#trying desperately not to tremble because they brush into you more

[mintyys-blog]

PLEAAAASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MORE VILTRUMITE MARK god im STARVED of that man i could put someone in a chokehold over him 😭💔

anyway i was hoping that maybe just maybe you’d write about a slightly more gentle nsfw of viltrumite mark, headcanons or a fic idm, but basically i was hoping you’d make a gentler version of him after he’s like. I DONT KNWO HOW TO EXPLAIN im so sorry i hope you understand 😞😞

— 🦭.

JUST FOR YOU | viltrumite mark x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: gentle domination, emotional sex, aftercare, soft!Viltrumite Mark, praise, slow grinding, slight overstimulation, size kink vibes.

You never thought he could touch like this. Mark—emperor of ash, reaper of worlds, the man who made entire fleets kneel—was trembling under your hands. Not in fear. Not in pain.

But from need.

“Lie back,” he murmured, voice like thunder wrapped in velvet.

You obeyed, your body already warm from the heat in his eyes. It wasn’t the hunger of a conqueror tonight—it was something deeper. Something fragile, buried beneath all that fire and fury. Like this moment was the only thing keeping him sane.

He crawled over you slowly, his huge form caging yours in, but not to overpower. To protect. Like you were something rare. Something that mattered.

His mouth met yours again, deeper now, his tongue slow and searching. You whimpered when he kissed down your throat, lingering at every pulse point like he was memorizing them.

“I think about you more than I should,” he rasped against your skin. “Even when I’m covered in blood. Even when I’m burning things to the ground. You’re always there.”

Your hands slid down his chest, feeling muscle under your palms. The tension in him—the restraint—it was aching. You could tell he was holding back.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “You won’t break me.”

He growled at that—but it wasn’t angry. It was desperate. Worshipful.

“You think I don’t want to devour you?” he breathed, pushing your thighs open with his knee. “You think I don’t want to bury myself so deep you forget your own name?”

He lined himself up, thick and heavy against your entrance. But even now, he didn’t slam into you.

He eased in. Inch by inch. Watching your face like he was listening for the faintest sound of discomfort.

You gasped, back arching. He was… bigger than usual tonight. Or maybe it just felt that way because of how slow he was going. The stretch was toe-curling, the pressure delicious.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “Take it. Doing so good for me.”

Once he was fully seated inside you, he stilled, breathing hard. His forehead rested against yours.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “You feel like peace.”

Then he started to move.

Slow, deep strokes. Like he wasn’t trying to fuck the breath out of you—but imprint himself inside you. Every roll of his hips hit something unbearable, every thrust left you clenching around him.

You whimpered. He smiled—but it was soft. Pained.

“You gonna come for me like this?” he murmured. “Just from me being gentle?”

You nodded, clinging to him. “I’m close already—Mark, please—”

He shushed you with kisses, sliding one hand between your legs to rub slow circles against your clit. His other hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Come for me,” he whispered, voice thick. “Let me feel it. Let me give you this.”

You shattered.

Your body arched beneath him, your moan caught between his lips as he kissed you through it. He didn’t stop. Just kept grinding into you, drawing out your orgasm until tears welled in your eyes.

You were so sensitive—but he was still moving. Gentle, but insistent. Still needing.

“Again,” he groaned. “Give me another. I want to feel you fall apart.”

You sobbed, overwhelmed in the best way. “Mark—I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can. You will.”

He angled his hips, grinding into that perfect spot until your second orgasm slammed into you like a wave. Your nails dug into his back, legs trembling, mouth falling open in a silent cry.

This time, he came with you.

He groaned your name like a prayer, cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled into your warmth. His whole body shuddered, and then—he collapsed.

Not fully. He caught himself, still cradling your face, still buried inside you.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

And when he finally pulled out, he didn’t move far. Just laid beside you, pulling you onto his chest, stroking your hair in silence.

“…You make me feel like I’m still human,” he said, voice barely audible.

You kissed the scar just above his heart. “You are, Mark. With me, you always will be.” The light was golden again.

Not harsh like fire, not dim like dusk. Just warm—gentle—and streaming in across your bare legs tangled in the sheets. The room was quiet, save for the distant hum of a ship’s engines and the slow, even breathing of the Viltrumite beside you.

