them to lead them to your breasts where he wanted to settle them “Don’t say a word. They’re needless. I want it, Captain. I’m tired to pretend” you murmured, head lolling back onto his shoulder as his large hands finally latched onto your mounds, gently squeezing them.

Your skin was like velvet at the touch, his own arousal causing him to buckle his hips up against your lower back. How shameful, how stupid of him to do such things to you, but you wanted it. His Lieutenant was begging him to go ahead and that night the kind and rational Captain Jushiro Ukitake lost his mind.

He gripped your hips firmly, forcing you to straddle his lap, his legs spreading yours wide, as he kept your back glued to his front. His fingers scambled to get rid of his own clothes, while you spared time by disrobing yourself too. Skin to skin, you were able to feel his hard rock abs graze your spine as he latched his lips over the crook of your neck.

You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut, while his hands went back to cup your breasts, stroking the hardening buds to elicit more whimpers from you. Your breath was uneven at this point, your mouth searching for his as you turned around and tugged down your pants, tired of waiting any longer.

Jushiro was awestruck, thumbs tracing your hipbones, as you rotated your hips over his “Kiss me, please” you whispered, your lips hovering over his, tempting the poor Captain to give you what you wanted. It was not too late to stop, he kept on repeating himself that, but he did not want to let you unsatisfied and the fire in his loins was consuming him too much to neglect his own need.

“Kissing you? I will do more than that” he whispered, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. His arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you close to him, were a cage you did not want to be set free from. Jushiro was gentle, handling you with a care no man had ever showed you, even when his tongue delved into your mouth and his fingers slipped underneath the waistband of your underwear, eagerly searching for your engorging pearl.

Shockwaves of pleasure made your skin sizzle, your hands cupped his smooth cheeks, as you moaned softly. Jushiro kissed your forehead, his cock twitching in his pants, when your wetness met his fingers. All of this was for him, your heat was dripping because you craved him! He was lucky, oh he was such a lucky man.

“You are … That’s for me, right? You are so good, Y/N-san, you are doing amazing for me. I will repay you for that, my sweet girl. I promise” he whispered, his hair sticking to his forehead as his fingers finally slipped into your core.

You could not talk much, babbling small words out was all you did, your lips leaving wet kisses over his neck and collarbone to show him your gratitude and love for him. Your orgasm hit you in waves, your inner muscles spasming around his slender digits as he watched your labia smeared with your arousal as you reached your climax. You were stunning, his hand glistened in your orgasm, as he quickly yanked his pants down and you crawled towards his unmade bed, panting, awaiting for him to join you.

When his member, ramrod, pulsing, slapped against his navel, you gulped down at the impressive size hungrily pointing at you. If only people knew about this side of him, they would die at his feet. Ukitake Jushiro lacked nothing that Kyoraku Shunsui had. He was just a victim of fate. If it was not for his sickness, he would have been unstoppable. Pumping his shaft a few times in front of you, Jushiro groaned softly, hooded eyes searching yours.

“Would you look at me the same way, if you knew what I did in the privacy of my bedroom when you left that morning?” he asked you, only for you to shake your head and hoist your legs around his hips.

“Nothing would ever change my opinion of you. — you replied, the tip of his cock probing at your entrance — I love you, Jushiro” you whispered, nosing his cheek when he caged you to the bed with his strong arms.

“I wish I could tell you not to love me, but I am twice as guilty. Forgive me, if you can. I love you, I have loved you for too long to keep it to myself” he said, before entering you with a smooth thrust of his hips.

You let out a strained moan, your tight walls causing Jushiro to grunt in bliss, his brows furrowed as he pressed his forehead against yours. Bottoming out took him a few seconds. Making his way inside of you, he had the care to gradually conquer inches without bruising you in the process. Tenderly, he looked at your face, searching for any signs of discomfort. Once he found none, he pulled back enough to let his tip buried into your heat and slammed back into you a little more vigorously.

Melodic moans left your mouth, neck strained back, when he set out a slow and firm pace to hit the spot that made you wrap your legs tighter around him. His white hair seemed the beautiful and cold stalactites hanging from the roof of your barracks, when it snowed. Handsome and yours, Jushiro kissed the valley between your breasts, praises to your beauty and dedication rolling out of his tongue every now and then.

“Beautiful, you should have posed for a painter in the World of the Livings. — he stated, voice muffled by your skin, when he sucked onto your nipple — A pre-raphaelite, those colors would have suited you” he murmured, tongue tracing the bud as his hips snapped towards yours more urgently now.

Your moans had grown louder, sweaty skin smacking together creating a repetitive sound any passer-by would have recognized. But you were too lost into his eyes, in the way the Moon seemed to make his hair glow like an halo around his head, on the way his muscular body would have crashed yours, if he was not attentive.

“Jushiro, please, don’t stop! — you breathed out, a throaty moan leaving your lips, when he grabbed your ankles and set them on the top of his shoulders — I am about to come” you warned him, watching the man above you speed up his movements.

He should have been careful not to overdo himself, but how could he when he was literally drunk on you? Ah your words, oh God, they were driving him insane.

“Come for me, darling. Make me happy, come for me” he incited you, grasping your hands and pinning them to the sides of your head with his ones. Fingers locked together, Jushiro thrusted into you faster, hitting your sweet spot with a perfect aim. Impeccable, sinfully celestial, you reached your climax around him with a powerful orgasm.

As you twitched and tightened around him, Jushiro’s mind went blank. He was not going to be just your Captain, not anymore. His, you were going to be his, as he was going to be yours. Just Jushiro Ukitake, a man in love, not a member of the Gotei 13.

Lolling his head back, he spurted his seed into you, guttural groans erupting from his throat as he filled you. Even though he had always followed the moral codes of a noble warrior, Jushiro Ukitake knew he had to sin that night. He could not let you slip from his fingers.

Someone had told him he would have fallen for a woman, sooner of later.

Therefore, sitting on a windy hill next to his best friend Shunsui, a couple of days later, he said “I plead guilty, your honor”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Thanks to the anon who dropped this into my inbox. I did not realize how much I yearned to write for this man until I found myself writing this piece! Thanks!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are welcomed!

Until then,

x o x o

TAGS: @dehemetera @han11dh @bakugosgirl01 @silent-spirits @coowayeoo

[cregansdingdong]

ɢɪᴠᴇ.

Cregan Stark x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, cregan likes to eat out pretty princesses

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

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"Gods—don't stop!" She mewls, gripping the tapestry behind her head like it was her only lifeline. It was. "Don't you ever stop!" His hand against her stomach keeps her pinned to the wall of her chambers, his head buried somewhere pleasant beneath her nightgown. Her thigh was hitched obediently over his shoulder, trembling by the motions of his eager tongue. It was always like this. Sloppy, carnal, desperate—fueled by a lustful guilt as she broke her illusion of maidenhood again and again. Cregan didn't care much for the pretending of his favorite Princess, so long as he was the only man she broke it for. He grunts wordlessly in response, his mouth unyielding in his assault on her nearly throbbing bud, more of her sweet nectar leaking just for him. Just for him. If she wasn't so close to the edge already, he'd probably give her a good slap on the thigh for that desperate demand, but the Warden of the North was feeling particularly generous.

"Come on." He murmurs, gray eyes flicking up at her face as her pretty pearl was locked dutifully between his plush lips. "Give." The vibrations of his rasp—which had sounded less like a soft urging and more like a beg—sent fire up into her stomach, but it was cold all the while, like snowflakes falling onto a lit hearth, both dousing at her and cracking the flames hotter. His mouth was ruthless, free hand digging into the softness of her hip as he waited for what he really wanted. Her own fingers burrow themselves into his dark tresses by his nape, trying not to pull despite how she was already teetering. "Almost!" She gasps, more of a plea than anything else. Her stomach was tightening under his grip, clenching and releasing as she tried and failed to catch her breath. Cregan's presence was an imposing one even on his knees in front of her, head ducked under her lilac nightgown, the hem bunched up over his crown—it was a sinful sight to witness.

A man starved, Cregan's tongue dips inside of her, eyes fluttering closed as he fucked up into her entrance. The bridge of his nose was equally as merciless, pressing against her bud back and forth like a prayer. He was groaning the more she leaked, all the while incomprehensible mewls of what he could assume were appreciative in nature flooded past her lips as she came for him. The thigh over his shoulder was tense, heel digging into his back—his name became a worship. It only worsened as the sounds of indecorous slurping reverberated off the stone walls of her chambers. The Wolf of Winterfell was a greedy one. Even as the bliss came and left behind a lull of peace, he was still there on his knees to lick her clean.

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[buckys-loverman]

picture perfect

warnings: smut, 18+ appropriate, degrading language, vulgar language

pairing: fem!reader x sarah cameron

a/n: literally cannot get dark! sarah out of my head so i’m forcing her on you guys instead (no complaining)!anyways, i did not proof read so enjoy ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡

“sarah!” you screamed as she pushed inside your slick pussy again, the 10 inch dildo she fisted in her hand striking repeatedly.

“what’s wrong, slut? i thought you liked big cock”, she laughed as you body slumped deeper into her mattress, your legs shaking as the restrains around your wrists become tighter and red with the friction.

never did you think you would be bend over sarah cameron's bed with your sundress bunched to your waist, as her pink dildo slid in and out of your folds with your cum decorating the tip.