Mark was already awake.

He hadn’t moved much. One arm was draped lazily over your hip, his body behind yours like a heat source, impossibly solid. You could feel his chest rise and fall against your back, steady and grounded in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. Not as a ruler. Not as a weapon.

But here, now, with you?

He wasn’t anything but a man holding the only softness he had left in the universe.

You shifted slightly, and his grip instinctively tightened—just a little. Not to trap you. Not to warn. Just to feel that you were still here.

“…Don’t go yet,” he mumbled, voice husky with sleep and sex.

You turned in his arms, facing him. His eyes cracked open, still heavy-lidded, dark lashes brushing against his cheeks. The light kissed his skin, golden on gold, and he blinked like he wasn’t used to you being this close after a night like that.

“I wasn’t going far,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “Just to stretch.”

He exhaled. One hand cupped your jaw. “Stay anyway.”

His thumb stroked your cheek. Then your lips. Then slid down your throat, pausing at the faint red mark where his mouth had lingered last night.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly.

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

You shook your head. “You were… gentle.”

That word made something crack behind his eyes. Like it meant more to him than it should have. Like being gentle wasn’t something he believed he deserved.

Mark kissed your collarbone.

Then your shoulder.

Then your stomach, dipping under the sheet like he was nuzzling a prayer into your skin.

“You stayed,” he murmured. It wasn’t an accusation. Just disbelief.

Your fingers combed through his hair as he lay there, breathing you in. “Of course I did. Where else would I go?”

“I’ve never let anyone see me like that,” he said, almost to himself. “I’ve fucked. I’ve claimed. I’ve conquered. But last night…” His voice caught. “I didn’t want to own you.”

You waited. “I just wanted to feel you.” Your heart ached in your chest.

Mark sat up slowly, the blanket falling to his waist. You saw the way he rubbed his temples—like he was trying to ground himself, like something about this scared him more than battle. He stood, all golden muscle and long limbs, and grabbed a fruit ration from the desk nearby.

Then he came back.

He sat beside you and held out a piece of fruit.

You blinked. “You’re… feeding me?”

“Last night used up your strength. You need it back.” He placed the fruit against your lips and arched a brow. “Open.”

You bit into it.

He watched you chew like it was the most intimate thing he’d ever witnessed.

“Still sore?” he asked, voice a little darker now.

You didn’t answer. Just pulled the sheet up higher, which told him everything he needed.

Mark grinned. Slowly. That dangerous, wicked mouth twitching upward—but his eyes were still soft.

“You begged so sweet,” he murmured. “Every time I went slow, you begged me to go faster.”

You flushed. “Shut up.”

He leaned in. “Make me.”

But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet.

Instead, he laid back down, pulled you against his chest again, and closed his eyes. His fingers tangled with yours, resting on your stomach.

He didn’t say anything else for a long time.

You almost thought he’d fallen back asleep—until you heard him murmur, barely audible:

“I could’ve broken you. But you trusted me not to.”

You held him tighter. “You didn’t break me. You made me feel safe.”

Silence.

Then, softly:

“I want to feel that again.”

You kissed his chest and whispered, “Then stay.”

And this time, he did.

[pankesitopank]

AAAAAAAAAAA OMG AAAAAH THE WAY I MOANED AAAAA MMMHHMMM LOLLL

omg just thinking about riding him like that aaaahhh

like I have this idea where reader (who I may or may not have imagined as her... but that's very virgin so I'll just leave it as reader) is riding him in that same pose and he does NOTHING just watches her while she falls apart on top of him. Then he's the one who takes control and AAAAHH.

STAY WITH ME I HAVE A MINI SCENARIO

It was that pose. The one he knew made you crumble.

Hyunjin laid back against the couch, arms resting behind his head, his shirt stretching deliciously across his chest. His legs were spread like he was inviting you in—but his expression? That was the real trap. Heavy-lidded, smug, lips parted in just the faintest smirk. He looked at you like he already knew how this would end.

And maybe he did.

You were supposed to be proving a point. Something about not always needing him to take the lead. Something about how well you could ride him without begging for help. But the second your knees settled on either side of his hips, and your hands found purchase against his chest, you felt that confidence flicker under the weight of his stare.