"first you stole my best friend-" thrust, "then you stole my boyfriend!" thrust, "and now you try to sleep with my brother?!"

you admit - you haven't been the kindest to sarah since your falling out senior year of high school, but you never thought she would take it this far. you came over to the cameron's that day under the illusion rafe was texting you, but you didn't know he was out on the boat with his father and left his phone behind; but sarah did.

you made your way up the stairs as "rafe" instructed you to, when you were blindfolded from the back upon reaching the top. "rafe! what is this?" you giggled, until you heard a click and sarah's voice behind you, "surprise, bitch."

now here you were, your bare cunt puffy and exposed as you begin to reach your third organism. you didn't want to like it, the rough nature of it all, but when the blindfold was ripped off your head and you saw sarah holding a collection of toys... you new you were in deep trouble.

you tried holding back your moans at the beginning, you promise, but now you were one big babbling mess as her mouth was glued to your begging cunt and your nipples were hard to the touch.

sarah pulled away as a whine escaped your lips, "i knew you were a whore but jesus...you're fucking pathetic." her words were laced with venom but you didn't care, you just wanted to finish. it wasn't until she took out the dildo with a pop! that you grew irritated.

she walked away from you as you cried out, your body needing some form of release. you attempt to reach your cuffed hands down to your throbbing pussy, to relieve yourself when you hear a buckle.

you look up to see sarah adjusting her strap on, your eyes bulging out at the sight of her bare pussy making you wet. you attempt to close your legs as she makes her way to you, her underwear in one fist and her phone in another as fear begins to fill your senses.

"wait! sarah, don't-" you start as she shoves her underwear in your mouth, gagging you. before you can process what's going on, the flash of her camera blinds you.

sarah laughs on the other side, "smile-" she taunts, "you're on camera." in an instant you feel her dildo force its way back into your cunt, all thoughts escaping your mind once again.

all that is swirling in your mind is the way she roughly thrusts into you, how perfect of a curve her dildo has as it hits your sweet spot over and over and over again. you swirl your tongue against her underwear that is shoved deep in your mouth, how nasty you felt enjoying the wet patch she left behind. the pinch she held on your clit sent waves of arousal all over your body and you no longer cared she was recording for you were too cock drunk to care.

now you weren't the only one enjoying it, sarah loved looking at the way your tits bounced with each thrust - or the way you spread your own legs so she can hit deeper and harder each time. your sun kissed skin, your glistening eyes and the mascara now running down your face made it all too much for her. god, how long she had been waiting to destroy you under her touch, knowing you would soon come crawling back like the easy slut you were.

and now she had it all on video.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love

Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.

“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”

Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.

Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.

Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.

He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.

He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.

Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.

He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.

“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.

“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged. 

“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”

Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!

Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.

Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.

He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.

And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you. 

Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.

“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.

“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”

Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.

You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.

You got him in ways nobody else truly could.

Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.

One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.

“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”

Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.

Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”

Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.

He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.

He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”

Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a  fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.

You.

For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.

Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.

On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.

Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.

This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.

“May the best man win.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[blondbrat]

PERVERT!CORIOLANUS SNOW

includes ; 18+ fem!reader. pervert!coryo. male masturbation. sexual illusions. sexual obsession. possessive!coryo.

you were so pretty, so mean — like a pristine prize created purely for coryo

the way your hand shot up when the teacher asked a question you obviously knew — which was them all. the way your eyes scanned the thick paged books like u were devouring the words themselves

he couldn’t help but stare, no, more than that, look at you the way you looked at the brilliant words plastured on the nude colored pages. because he was hungry. and you were his pretty prey

his cold, untouchably irresistible brat — whom coryo loved seeing the way your pretty face furrowed in challenge whenever he got called on first. shooting you his famous smirk.

he was obsessed with your attention — your eyes, your brain and fuck, your body.

coriolanus swore those little schoolgirl miniskirts you insisted on wearing would be the death of him ! and those pure white shirts? with your perky, busty tits? he was convinced you did it just for him — his cruelly taunting addiction

how could he not? how could he not grow instantly hard at the sight — his thick, demanding cock bulging against the seams of his trousers. throbbing as he watched your mean little mouth spur answer after fucking answer

the very creases of his pants were driving him insane — but not nearly as much as the thought of that mouth wrapped around his shaft. coating him in your bratty spit as you bob and gag all around him

the fantasy of your red lipstick curling around his angry head, leaving a crimson ring

he watched you squirm in your seat — merely getting more comfortable. and he groaned at the sight. god fucking hell, how you would feel writhing in his lap. trying so hard not to whimper as he grinds you agaisnt him — lacy panties becoming awfully wet. your glistening essence.

god, imagining you dripping has his dick twitching. how he would drag his red tip through your drooling folds, coating his length in your slick, sweet wetness.. fuck, his balls tightened at the fantasies rolling through his head

and the way you bit your fucking lips… — before he knew his cock was bulging agaisnt his hand, panting as he hid in the academy bathroom.

hiding wasn’t the right word — not when his wrist was snapping, pumping into his hand like a fleshlight. his blue eyes screwed shut, you were in his head, you were the reason he was fucking his hand. flicking his wrist ever so slightly that he was groaning

because oh god, if it was your tight little cunt or your wet mouth.. he’d be cumming within fucking moments. just like he was know, the white, sticky ropes staining his toned abdomen

soon, it would be you bent over the sink, ass bouncing as he slams into your gummy pussy, you who becomes covered in his sticky mess as he coats your silken walls in his white cum

you were his prey

[froggibus]

Mario Kart - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: amab! Sloan Cameron x fem! reader (reader has a pussy + uses fem pronouns)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: frustrated at always losing to you in Mario Kart, Sloan comes up with an obstacle to give themselves a winning chance

CW: fem! reader, AMAB! Venture, mario kart 8 on wii u, cockwarming, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your wily), creampie, edging, teasing, some banter, multiple orgasms, kinda overstim if you squint

this is part of my Summer Suntacular event, come check it out!

for everyone who liked sex rocks & requested more ven smut that i've yet to do ^.^ i swear i'll get to your requests soon

“No way, you have to be cheating.”

You roll your eyes at Sloan’s accusation. “That, or you just suck.” 

Sloan drops the wiimote on the couch and rises to their feet, stretching their arms high above their head. Despite being inside in the air conditioning, sweat glistens on their neck and drips beneath their tight tank top. 

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. You shift your gaze away from their golden, sweaty skin, and instead focus on the TV displaying your fourth consecutive Mario Kart win.

It’s a sweltering day outside, and though your original plan was to go to the beach, neither of you wanted to suffer the heat of the day and instead opted to stay in and play games. It had been Sloan’s idea to pull out their old Nintendo Wii and play Mario Kart, though judging by the annoyance on their face, you wouldn’t be surprised if they regretted it.

Sloan finishes stretching and slumps on the couch next to you. Their top rides up their stomach, showing the delicious stripe of skin between their cargo shorts and their tank. They grab their remote once more, the fresh scent of their deodorant wafting through the air.

“Fifth times a charm?” You tilt your head to the side.

“Why don’t we raise the stakes?”

“What do you propose?”

They smirk, and you’re immediately trepidatious. That specific toothy grin is never an indication of anything good—it's usually how you end up stealing from an artefact hoarder, or running from the police.

They run their hand up your thigh, the fabric of your shorts bunching up. “We need to give you an obstacle.” Their fingers trail dangerously high. “Something to impede your focus, make it a little harder for you to win. Put your skills to the test.”

Their sudden touch does nothing to sate the dryness in your mouth. You watch unblinking as their fingers get to the very top of your thigh, beginning to slide between your legs. Despite the heat, a shiver runs up your spine.

Then they pull away, shifting the fabric of their own shorts away from the growing bulge in their pants. “Or something like that,” they add sweetly.

You nearly get whiplash from how fast their tone changed from sexy seductive to classic Sloan. You take a deep breath, managing to stutter out, “w–what do you want me to do?”

They pop open the top button of their shorts, then the second, then the third. Heat courses through your veins as you watch them slowly drag their shorts down to their ankles, leaving them in just their pink heart boxers. The sweet illusion of their cute underwear is immediately shattered by the outline of their hard cock beneath them.

You swallow at the sight. “Sloan?” You ask.

They reach out and grab your Wiimote from your hand, discarding it on the couch next to them. Calloused fingers grab your wrist, guiding your palm to rub their length. You gasp in unison at the contact, at the feeling of their hard cock throbbing beneath their boxers.

They leave your hand there, dipping their own palm between your legs to cup your pussy. They’ve barely touched you but you’re already soaked. Their eyes meet yours, a mischievous glimmer telling you that they can feel how badly you want them.

Sloan’s smirk returns. “Why don’t you sit on my cock while we play? Keep it nice and warm?”

The heat pumping through you grows nearly unbearable, your panties undoubtedly ruined by their words and the soft stroke of their fingers on your clothed clit. To have them inside of you while you play is almost a guaranteed loss, but their cock is so hard and your pussy aches to have them inside of you.

You sigh, “alright. But this doesn’t go on my Mario Kart record.”

They let out a breathy laugh at your antics before pulling their fingers away from your throbbing heat. Glistening fingers meet their soft lips, their eyes lighting up at the sweet taste of your slick. 

“Fuck,” they laugh. “If I win this round, I’m eating you out as my prize.”

The air leaves your lungs at their brazen comments. You’re so used to your awkward, nerdy partner that it always leaves your head spinning when they show their dominant side. 

Sloan hooks their fingers in the waistband of their boxes and pulls them down painfully slow. Their hard cock springs free, slapping them in the tummy and smearing shiny precum across their sweaty abs. 

They wiggle closer to the centre of the couch, patting their thighs. “Hop on, cowgirl.”

A breathy giggle escapes you at their stupid antics. You rise to your feet on shaky legs. Your pussy drools into your panties, practically begging for their big cock to fill you up. 

You’re much quicker than them to discard your bottoms, letting them fall forgotten on the floor. Sloan’s gaze stays locked on you while you strip, a low moan coming from them when you reveal your shimmering cunt. 

You slowly walk backwards, bracing your hands on the meat of their thighs as you let yourself sink down onto their lap. The tip of their cock brushes your entrance and you wrap your hand around it to help guide it in. 

It’s a bit of a stretch, walking that delicate line between pain and pleasure as it sinks inside of you. Your walls struggle to take them in, your thighs quivering with the strain. Sloan grabs your hips, digging their fingertips into your skin to help you down. 

You take them inch after inch, giving yourself only a few seconds between each length of their cock to adjust. It’s nearly a minute later that you can feel the soft skin of their thighs beneath yours and the tip of their cock brushing deep inside you. 

Sloan relaxes into the couch, slouching lazily. They grab their Wiimote and reach around your waist, pressing select on the main menu screen. Your hands are shaking when you reach for your own remote, every little move you make forcing their cock deeper inside of you. 