“You sure you wanna try this?” he asked, voice a low hum, almost bored. “You remember what happened last time?”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks already warm.

“I can handle it.”

Hyunjin didn’t argue. He just arched a brow, the gold of his necklace catching the light as his head tilted slightly. “Alright then,” he murmured. “Go ahead, baby.”

And fuck if that didn’t already do something to you.

Your fingers trembled just a little as you reached between you, lining him up—hard and hot, his length already pressing against your folds from just a few soft grinds during your makeout session. He hadn’t even touched you properly yet. That was the worst part.

The teasing was all you.

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, your breath catching as his cock stretched you open. That familiar burn, the delicious fullness—it made you pause, hips trembling as you adjusted. He was big. Every time felt like the first. And from the slight twitch in his smirk, he knew it.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice smug and lazy.

You bit your lip, trying to focus. “Fine.”

You weren’t fine.

You were already clenching, already too aware of how he filled you up, how deep he was when you were on top. But you started to move—hips rolling slowly, experimentally, finding a rhythm.

And god, it felt good.

The friction, the angle, the way his cock hit just right inside you. You set your pace, slow and deep, hands pressing against his firm chest for leverage. Your thighs ached just a little, but you pushed through, trying to stay in control. You had to. That was the point.

Hyunjin didn’t help you. Not once.

His arms stayed behind his head, that stupid gold watch catching your eye as he laid there like a fucking painting, letting you do the work. Letting you work for it.

He just watched.

Watched the way your breath got heavier, the way your legs started to tremble, the way your movements got a little more desperate. You tried to stay composed—keep a rhythm—but the tension was building fast.

And Hyunjin was silent.

No moans, no groans. Just that same smug look on his face. That calm, unreadable gaze that made you want to snap.

“Why aren’t you—” you panted, lifting and dropping onto him again, “—doing anything?”

He just blinked slowly. “You said you wanted to ride me, remember?” A pause. “You were so confident. So cocky. Wanted to prove a point.”

You hated how turned on his voice made you. It was too casual. Too calm. And you were already shaking.

“I—fuck—” you gasped, grinding down against him with more force, chasing the friction you needed. “I can. I don’t—nngh—need you to—”

“Oh?” he said, tilting his head. “Because you’re getting real sloppy, baby. Haven’t even made yourself cum yet.”

You whimpered.

It was true. The angle was almost there, your clit barely brushing against his pelvis, but it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t get enough speed, enough force, not without help. Your legs were already burning.

Still, you didn’t want to give in. Not yet.

You braced your palms harder against his chest and moved faster—bouncing on his cock with shallow, needy motions, chasing something that was just out of reach. His cock dragged perfectly inside you, but you were losing rhythm, falling apart.

And all the while, Hyunjin just watched you.

“God, look at you,” he said softly. “So pretty when you try.”

His voice made your stomach flip. You were whining now, desperate little sounds falling from your lips every time your hips met his. You were so close, but it wasn’t enough.

You needed help. You needed him.

And the second your pace faltered again, the second you let out that frustrated little whimper, Hyunjin moved.

His hands came down from behind his head, strong fingers wrapping around your waist. He didn’t flip you. He didn’t sit up. He just gripped you tight and started thrusting up.

Hard.

“Ah—Hyun—fuck!”

You collapsed forward instantly, hands fisting in his shirt as he rutted up into you, hips snapping with a rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs. Every thrust hit deep, his cock slamming into your sweet spot like he’d been waiting for you to fail.

“Wanted me to let you ride me, huh?” he grunted, voice right against your ear now. “Wanted to show me how good you are?”

You couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe.

His grip was tight, his rhythm brutal. You could feel his abs flex beneath your stomach, his thighs tensing with every upward drive. The couch squeaked under the pressure, the sound of skin against skin filthy in the air.

“Not so cocky now, are you?”

You cried out—his cock hitting so deep it felt like you were about to fall apart. Your body went boneless on top of him, your chest pressing against his as you moaned shamelessly.

“Say it,” Hyunjin growled. “Tell me who’s in control.”

You shook your head, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes.

He slammed into you.

“Say it.”

You gasped. “You! You’re in control—fuck, Hyunjin, I can’t—”

He grinned, breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

One hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. It was too much. His cock ramming into you from below, his fingers on your clit, his voice in your ear—

You came hard, body convulsing on top of him as your orgasm ripped through you.