Yeah, you’re definitely going to lose. 

Sloan’s hot breath tickles the side of your neck, but that’s the only indication that this affects them as much as it does you. Your walls flutter around their cock while you try to pick the character, the shockwaves it sends to your brain making it near impossible to make a decision.

Sloan’s wrist presses into your stomach as they move to select Link, the sudden pressure eliciting a gasp out of you. Their cock feels so much deeper with their hand pressed against your belly, forcing you to feel how big they really are.

By the time the countdown for the first race begins, your mind is nearly blank with pleasure. It takes everything you have to remember which button does what, and even that is a struggle. 

Sloan shifts behind you, sitting up straighter just as the countdown finishes. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, the knot in your stomach threatening to come undone. Your hand leaves the remote for only a second to brace yourself, but that very second costs you the boost at the start of the race.

“Losing already?” Sloan taunts.

Your voice is unusually breathy as you say, “you wish.”

You clench down on them as much as you can, partly to throw them off, partly to ground yourself while you play. Sloan grunts and rocks their hips into yours once more, but the distraction is futile as you catch up. The third lap begins, and it really looks like you’re going to win.

Just as you round the last corner to the finish line, Sloan presses into your tummy once more, rolling their hips up into yours. The head of their cock presses into your sensitive, gummy walls, and you have no chance to catch your breath before your orgasm rolls over you. White hot pleasure radiates through your veins, your whole body convulsing as you cum around their cock.

The world around you fades away, the only sensations that stay with you are the bulge of their cock in your tummy and your thumb on the gas button. Sloan takes advantage of your situation, passing you at the last possible second to come in first.

They laugh triumphantly. “Looks like you came in second.”

You roll your teary eyes, though the pleasure of your orgasm is too intense for you to care much for their taunting. You sit up straight, trying to shift the angle of their cock inside of you away from your g-spot. 

The start of the second race goes about as well as the first, though your mind is left even fuzzier from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Sloan doesn’t taunt you as much this round, though every time you get close to passing them, they rock their hips into yours in warning. You don’t push them and begrudgingly take second place again.

Sloan pauses as soon as the second race is over, flopping back on the couch to catch their breath. They don’t know how they’ve managed to keep their cool for this long, but they know they won’t be able to last with your tight cunt clenching their cock so well.

“What’s wrong, Sloan?”  You ask innocently. “Can’t handle the heat?”

“Shut up.” They buck their hips, their cockhead hitting your cervix.

All the breath leaves your body and that’s when Sloan presses play on the next race. Somehow, you manage to get your bearings and take the lead almost immediately. Sloan curses over your shoulder—they know once you get into the groove, it’s nearly impossible to catch up to you.

You wiggle your hips away from theirs, leaning forward to see the tv better. You dig your thumb into the gas button and hope to god your headstart will be enough. Sloan tries to throw you off by grinding their cock into you once more, but it’s too late. 

Tremors sweep through your body, your fingers seem to vibrate against the sweat soaked remote. The back of your shirt sticks to your skin, doing little to relieve the fever radiating from your core. You’re panting, but each sharp inhale only forces you to clench harder on Sloan’s cock.

Their nails dig into your hip but the expected pain is a faraway melody. You pinch your temples in a poor attempt to force yourself back to reality, to force some of the buzzing out of your ears—but it doesn’t work.

Sloan thumbs gentle circles across your clit. “If you give up now, I’ll only brag a little.”

Liar. You’ll never hear the end of it if they win, but they’ll probably have a billboard made up if you concede. You can practically see the sign now: Y/n lost at Mario Kart because they couldn’t handle my fat cock.

No, that simply won’t do.

“No,” you repeat, “We’re going to tie.”

Sloan seems shocked by your determination, and by the twitch of their cock inside of you, a little turned on too. As they click on the final race and the camera begins to pan over the track, you slowly bounce on their cock. Gentle, miniscule bounces—not enough to drive forth your impending orgasm, but enough to sate your need to clamp down on them and never let go.

By the time the race starts, you’ve managed to soothe some of the graininess in your mind. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes but you keep your focus razor sharp. You cannot lose this race, no matter what.

You manage to take the lead right off the bat, but Sloan is hot on your tail. You can feel them clench their jaw in frustration behind you. Their face is so close to yours that the sound of their teeth grinding is near deafening. Still, you manage to ignore their chattering teeth and grinding hips and focus on the game ahead.

The second lap passes, and Sloan starts to slip. They ache to drive their cock inside of you, to bend you over this very couch and fuck the arrogance out of you. They thought this challenge would give them an advantage but they hadn’t thought of how hard it would be to concentrate with your pussy clenching down and dripping all over them.

As soon as the third lap hits, Sloan knows there’s not a chance in hell they’ll win. You’re too far ahead, and unless you stop pressing the gas entirely, your victory is assured. And then, a lightbulb.

Sloan slides forward at the same time they drive their hands into your lower tummy. They can feel all of your walls squeezing them now, their cock threatening to spill at any moment. It feels so good—but not as good as beating you will.

Sloan keeps scooching forward until they’re at the very edge of the couch and the only thing keeping you from falling is their cock and slick covered thighs. They take that as an opportunity to tighten their grip.

You cry out. “Sloan, w–what are you doing?”

They chuckle at your confusion, risking a glance at your screen. You’re starting to slip up, all you need is a little push. 

You start to round the last corner until the finish line, you’re so close you can hear the victory sound ahead. You press into the gas harder, victory is nigh, and then Sloan thrusts hard enough to send you toppling over the front of the couch.

You drop your remote to brace your hands against the floor, leaving you bent perfectly in front of them. Your pussy stays connected to their cock, giving them a deeper, fresh angle to keep pummeling into you. Sloan doesn’t slow their assault on your pussy as your hands scramble to find the remote you just dropped.

But it’s too late. You hear the telltale whistle of the finish line, and you don’t have to look to know that they’ve won. You have no time to bask in your disappointment, though. Not while Sloan is pistoning into your cunt like it’s the last time they’ll ever feel it. And with the stunt they just pulled, it might be.

They drop their remote on the couch and clench your hips tightly, using them as momentum to drive their cock forward. With you hanging off of them like this, it makes it even easier to shove their entire length inside.

Each thrust is deeper, needier, sloppier than the last. Every shift of their hips into yours sends electricity shooting through your tummy, threatening to unravel you. You curl your fingers, scratching at the floor for anything solid, anything to ground you. 

“Sloan,” you plead, though you’re not sure what you’re even asking for. “Sloan, I—”

“Fuck, I know.” They groan. Their voice is husky with need, desperation clinging to them the way it’s clung to you. “You’re so goddamn tight, So perfect to fuck my cum into.”

Their words are all it takes to send you over the edge. You convulse, each jerk of your muscles radiating warm pleasure. Your body goes limp, your face pressing against the ground, but you don’t care. You’re cumming and clenching and you’re somewhere far, far away. Somewhere where the only things in the world are your villainous, needy pussy and Sloan’s fat, hero cock.

Sloan keeps using you while you come, taking complete advantage of the hot slick spilling out of you and your tight, clenching walls. Their cock is so sensitive, so needy, they won’t last much longer—not while you’re gasping and crying out for them so pretty.

They slam their hips into yours once more, forcing their cock as deep as possible, and then they come undone. White hot ropes of cum splatter your walls, stuffing your cunt to the brim with their heat. They keep their grip around you tight, keeping you connected until they’ve spilled every last drop.

Sloan gives themself a minute to catch their breath before hoisting you back on the couch, their dick still tucked inside of you. You look up at them through tear-lined lashes and offer them a stupid, fucked out smile.

Sloan strokes your hot, sweaty cheeks and returns your smile. “I think it’s safe to say I’m the new Mario Kart champion.”

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Overwatch Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[kyruskumiho27]

Warnings: •fluff (towards the end) •smut •breeding kink •penetration •illusion to multiple rounds

Summary: Miguel finds out you’re pregnant (find out🙄 he got you pregnant!)

Your husband stared you from across the room, licking his lips in deep thought.

You looked so sexy, in that sinful dress that hugged your body in just the right ways, your hair and makeup done just the way you liked it. Just the way he liked it.

And to top it all off, you were holding a baby.

You coo at the child in your arms, smiling down at it as it babbles some nonsense back at you. He knows you’d be a good mother. You’re already a good wife. He can imagine it now.

Your belly swollen and plump, waddling around the house. Fucking perfect.

Your breast full and achy. He knew just how to make them feel better.

It took to long for the party to end. To long for you to say goodbye to friends and family. To long to get out of that house and into the car.

He listen to you talk and gush about everything and anything, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel with so much force. He wanted to stop the car right now and just fuck you in the backseat. Stuff you to the brim.

But that was no way to treat the future mother of his children.

The car was tense when you pulled into the driveway, and if you hadn’t seen the large bulge in your husbands pants you would’ve thought he was pissed.

You saunter into the house, him close behind, watching as he strips everything off. His breath is labored and he feels all sweaty. You’re still in that dress, the one that makes his dick swell up and heart beat faster.

He groans as he pulls you closer, slotting his lips against yours.

You kiss back, just as starved as he is. He situates his hips in between yours, moaning into your mouth when his cock rubs against your clothes sex. Next he leaves open mouth kisses on your jaw, down your neck. He cups your breast through the dress, feeling how hard your nipples are from rubbing against the fabric. Fuck.

“If you don’t take this shit off right now I’m gonna tear it to pieces.” He growls lowly, watching you give him a mischievous smile.

You slowly peel the dress off your body, his eyes watching you in appreciation.

He was so sexy when he got like this.

His dick throbs at the sight of you, so perfect and hot in every way. He palms himself for a moment before he strips down all the way. Your eyes widen, gazing at his cock. You’ve seen it many times before, but you could never get tired of looking.

He’s on you instantly again, hands groping whatever skin he could reach (all of it).

Carrying you to the bedroom, and throwing you on the bed.

His eyes are cloudy with lust. Dick swollen and balls full of cum.

He takes little time to prep you, so desperate to just be inside. He sighs as his cock slips in, biting back a moan when you tug at his hair. He thrust hard, eyes rolling back.

“S’to good” he mutters, burying his face into your neck. Miguel’s panting like an animal in heat, hips moving back and forth wildly.

Your eyes roll back into your head, in disbelief because what the fuck? He has you in a mating press, trying to bully his cock into the deepest parts of you. The tip hits you so perfectly, you can’t help but let out pleasured gasp.

The sound and smell of sex turns him on, the air humid from the exertion.

He’s so close. So. Fucking. Close.

His fingers sip down to your pussy, rubbing in circles on your clit.

He needs to feel you cum.

You whine, his fingers are so thick, and the added pleasure of his dick is making you see stars. You chant his name over and over again as you feel yourself reaching your peak.

He whines to, telling you how sexy you’d look full with his seed. How perfect you and only you are to carry his child. His legacy.

He grips your hips, slamming himself repeatedly into you over and over, head thrown back when your orgasm comes crashing down. His hips stutter once, twice, three times before he’s spilling his load into you. He actually whimpers, squeezing your ass as your cunt squeezes his cock.

He pants into your mouth when you both come down from your highs, still hard cock nestle into your pussy.

“Not done mamas, not by a fucking long shot.”

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

Your husband smiles fondly as you sit on the couch. Fuzzy socks on your feet and blanket laying comfortably on top of you.

Your belly bump is getting bigger and bigger by the day.

He’s such a good husband. Readily available and performing whatever task you need him to do.

Can’t cook tonight? Done. Too tired to take a bath? He’ll help bathe you. Just feeling lazy? He’s taking a day off work.

He was so attentive and you were so grateful, taking anything you could get.

And when your baby girl came?

You’d never seem Miguel get more emotional since the day he found out you were pregnant. (And the day you got married). He cops at her, smiling lovingly as she stares up at him with wide eyes.

Life couldn’t be more perfect.

Yippee🥳🎀

[51voices]

Restless Desires

Kinkvember Day 5: In Heat

IVE's Kim Jiwon (Liz) x Gender Neutral reader

A delicate warmth brushes Liz's face, coaxing her out of sleep. She shifts beneath the sheets, feeling their softness around her like a lingering embrace. Her eyelids flutter open, and the blurred outlines of her room slowly sharpen as she blinks away the last dregs of sleep. Gentle light filters through the curtains, painting her bed in golden shades, almost as if she’s emerged into a new, tender world. With a slow breath, she senses the quiet hum of morning—the soft ticking of the clock, the faint rustle of the sheets, and the subtle, irresistible pull of something stirring within her.

Heat begins to stir low in her belly, a subtle spark that soon spreads like molten fire through her veins. Liz groans softly, a sound of half-hearted resistance mingled with surrender, as she tries to ignore the steady throb between her thighs. Not today, she thinks, rolling over and pulling the covers tighter around her, seeking comfort in her nest of warmth. But the sensation persists, creeping back with greater urgency, like an uninvited guest refusing to leave. Her skin tingles, her breaths quickening, as the fire inside her intensifies, insistent and unyielding—a force that refuses to be denied.

Frustration flickers in Liz's chest, a tiny ember amidst the growing blaze of her desire. She doesn’t want to start the day like this—needy, desperate for something only you can give her. The thought of your touch, the memory of your skin against hers, and the way a single look from you can ignite her longing make the ache impossible to ignore. Her fingers slide beneath the sheets, grazing over bare skin, tracing the contours of her body as if mapping uncharted territory. Even the lightest touch sends a ripple of pleasure through her—a shockwave that promises more but still isn’t enough. It’s like standing on the edge of a precipice, feeling the thrill of the fall without ever taking the leap.

This is ridiculous, she scolds herself, the inner voice a stern reminder amidst the clamoring of her body. It’s too early to feel so worked up. But as her fingers moved lower, skimming the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, a soft gasp escaped her lips. Her body hums, alive with desire, every nerve ending screaming for release. Yet no matter how hard she tries, the relief she craves is always just out of reach, a mirage dancing on the horizon, taunting her with its elusiveness.

After several minutes of futile attempts, Liz groans in frustration and throws the covers aside, the cool air of the room clashing with the heat burning inside her. She stomps into the bathroom and splashes cold water on her face, hoping the shock of it will douse the flames consuming her. But as she stares at her flushed reflection, droplets of water clinging to her cheeks, she knows the day has already been defined by the current of desire coursing through her. It’s a force too strong to be quelled by cold water or willpower. This part of her—a wild, untamed longing—yearns for connection, for the touch only you can provide.

Liz steps into the shower, letting the hot water stream over her skin, the heat a strange comfort that matches the fire pulsing beneath her surface. The steam wraps around her, blending with the tension she carries, momentarily giving her the illusion of release. But as the minutes pass, it becomes clear that no amount of scalding water can wash away the ache smoldering inside. Shutting off the stream, she wraps herself in a towel, droplets trailing like tiny reminders of her unrelieved need.

Accepting the truth that pulses within her, Liz acknowledges that the only way to find peace is to embrace the fire, to surrender to the longing that refuses to subside. Determined, she resolves to seek you out, knowing that only you hold the key to quenching the thirst burning inside her. After drying off, she pulls on simple undergarments, the fabric cool against her still-warm skin. She throws on an oversized sweater in an attempt to shield herself from the world, but the soft, loose fabric feels irritating against her heated body. Her shorts, normally a comfortable fit, now feel restrictive, a teasing reminder of the tension coiling within her. Even as she steps into the kitchen, Liz’s frustration has only deepened.

In the gentle calm of the kitchen, you sit at the table, fingers flying across your laptop keyboard. You looked focused, so absorbed in your work, and the sight sent a jolt through Liz, intensifying the throbbing between her legs. She bites her lip, momentarily stunned by the image of you deep in concentration, while her body vibrates with a need that makes it impossible to think of anything else.

“Morning,” she calls softly, attempting a casual tone.

You glance up, offering a warm smile. “Morning my love, how was your sleep?,” you reply before returning your focus to the screen, oblivious to the storm brewing within her.

With a hard gulp and her heart pounding as Liz crosses the room in quick strides. She leans down, planting a soft kiss on your lips, intending it as a brief touch of affection. But the instant her lips meet yours, the fire blazing inside her flares to life, overtaking any sense of restraint. The kiss deepens almost instinctively, her body pressing against yours, her fingers trembling as they cling to your shirt.

A soft, involuntary whimper escapes her, and she feels the tension in her own body shiver into the kiss. She needs this, needs you, the way a parched desert thirsts for rain. Every inch of her skin feels electrified, hyper-aware of your closeness, her pulse racing to match the quickening rhythm of her breath.

You pull back slightly, surprised, your eyes searching hers. “Baby? What—”

But she doesn’t let you finish. Driven by a hunger too strong to ignore, she grabs the front of your shirt with both hands and pulls you back, crashing her lips into yours with a fierce, undeniable need. Her fingers twist in the fabric, knuckles whitening as she clings to you, anchoring herself against the tidal wave of longing rising within her. The kiss is no longer gentle—it’s a desperate claim, a silent plea that her words can’t convey. Her mouth moves against yours insistently, each press of her lips more urgent than the last, her breath mingling with yours as she leans in, seeking every ounce of connection she can steal from this moment.

Her body seems to mold itself to yours, her hands slipping up to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer as though afraid of the slightest distance. Her pulse hammers in her veins, each beat fueling the fire burning brighter inside her, making it impossible to hold back. She pours every bit of her yearning into that kiss, the soft brush of her lips transforming into something raw and consuming, a desperation she can’t disguise or suppress.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, and Liz’s face is flushed, her pupils wide with desire. She grins, heart pounding a wild rhythm that mirrors the frantic beat of her pulse. "Just... a good morning kiss," she teases, though her voice is husky, barely above a whisper, betraying the intensity of her desire.

You chuckle, shaking your head with a look of endearing exasperation. “Right... Maybe you should let me get back to work?”

Liz steps back, the fire inside her roaring even hotter at your words. She isn’t done—not even close. The kiss has only stoked the flames, and the tension in her body is becoming unbearable. She needs more, much more than a mere kiss.

As she busies herself preparing breakfast, Liz keeps glancing over at you. The sight of you working, which usually brings her comfort, now fills her with irritation. Is their work really that important? she wonders, feeling the heat twist in her stomach. Or are they just ignoring me? The thought fuels a potent mix of frustration and anticipation.

In a bold move, she leans over the counter, letting the sweater slip down her shoulder, exposing more skin than necessary. “Hey,” she calls, keeping her tone light and playful. “Do you think it’s normal to feel… really warm down there?”

You glance up, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “Warm? Like a fever?”

Liz chuckles, her heart racing with the thrill of her own audacity. “No, not like that... just... you know, hot.” She lets the words hang in the air, heavy with implication.

Your expression is confused, and it only stokes her impatience. “Maybe it’s the weather,” you offer, looking back at your screen. “Should I open a window?”

Liz sighs, rolling her eyes as she turns back to the stove. Seriously? she thinks, already conjuring up a dozen ways to make you understand the heat she wants to share. The day is still young, and Liz is determined that the fire within her will not be doused by misunderstanding or indifference. Today, she’ll make sure you feel the heat, too.

After a cozy breakfast shared in the warm glow of morning light, Liz feels a familiar itch for a bit of fun. The soft clicks of your keyboard punctuate the quiet kitchen, your concentration clearly unbroken by her hints at distraction. She smiles to herself, deciding it’s time to turn things up a notch.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Liz unlocked her phone and scrolled through her carefully curated playlist until she found one of your favorite songs—an upbeat, toe-tapping melody known to get even the most stoic souls moving. As the lively tune filled the kitchen, she swayed her hips, casting a playful glance over her shoulder in your direction.

“Come on, you love this song!” she teased, her voice bubbling with infectious enthusiasm. She exaggerated her movements, swishing her hips dramatically as if inviting you to join her in a spontaneous dance. “Dance with me!”

You glanced up, offering a brief smile at her playful energy before your eyes returned to the screen. “I would love to, but I really need to finish this…” you replied, your tone laced with apology but unwavering in focus.

Undeterred, Liz spun on her toes, her hair fanning out as she twirled closer to you. “Oh, come on!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. “Just one dance. You know you can’t resist me!”

A soft chuckle slipped from you, clearly entertained by her antics, but your fingers resumed their quick tapping across the keyboard. “I really need to get this done,” you insisted, your focus still intact.

With an exaggerated huff, Liz threw her hands in the air, her eyes sparkling with renewed determination. She realized subtlety wasn’t going to work this time; she needed a different approach. So, with a sly smile, she scrolled through her phone again, selecting a slower, sultry track that filled the kitchen with a deep, sensual beat. She began moving to the rhythm, rolling her hips in a way she knew would be impossible for you to ignore.

The shift in tempo did not go unnoticed. Your fingers stilled momentarily, and your gaze lifted, following the hypnotic sway of her body. Liz noticed the flicker of interest in your eyes and smirked inwardly. Gotcha, her confidence started to build.

“What's more important, your work or me?” she whispered, stepping closer until her chest is pressed against your back. “Come on, just give in, I can see it in your eyes.” Her breath was warm on your ear, her voice dipping into a tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without waiting for a response, she leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss just below your ear, where she knew you liked. Her lips traced down the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every inch of skin. Her kisses were soft at first, feather-light, each one coaxing you to lose a little more focus.

As she reached the side of your neck, her hands slid up and tangled into your hair, her fingers curling with just enough pressure to make you look up from your work. She tugged gently, pulling you closer as she kissed the spot just above your collarbone, her lips pressing in deeper, each kiss warmer and more possessive than the last. She could feel the faintest hitch in your breath as her lips moved, her mouth leaving a trail of warmth in her wake. The sensation was dizzying, and every brush of her lips seemed to spark a little more heat between you, making it impossible to ignore her any longer.

One hand drifted from your hair to your shoulder, her fingertips brushing slowly down your arm before trailing back up, her touch deliberate and teasing. Her lips hovered at the nape of your neck, grazing softly as she whispered, “Can you please give me attention?” Her voice was a gentle plea wrapped in a sultry tease, her breath hot against your skin.

Her hands tightened slightly in your hair as her lips continued their trail, her kisses deepening as she left small, possessive marks—soft, warm reminders of her presence that lingered even after her lips moved. She pressed herself closer, the rhythm of the song matching the slow, deliberate beat of her heart. Her voice softened, and you could feel her smirk against your skin, an invitation that left little choice but to surrender to the pull of her touch.

Your resolve wavered as you glanced at her, but with a quick shake of your head, you refocused on your work. “Honey, I promise after I'm done, I'll give you all the attention you need, okay?”

Her lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, the disappointment was almost comically dramatic. But she wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Instead, with a quick, determined stride, Liz slipped out of the kitchen and darted to your shared bedroom. She rummaged through the drawer, grabbing a fresh set of lacy undergarments, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she hid them behind her back. She returned to the kitchen, concealing the change of clothes with an innocent smile.

Rejoining you, Liz picked up a glass of water, a glint of mischief in her eye. She positioned herself close to you, pretending to take a casual sip, then with an exaggerated gasp and a theatrical tilt, she "accidentally" spilled the water down the front of her sweater and shorts, the cold splash soaking through the fabric and clinging to her curves beneath.

She let out a playful, shocked gasp, looking down at herself with wide eyes. “Oops!” she exclaimed, feigning innocence as she looked up at you, her eyes shining with mischief. “Looks like I made a mess…”

You looked up, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. “Really?” you began, trying to keep your tone stern, but your amusement betrayed you.

Without missing a beat, Liz shrugged, flashing you a devilish smile as she reached for the hem of her soaked sweater. With an agonizing slowness, she pulled it off, letting the damp fabric slip over her shoulders and fall to the floor, leaving her in her wet shorts and a cute pink bra that hugged her so well. She shot you a glance, watching as your gaze lingered.

But she wasn’t done. Her fingers hooked under the waistband of her shorts, and with a teasing glance in your direction, she slid them down her hips, letting the fabric fall to the floor and leaving her in the matching soaked underwear. The damp material clung to her skin, accentuating every curve and had become almost see-through, revealing the soft contours beneath. It molded to her body, tracing every line and dip with delicate precision, hinting at the natural line between her legs. A small smile played on her lips as she noticed the faint shift in your expression, a silent acknowledgment of the effect she had on you.

She took a slow step forward, lifting her chin defiantly. “You sure you don’t want to help me out now?” she teased, raising an eyebrow as she tugged at the strap of her bra.

Your gaze followed the movement, and you chuckled, shaking your head even as your resolve began to waver. “You’re going to have to try harder than that,” you replied, though your tone softened, hinting at how close you were to giving in.

“Oh, I plan to,” she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper as she drew nearer. Her hands slipped behind her back, fingers deftly locating the clasp of her bra. In one smooth motion, she unhooked it, allowing the fabric to glide down her arms and pool at her feet, revealing her bare chest. Her eyes locked onto yours, challenging you to look away. But you couldn’t; your gaze lingered, tracing the contours of her form.

Then, with deliberate slowness, she turned around, her back to you as her hands slipped down to the waistband of her panties. She bent over slightly, just enough to give you a full, tantalizing view, as she peeled the wet fabric down her hips and thighs, letting it drop to her feet. Every movement was slow and intentional, and the sight left you speechless, torn between finishing your work and giving in.

Straightening up, she faced you once more, her cheeks slightly flushed but her eyes filled with confidence. Without a word, she reached for the fresh set of undergarments she had hidden, slipping into them as you watched, completely captivated.

Her lips curled into a sly smile as she met your gaze again. “Now… will you touch me?” she asked, her voice a soft plea wrapped in a sultry tease, her tone breaking the last of your resolve.

You chuckled, shaking your head with a hint of feigned restraint. “Later, I promise. If I don't finish this then I won’t have a job—and then I won’t be able to get you all those things you keep hinting about.” Your tone was steady, but your gaze betrayed you as it traced all over her body, revealing just how much of a struggle it was to stay focused.

Liz let out an exaggerated, melodramatic groan, her hands falling to her hips in mock defeat. “Fine, fine. Later, that's what you always say,” she said, pouting as she reluctantly stepped back, throwing you one last, imploring look.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the table, its insistent vibration shattering the playful silence. You stood up to answer, frustration flashing across your face as you paced back and forth, absorbed in the terse conversation. As you talked, Liz watched you, her own impatience simmering. The wait stretched on unbearably, her need for you now pulsing with an almost comical level of urgency. She could feel her determination solidifying.

Without uttering a single word, she rose from her seat, her movements fluid yet purposeful. She slipped into the sanctuary of the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. The coolness of the tiles against her back was a contrast to the feverish heat that radiated from within. Leaning against the wall, she released a shaky breath, the ache between her thighs a relentless, pulsating demand for attention.

Her hands, trembling slightly with pent-up desire, began a slow descent down her body. They traced the contours of her hips, the familiar terrain now electrified with heightened sensitivity. Dipping between her legs, her fingers tentatively explored the heat that beckoned them. Her breath hitched as she grazed her sensitive skin, a jolt of pleasure coursing through her, but it was fleeting, a mere whisper of what she truly yearned for.

She pressed her fingers more firmly against herself, attempting to mimic the touch she so desperately needed from you. Her heart pounded in her chest, a staccato rhythm that matched the increasing tempo of her own hand. The tension within her coiled ever more tightly, each desperate stroke fueling the fire that threatened to consume her.

Yet, despite her best efforts, the release she sought remained maddeningly out of reach. Her self-administered caresses, though fervent, were a hollow imitation of the passion she craved. A soft desperate whimper escaped her lips, her head falling back against the unyielding wall as her body trembled with unmet need. Her fingers moved with increasing urgency, her breath quickening to short, sharp gasps, but the elusive wave of pleasure she sought continued to elude her, taunting her with its proximity.

"Come on… please…" she begged into the empty room, her voice a tremulous blend of desperation and frustration. She increased the pressure, her hips undulating against her own hand, but the crescendo she so desperately sought remained just beyond her grasp. Her fingers, now slick with her own arousal, were simply not enough to quell the storm within her.

Defeated, she withdrew her hand, her body still throbbing with an unsatisfied longing. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and a solitary tear of frustration tracked down her cheek. The realization hit her with a profound clarity: she needed you. Only you could extinguish the flame that raged unabated inside her.

Liz composed herself, the cool air of the bathroom doing little to temper the inferno that burned within. She emerged from the bathroom, her gaze immediately drawn to you. You sat at the table, the picture of calm repose after your phone call, contrasting to the turmoil that racked her. Without hesitation, she sprinted across the room, her need for you a palpable force that propelled her forward. She climbed onto your lap, her body pressing against yours, her desperation an unmistakable presence between you.

"I don't care about your work," she whispered, her voice raw with the remnants of her frustrated attempts at satisfaction. "I tried, but it's not enough. I need you."

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, thickening the tension between you. She inched closer, the anticipation building with each heartbeat. Her breaths were shallow, her cheeks flushed, and when she lifted her hand toward your face, her intentions were unmistakable.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she brought them to your eyes, and you noticed the glistening sheen—a subtle but unmistakable sign of her arousal. The warmth radiating from her touch spoke volumes, the scent and sight of her desire making the air around you almost electric.

Slowly, she then slid her fingers past your lips, and you couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped as the taste and warmth of her skin flooded your senses. The feel of her wet fingers against your tongue sent an electric pulse through you, one that lingered, intense and undeniable. Your eyelids fluttered closed, your breath hitching as you surrendered to the sensory overload she was offering.

Her fingers moved slowly, exploring the warmth of your mouth as if savoring every second. She traced the curve of your tongue, brushing lightly against the smoothness of your palate, each touch slow and deliberate, leaving a lingering warmth that was impossible to ignore. You felt her breath, hot and close, mingling with yours as her fingers coaxed a fire that echoed the rising tension between you. Your heart raced, each beat syncing with the throb of need that simmered just beneath the surface.

The heat in her core, which had moments ago felt unbearable, now flared into an intense blaze. With each passing moment, as her fingers remained enveloped in the warmth of your mouth, she could feel herself becoming more and more aroused. The wetness between her legs grew, a physical testament to her body's readiness. A soft moan escaped her lips as she imagined the culmination of their shared desire, the anticipation of what was to come next a sweet torture that promised to finally douse the unquenchable fire within.

Your eyes widened, reflecting a cocktail of surprise and mounting passion as Liz, with a fiery determination, began to move against you. Her hips swayed with an initial languidness, a slow burn that was quickly stoked into an intense flame. Each roll of her body was a word in an unspoken language, a plea for connection that was both physical and profoundly emotional.

Her lips, soft and insistent, blazed a trail down the column of your neck, marking you with the fervent passion of her need. The love bite she left just below your ear was a brand, a claim of intimacy that sent shivers down your spine. “Keep working for all I care, just let me use you.” she whispered, her voice a tremulous testament to her desperation. Her sentence trailed off into a moan as her hips found a rhythm that spoke of her urgency.

Liz’s body was a conduit of yearning, each movement an expression of her deep-seated desire. Her need was palpable, a force that seemed to vibrate through the very air around you. Your hands, initially steadying, now clung to her waist with an intensity that mirrored her own. Your breaths were short, sharp bursts of air as you wrestled with your own surging need, striving to maintain a semblance of control in the face of her unbridled passion.

But Liz, lost in the throes of her own longing, was beyond the point of patience. Her lips returned to your neck, leaving another love bite, a twin to the first, as she ground against you with increasing fervor. “Ugh forget what I said. Please help me out!” she whimpered, her voice cracking under the weight of her need. “I can’t take it anymore.”

It was the raw vulnerability in her voice that finally pierced your resolve. Your hands, now firm and decisive, gripped her hips, not to pull her closer but to lift her gently off your lap. You guided her toward the bed, a sanctuary where you could lavish upon her the care and attention she so desperately craved. Liz blinked in momentary confusion, her body still pulsing with unfulfilled desire. She had been so close to the edge, so ready to tumble over it with you.

“Okay” you murmured softly, your voice a soothing balm against her flushed skin as you cupped her cheek. Your thumb traced a gentle path across her heated flesh, a silent promise of the tenderness to come. “I didn't know it was this bad, I'm sorry for making you wait.” Your lips found hers in a kiss that was both a reassurance and a reawakening of her senses. “But I want to take care of you properly. This is all about you, baby.”

Liz’s breath hitched, her body quivering with a mixture of anticipation and a newfound sense of being cherished. As you guided her down onto the bed, your hands moved with a reverence that made her heart flutter. Each touch, each caress, was a testament to your desire to please her, to explore the depths of her need and satisfy it in a way that was as much about connection as it was about physical release.

Your lips continued their journey, leaving a trail of soft, deliberate kisses down her neck. You took your time, savoring the moment, as you kissed across her collarbone with a tenderness that made her feel both vulnerable and exquisitely seen. With gentle care, you unclasped her bra, revealing the stiff nubs breasts, the raw truth of her desire. Liz’s skin prickled under your touch, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she surrendered to the waves of anticipation that coursed through her.

In the quiet of the room, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you—a tangle of limbs and a tapestry of whispered yearnings. Your every move was deliberate, a dance of devotion that promised to worship every inch of her being. Liz felt overwhelmed, not just by the sensations that threatened to consume her, but by the depth of emotion that shone in your eyes. In this sacred space, she was not just a body to be claimed, but a soul to be revered.

As your lips continued their tender exploration, each kiss a vow of adoration, Liz surrendered to the exquisite surrender, knowing that in your capable hands, she would find not just the release she craved, but the connection she had been yearning for all along.

“I’ve got you, baby,” you whispered against her skin, kissing lower as your hands gently pressed against her thighs to ease them apart. “Let me take care of you.”

Liz whimpered softly, her fingers gripping the sheets as your lips grazed her inner thighs, teasing her with featherlight kisses. The anticipation was excruciating, the fire between her legs almost unbearable now. “Please,” she gasped, her hips shifting under your touch. “Please hurry up. I can’t wait…”

You looked up, eyes dark with intent but softened with affection. “I know, honey,” you murmured, voice soothing. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”

Slowly, you hooked your fingers around the waistband of her panties, slipping them down her thighs. As you pulled the fabric away, a glistening line of arousal connected it to her core, a raw, intimate sign of her need that sent a fresh wave of desire surging through you.

With that, you lowered your mouth to her most intimate area, beginning a slow, deliberate journey with your tongue that drew a sharp gasp from her lips. Liz's back arched off the bed as the first wave of intense pleasure washed over her, your name falling from her lips in a soft, breathless plea.

You savored every moment, taking in the taste and warmth of her, feeling the desperation in every tremor of her body. Your tongue moved with deliberate purpose, tracing slow, languid circles around her most sensitive spot before pressing in, tasting the raw sweetness of her arousal. The slight tang lingered on your tongue, a heady reminder of how close she was to unraveling.

With each flick and caress, you explored her rhythm, sensing exactly where to tease and where to soothe. You took her clit between your lips, sucking softly at first, then with increasing pressure, drawing a deep moan from her that resonated through your chest. Her hips arched instinctively, pressing against your mouth, silently begging for more. The slow, sensual rhythm built her higher and higher, and you felt her thighs begin to tremble on either side of you.

Liz’s hands fisted the sheets, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you intensified your pace. You could feel her holding back, teetering on the edge, her body taut and eager beneath you as your tongue worked her into a state of pure need. She had waited so long for this, imagined your touch from the moment she woke, and now, here you were, driving her wild with bliss.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice a desperate plea. Her fingers found their way to your hair, tangling in it as she clung to you, her body quivering. “Don’t stop… Oh God, please don’t stop.”

You lifted your head just enough to murmur against her skin, the hum of your voice sending a shiver through her core. “I won’t, baby,” you whispered, lips brushing her, each word thick with intent. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Her soft cries grew louder as you continued, your tongue stroking over her, slow and unrelenting, each motion sparking new jolts of pleasure that left her gasping and releasing another desperate moan from her lips. Liz’s body arched sharply, her thighs tightening around you as the pressure intensified.

“Oh my…” she gasped, voice catching in her throat, her breath shallow and ragged. “I’m so close…”

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmured, your breath hot against her skin. “Cum for me.”

The words combined with a deep flick of your tongue, were all she needed. Her release crashed over her, consuming her in waves. Liz cried out, her body trembling violently, thighs quivering uncontrollably as the orgasm took hold. Her hands clenched the back of your head, pulling you impossibly close as her head threw back, each moan spilling from her lips a testament to the ecstasy you’d pulled her into.

But you didn’t stop. Your mouth remained on her, relentless and devoted, your tongue and lips letting her ride out every last bit of her orgasm. When her thighs started to press together, instinctively seeking some escape from the intensity, you hooked both hands between her legs, prying her open with gentle but steady pressure. Your fingers dug softly into the flesh of her inner thighs, holding her in place, ensuring she stayed completely vulnerable to every flick of your tongue.

Liz whimpered, her hips squirming under your firm hold, her body entirely exposed to your touch, with nowhere to hide from the sensations that were building within her. She tried to twist away, overwhelmed by the pleasure, but your hands kept her steady, her every movement restrained in the soft grasp of your fingers.

“I can’t… please… it’s too much…” she moaned, her hands weakly gripping your head, but even then, she knew the warm feeling in her core was still lingering. “Okay, maybe just one more.” She weakly let out, contradicting her own words.

The sensation between her legs was nearly unbearable, her breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps as your mouth moved over her, slow and torturous, each flick of your tongue igniting another spark of sensation. You let your lips close over her sensitive clit again, sucking softly, then firm enough to tug on the nub, until her body responded with a shuddering moan that sent a thrill through your being.

You let your mouth bring her closer and closer, feeling the growing tension in her thighs and the way her breathing became ragged. You stayed focused, your tongue moving with purpose, keeping her right on the edge.

“Oh… oh, please…” she gasped, her voice quivering as you increased the pressure, holding her open and vulnerable as her release built quickly, the intensity almost too much to bear.

With a particular lick, your tongue curved deep inside her, pressing against her walls as it moved, then you brought it back flicking over her clit repeatedly. She cried out, her body going rigid as the climax surged through her. Her toes curled, and her thighs trembled in your firm grasp, but you held her open, feeling the waves of pleasure pulse through her. Her juices enveloped your mouth as she shook uncontrollably, her hands gripping the sheets, breathless from the overwhelming bliss that crashed over her again and again. “Oh God… fuck! I-I’m cumming!” she cried, her voice breaking as her body convulsed beneath you, every nerve alight with intensity. The sensation was so powerful it left her undone, each convulsive tremor a testament to the pleasure coursing through her, leaving her utterly spent, yet deeply fulfilled.

You slowed your movements, letting your tongue soften as you felt the warmth of her release, helping her ride out the final waves of pleasure. Leaning in, you pressed gentle, reverent kisses along her pulsing, trembling folds, each one soft and deliberate, as if sealing in the pleasure that still coursed through her. With each kiss, you felt the last traces of her climax gradually ease, her body quivering under your touch.

When you finally pulled back, Liz collapsed onto the bed, her body still trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was completely spent, her mind foggy with exhaustion and the overwhelming afterglow of multiple orgasms.

You crawled up beside her, pressing soft kisses along her stomach, then moving to her chest, and finally finding her lips. The kiss was slow, tender, and filled with love. Liz melted into it, tasting herself on your lips, her body still shaking from the aftershocks. Yet amid that tremble was a warmth in her chest—a feeling of being so completely cherished that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“You’re so cute,” you whispered against her lips, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Liz murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her body felt heavy, exhausted from the overwhelming pleasure, and she could feel the exhaustion pulling at her.

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Take a nap baby, I’ve got you.”

Liz’s eyelids fluttered shut, her body relaxing completely into the bed. The last thing she felt was the warmth of your lips pressing a final kiss to her forehead before she drifted off into a deep, contented sleep. You bent down and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering there as you whispered, “Sleep well, my love.”

Carefully, you tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, making sure she was wrapped up securely, bundled in a loving warmth. You gently ran your hand over the curve of her waist, the lightest of touches, before pulling the blanket higher up around her neck, ensuring that no part of her would feel cold. It was as if you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting her to be as comfortable and protected as possible.

“You’re adorable,” you murmured softly, smiling as you leaned in to kiss her again, pressing your lips softly to the top of her head. “How did I get so lucky?”

Liz let out a soft, sleepy hum, shifting slightly under the blanket, but she remained blissfully asleep. Your heart fluttered at the sound, and you stood slowly, your movements quiet and gentle as you finally tore yourself away, knowing she was completely at ease.

With a reluctant sigh, you walked back to the kitchen, settling in front of your laptop once again. But after just a few minutes, your thoughts kept drifting back to Liz, still peacefully asleep just a room away. Every few moments, you glanced in her direction, your focus slipping from your work.

Why not work there? you thought.

After all, you could bring the laptop into the bedroom and be close to her while she slept. Quietly, you stood, gathering your laptop and slipping into the bedroom. There was a small table and chair near the window, just perfect for setting up your workstation. You set the laptop down carefully, keeping the light low to avoid disturbing Liz, and settled into the chair.

Now, from your spot, you could watch Liz sleep while you worked—something that made your heart feel a little fuller.

As you worked, you kept stealing soft glances at her, your heart warming every time you saw her peacefully tucked under the covers, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. You smiled to yourself, feeling a sense of comfort knowing you were nearby in case she needed you.

If I finish quickly… your fingers tapping efficiently at the keys.

Determined to wrap up your work, you focused more than you had all day, your motivation clear. You wanted nothing more than to slide back into bed beside Liz and hold her close.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you finished your last task. A quiet sigh of relief escaped your lips as you closed the laptop, your eyes immediately drifting back to the bed. With a content smile, you stood and tiptoed to the bed, careful not to wake her.

The moment you slipped under the covers beside her, Liz instinctively stirred, her body reacting to your presence even in sleep. Without waking, she shifted closer, wrapping her whole body around you. Her leg draped over yours, her arms encircling your waist, and she pressed her face against your neck, letting out a soft, contented sigh as she snuggled into you, as if she had been waiting for you to return all along.

Your heart swelled as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her in even closer. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, your fingers gently stroking her back as she relaxed fully against you.

“There you are,” you whispered softly, your voice full of warmth and affection. “I missed you too, baby.”

Liz responded with a sleepy hum, her grip on you tightening just a little, her breathing slow and steady. Even in her dreams, she clung to you, her body instinctively seeking the comfort of your embrace. You smiled down at her, your chest filling with a deep sense of love and contentment. She fit so perfectly against you, as though you were two pieces meant to come together.

You settled into the pillow, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing against you. You weren’t at all sleepy, but you lay there with a smile, reveling in the warmth of being so close to her. The gentle rhythm of her breathing was comforting, and as you watched her peaceful face, you felt a wave of happiness wash over you. In that moment, everything felt perfect, and you couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. Wrapped up in each other, with the soft glow of the lights circling around you, everything was as it should be.

[lordprettyflackotara]

hitchhiker || chapter six || the proxies

tw: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: teehee smut😛 virginity loss, overstimulation

a/n: i am happy to announce hitchhikers is now on Ao3! find the link posted with the hitchhiker masterlist: here

<— previous chapter

Nova felt like she was slipping. Her hands were shaky as she grabbed her coffee mug. The hot liquid swished around in the ceramic cup, threatening to spill onto her hand.

Carefully she took a sip, breathing deeply. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept more than an hour. She was so close to solving the Winston case, her insomnia would have to wait. Nova considered herself to be a logical person. Thats why she knew the tall man she was seeing wasn’t real. She decided to ignore her delusions and seek therapy once the case was over. After all, an impossibly tall man with no face couldn’t possibly exist.

She noticed him for the first time in her kitchen, the strange being observing her from outside of her window. Nova freaked out, a panic anxiety sending her into a short lived frenzy. Her heart was the only sound she could hear, the organ threatening to fail. She had to rationalize her thoughts. To understand working long hours and living off of coffee and nicotine wasn’t healthy. So she ignored what she deemed to be illusions her mind was creating.

As time went on her symptoms began to worsen, faint static and the paranoia of being watched progressing. Nova ignored them all, satisfaction washing over her as she studied her report. She had invited you to her office to share the good news. The news that made all of her torment and suffering worth it. Nova Parker had solved the homicide of Detective Winston.

Originally you hadn’t thought much into Novas invitation. Toby opted to help you make blueberry muffins, stealing a few for himself of course. It was refreshing, her invitation was. It got you out of your apartment and you got to see your best friend. What more could you ask for? You had only managed to speak to Nova a few times on the phone. You tried not to burden her with the details of your life. You briefly mentioned your suspected break in and how the boys had stayed around for your protection. Nova had enough on her plate. She didn't need your paranoia on there too. The detectives down at the station knew you, your presence unquestioned as you led Toby down the small hallway. “Y-you’re sure she’s n-n-not going to h-have an issue with me being here?” Toby questioned. He knew if he didn’t like Nova, there was no way she liked him.

“You helped make the muffins. You deserve a thank you at least,” You said calmly. Truthfully you brought Toby for your own comfort. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been in public alone. Toby made you comfortable, the brunette excited to be attached to you at the hip. After your kiss with Brian your thoughts had wondered to pure filth. Many which included Toby alone, but even more including Brian, Tim, and Toby all together. You couldn’t deny the throbbing that was beginning to form in your core. You knew you wouldn’t be able to ignore your body’s hunger for much longer.

You knocked on Nova's office door, your exhausted best friend opening the door. Black circles decorated her eyes, her skin dry and hair pulled into a sloppy bun. "Hey Nov," You greeted, instantly greeting her with a hug. Nova hugged you back, her eyes meeting Toby's over your shoulder. "What is he doing here?" She questioned. You pulled away from the hug, lifting up the foil to show Nova the plate of blueberry muffins. "We thought you might be hungry, so we made you something to eat," You told her. Your eyes narrowed at the sight of Nova's visible disapproval. She took the plate from Toby, giving him a fake smile. "Thank you for the muffins. Would you mind waiting in the hallway for a moment?" She asked. Her question sounded more like a command more than a mild suggestion.

Toby stood there unmoved, awaiting your instructions. "It's okay Toby just give us a moment," You say. Toby nodded, heading into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. "You should be nicer to him, he helped me make those muffins for you," You told Nova. She rounded her desk, lifting up the foil and eyeing the food suspiciously. "Did you supervise him when he made these?" She questioned. You couldn't understand her harsh tone. "No? We made them together," You answered. You watched in horror as she tossed the plate in a nearby trashcan. "Hey! What the fuck is your problem?" You gasped. Nova took a seat in her large desk chair, boxes of her belongings still packed in the room around her. She had been given Detective Winston's office and had not made a single effort to make herself comfortable.

"Did you even see my interview on the news?" Nova asked abruptly. You noticed the way her fingers strummed against her desk nervously. "No? Was I supposed to?" You asked. Nova rolled her eyes. "If you cared about my well being or this case at all, yes," She answered blandly. Behind her you noticed an old school chalkboard, one that was covered in scribbles and barely readable cursive handwriting. "Nova I'm not a detective-" You began, Nova raising her hand to stop you. You couldn't understand her odd behavior. "This case is putting a target on my back. I can't take any risk right now. I have to solve this case before it gets me killed," Nova explained.

You glanced at the muffins discarded in the trash can. "So you think someone is going to poison you?" You asked. Nova stood up, pushing her chair aside. "If I told you something that sounded crazy you'd trust me, right?" She asked. She leaned against the desk, your eyes widening. "Because I don't want you to forget. It's us, it has always been us against everyone else," Nova reminded you. You noticed the wrinkles in her uniform and a faint brown coffee stain on the bottom of her button up. "O-okay?" You agreed slowly. Nova took a deep breath, her eyes bewildered as she met your confused gaze. "That night on Halloween was when Winston was killed. Based on your location, when you picked up your hitchhiker loverboys you were only two miles away from Winston's body," Nova started.

You hadn't thought about it in a while, Nova and you sharing locations. You had no reason to. You never snooped on where Nova was and you assumed the same for her. It was supposed to be for emergencies, the two of you living alone. If you didn't include Nova's German Shepard. "What exactly are you getting at?" You asked sharply. Nova sighed, turning around and facing the chalkboard. "Look Y/n I know that things after Cameron weren't easy. And I knew one day you'd find a rebound. Or in this case, a few of them," She said calmly. You slowly rose from your chair, your eyes furrowing. "But you need to listen to me. I think your hitchhikers are behind this," She told you. She finally faced you, the color having drained from your face.

"On what principle? Because they were partying in the woods? We were too if you don't recall," You hissed. You walked up to the chalkboard, examining the scribbles. "Nova you need some sleep. Half of this isn't even legible. You're not making sense," You say calmly. In a swift motion she was on you, her hands roughly grabbing your upper arms. "Wake up! There is three of them. They mysteriously came from the woods with no way of getting home? Near the scene of the crime?!" Nova exclaimed. She shook you violently, your eyes widened in fear. "They cosplayed as hitchhikers I know it. They are only using you to get closer to me. Don't you see?" She asked.

You could feel your heart racing in your chest, your eyes flickering back and forth. You searched her gaze for any sign of humor. For any sign that this wasn't real. Once you realized she was stone cold serious, your gaze hardened. "How fucking dare you!" You screeched. You pushed her off of you, causing her to take a couple of steps backwards. It was then Toby pushed his way back inside of the office, jumping over Nova's desk. He was eerily calm, his sights focused on you. His eyes searched your body for any sign of harm, his slender body standing in between you and Nova.

"For fucking starters. Stop calling them hitchhikers like its a goddamn slur! At the end of the day they're my friends above all else. And even if they were more or if they weren't, it's none of your business!" You bellowed. You were unbelievably pissed, anger washing over you. "You need to listen and Toby needs to-" Nova started, pointing towards the door. Toby stood unmoving, awaiting your command. "Toby isn't going anywhere. You know what Nova? Can you really just not stand to see me happy?" You hissed. Nova gasped, her worn out face hardening. She went to take a step towards you, Toby silently blocking her way.

"Do you not understand? The reason your apartment was broken into was because of this!" Nova snapped. She untucked her button up, revealing a vanilla folder tucked into her waistband. "This is what they were looking for," She said, slamming it onto her desk. She glared up at Toby, who on the inside was fighting the urge to slice her in half. "I'm onto you asshole, I won't stop until you're all in jail or on the other end of my python," Nova snarled. Toby allowed you to push him behind you, your protectiveness flattering him. "That is enough!" You growled. A knock on her office door interrupted the argument, two of Nova's officers watching the scene unfold. "Everything alright in here ladies?" The first one asked, his gaze cautiously flickering to Toby.

"Everything is just fine. We were just leaving," You said firmly. You grabbed Toby's wrist, dragging him towards the door. Nova tried to stop you, her hand managing to reach your shoulder. "Please just wait, listen to me," Nova pleaded. You shoved her arm off, giving her a look so cold it could kill. "I don't recognize you anymore," You spit, watching her face fall. With those words craved in stone, you led Toby back home.

\/

Toby could see you were upset. The entire walk home you were silent, your face revealing that your mind was easily in a frenzy. Even as Toby quietly grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers with his, your gaze remained hardened. Once the two of you entered your apartment, you sat down on the couch in defeat. You were on the verge of tears, tossing your beanie aside. Toby kneeled in front of you, frowning at the sight of tears flooding your waterline. "I-I'm so sorry Toby I never should have brought you. She's gone mad," You whimpered.

Toby nuzzled his way in between your knees, bringing his bandaged hands to your face. "Hey i-it's okay," He said softly. His thumbs lovingly stroked your cheeks, wiping away a salty tear. Your watery eyes met his, placing your hands on top of his. Your touch was nice and warm, Toby's heart began to pound as you leaned in closer to him. He melted into you as you brought your lips to his. Toby tried to copy your motions, his inexperience beginning to show. You didn't seem to care, your lips working against his as his teeth clashed with his. You swiped your tongue on his lower lip, requesting access.

Afraid you'd feel the gash in his cheek, Toby pulled away with wide eyes. You noticed immediately, feeling guilty. "Holy shit I'm so sorry," You gasped, your face turning red. Toby swallowed, gaining the confidence to bring his lips back to yours. You raked your fingers through his chestnut curls, trying to bring him hopelessly closer to you. "C'mere," You whined. Toby joined you on the couch, crawling on top of you as you laid on your back. As soon as you seemed comfortable his desperate lips found your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin. You tilted your head back, whimpering his name. "Fuck," Toby grumbled into your skin. He could feel your hips grinding upwards, his cock growing harder into his jeans.

"H-how far d-do you um-" Toby began to ask, his face flushing pink. You bit the inside of your cheek, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I want you Toby, please," You whispered. Toby grinned down at you, nodding affirmatively. He grabbed the hem of your shirt, helping you toss it over your head. His pupils expanded at the sight of your lacey black bra, your face only growing more red by the minute. His hands were shaky as he reached around you, fiddling with the clasp. "Toby?" You whispered. He finally unclasped the bra, tossing it aside. "Hmm?" He hummed. You looked at him shyly, your nipples hardening from the cold air. "You've never done this before, have you?" You asked softly.

Toby shook his head, trying to focus on your words instead of your breast. "We don't have to," You say, not wanting the brunette to feel pressured in any sort of way. Toby's chocolate orbs met yours, his pupils blown with lust. "I-I want to f-f-fuck you so bad it hurts," He confessed, his confession bordering a plea. He lowered himself to your breast, maintaining eye contact as he took one of your nipples into his mouth. You moaned as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud, your back arching at the slightest sensation. You couldn't remember the last time you had done anything like this, nevertheless have sex. Toby grazed his teeth over your nipples, a painful whine escaping your throat. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your body on fire with a craving only Toby could satisfy.

He released your nipple with a pop, his lips turning a darker pink. T-that okay?" He asked. You nodded, licking your dry lips. "Please keep going," You whimpered. Toby could've sucked on your breast all day, but he needed more. He kissed down your stomach slowly, keeping his gaze on your face. He couldn't get enough of your facial expressions, his hands shaky as they undid you jeans. You helped him slide them and your panties downwards, discarding them onto the floor. Toby's experience was very minimal. He had only really jacked off and watched porn. He never thought he'd be in this position, his lips kissing your exposed waist.

Your hand ran through his curls, desperately trying to drag him to your aching cunt. Toby dug in his memory, forcing himself to remember everything in porn that made the girl feel good. He nervously licked up your folds, his name falling off of your lips. Toby couldn't quite explain it, but he liked that. A lot. He opened up your folds, examining your drenched cunt. Unsurely, he attached his lips to your clit, watching in amazement as your back arched off of the couch. "F-fuck Toby!" You whined, yanking at the roots of his hair. Toby couldn't feel pain but he could feel the sensation of you desperately wanting more. He sucked at your clit like his life depended on it, his eyes watching you fall apart on his tongue.

Curiously he released your throbbing clit, bringing his warm tongue to your entrance. Toby studied you as he brought it inside of your entrance, your hips grinding against his face. "T-Toby I need more, please," You stuttered, stumbling over your own words. Toby brought two fingers to your cunt, mimicking what he had seen done before. He shoved them inside of you slowly, his cock growing achingly harder at the feeling of your walls around his fingers. "C-curl them upwards for me, please," You pleaded, biting your bottom lip. Toby happily did as instructed, your moans growing louder. He curiously brought his lips back to your clit, sucking at the bud and curling his fingers.

He relished in your unholy sounds as he repeated the motions, finger fucking you mercilessly. He had no perception of how fast he was going, his gaze focused on you. You were falling apart for him, your fingers keeping his head locked in place as he toyed with your cunt. You felt a familiar cord knot inside of your stomach, your thighs squeezing around Toby's head. If he had to pick a place to die, this would be it. Buried in your cunt being squeezed by your thighs. "Toby, i'm gonna cum," You whined. Toby smirked into your folds, grinding his hips against the couch to give himself a little bit of relief.

Seeing you like this, so hot and bothered, was enough to make him cum in his pants. He continued curling his fingers inside of you, brushing against your g spot. The face you made when you came was so erotic Toby wanted to see it again and again and again. He finger fucked you through your high, adoring the feeling of your walls spasming around his fingers as you came. He continued to abuse your cunt, his fingers relentless. "You c-can take it. Give m-me another one," Toby purred, maintaining eye contact as he placed a teasing kiss to your inner thigh. His lips were glossy with your juices, his lips attaching themselves to your inner thighs. He sucked at the sensitive skin, the sound of your whimpers euphoric.

Your legs began to shake, your back arching off of the couch again. Toby was sure your neighbors could hear you and he truly hoped they did. He began to finger fuck you faster, grinning at the sight of the hickies forming over your stretchmarks on your inner thighs. He brought his other hand to your clit, flicking it back and forth. "That's it-t-t. Cum for me. You c-can do it," Toby cooed. Your second orgasm washed over you in a wave, your thighs trembling. Toby went to dive back in between your folds, your hand stopping him. "If you keep making me cum on your face, you won't be able to fuck me," You giggle nervously.

It clicked in Toby’s mind what you were trying to say, the brunette finally emerging from between your thighs. He tossed his shirt over his head, varieties of scars covering his chest. Your fingertips slowly tracing them. You wanted to ask, Toby knew that. He also knew you wouldn’t. “I’m just c-c-clumsy,” He said, before leaning forward. He placed his lips back against yours, groaning into your mouth as you began to fiddle with his belt. With his help he took off his pants and boxers as well, tossing them onto the floor. He pumped his shaft a few times, before rubbing his tip up and down your drenched folds. You whimpered as his cock brushed against your swollen clit.

Slowly Toby guided himself to your entrance, pushing himself inside of you. He leaned forward, his hand finding yours. You laced your fingers with his, sinful noises escaping your lips as he slid inside of you. Toby was practically vibrating with desire, his body shaking as he bottomed out inside of you. With your spare hand you cupped his face. “You alright?” You whispered. Toby met your gaze, squeezing your hands. “Feels so good,” He whimpered. You gave him a small smile, the brunette beginning to move. Your noises were only more encouragement, Toby’s hips beginning to pick up the pace. His cock began to hit your g spot just right, the brunette growing more confident as you made more lewd noises.

“Y-you’re fucking milking m-me,” Toby whimpered, fucking into you harder. You squeezed his hand as he rammed into you, nuzzling his face into your neck. He sloppily sucked at your skin, trying to litter you in as many marks as possible. You couldn’t stop the noises that came out of your mouth, Toby’s cock abusing your g spot. “T-Toby!” You whined, your thighs beginning to shake. You could feel your final orgasm coming, Toby’s hips merciless. For a virgin he was fucking you so roughly you could hardly believe he was one. You bit your bottom lip as nibbled at your neck.

Toby was a stammering stuttering mess, his groans incoherent babbles of how good you felt. You squeezed his hand as you came for the third time, your thighs trembling at the feeling of your release. You were on cloud nine, your body in a state of euphoria as Toby came inside of you. Once he had come down from a little bit of his high, his eyes widened in fear. “Holy f-f-fuck i’m so sorry I did not mean to cum-” He rambled so quickly you barely understood him. He met your fucked out gaze, a cock drunken smile crossing your lips.

“You’re fine, just buy me a plan b, okay?”

Toby would buy you all of the plan b’s in the world just to cum in you over and over again.

—> next chapter