But he didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he whispered, still thrusting up into you. “Now let me finish.”

You were sobbing now, overwhelmed, your walls fluttering around him as he fucked you through your high. You were limp against him, totally at his mercy, thighs quivering as he chased his release.

And then—deep, low, a growl against your throat—

“Gonna cum inside you.”

You moaned so loud it echoed.

“Gonna make sure you remember who really owns this pussy, baby.”

And with one last, brutal thrust—he came.

You felt it. Hot and thick, spilling deep inside you as he groaned into your skin, holding you tight against his chest. Your body pulsed with aftershocks, your breath ragged, your legs trembling uncontrollably.

The room was silent.

Only the sound of your breathing. Of Hyunjin’s heart pounding beneath your cheek.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

He kissed your temple, still inside you, still warm and hard.

“Next time,” he whispered, “just ask.”

You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks burning.

Maybe you’d let him win this one.

[sakusaswifee]

“𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐘”

𓆩༒︎𓆪 NEEDY TS!HINATA SHOYO + STREAMER!READER

𓆩༒︎𓆪 a fleshed out version of @mainblogonly ‘s idea

𓆩༒︎𓆪 desperate touches, cockwarming, soft dom/sub dynamics, stream interrupted for ‘reasons’, risky behavior, overstimulation, begging, light power play, emotionally charged tension, Hinata being so down bad it’s crazy

𓆩༒︎𓆪 MINORS DNI

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

You’re setting up your stream, fingers flying over the keyboard as you do your final checks. The glow from your screen bathes your face in soft light but all your focus keeps drifting because there’s a very clingy, very warm Hinata practically melting against your back.

His arms are locked around your waist, his face buried in your shoulder like he’s trying to fuse with you. He’s been there for the past ten minutes, not saying much—just nuzzling, sighing, kissing lightly beneath your ear every so often.

“Baaaaby” he finally whines in that husky tone that always sends a shiver down your spine. “Do you have to stream tonight?”

You glance at the time, headset in hand. “Yes baby, I promised my viewers. I won’t be long—”

“But I need you now,” he murmurs, kissing the curve of your neck, arms tightening just a little more. His voice drops, “Like now now.”

Your breath catches for a second..the way he says it, the way his lips linger on your skin but you giggle softly, brushing him off with a playful flick of your fingers.

“Sho…you can’t distract me before I even start,” you hum, though your voice is a bit breathy, teasing. “Can you wait just a little?”

He groans dramatically, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You don’t understand. You’re sitting here in those little shorts, being all cute and sweet and focused and I’m going crazy.”

“You’re always crazy for me,” you tease with a smirk.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s a look in his gaze equal parts desperate and lovesick, and his lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “I am. So hurry up with that stream…or I’m climbing into your lap and you won’t be able to concentrate.”

You raise a brow at him. “You’d really risk my whole Twitch account for cuddles?”

“Oh baby,” he murmurs, low and full of trouble “I’d risk everything for you.”

-

You’re thirty minutes into your stream, smile bright, voice cheerful, fully immersed in the game and absolutely, unapologetically filled with your needy boyfriend.

Hinata’s got his arms wrapped around your waist from behind, face buried in your neck, breath shaky, because you’re warming him.

He’s seated deep inside you, motionless, your soft warmth wrapped around him like a sweet, suffocating drug. You’d let him slip in just before you went live, whispering, “If you want it that bad, you can have it..but you stay still.”

He didn’t expect you to mean it literally.

Now he’s trembling from the effort of not moving because god, you feel too good and every little shift of your body as you adjust in your chair sends waves of heaven through him.

“Everything good over there Sho?” you murmur during a loading screen, voice sweet and smug just off mic.

Hinata whines into your neck, his breath hot. “Y-Yeah…j-just…just fine…”

“Good boy,” you whisper, clenching around him just enough to make him jolt. “We’re almost done.”

“Y-You’re cruel..” he mumbles, squeezing your hips. “So fucking warm…”

Chat thinks you’re flushed because of the game. They don’t know your boyfriend is buried to the hilt inside you, barely hanging on, while you act like nothing’s happening.

You smile. “You said you wanted me.”

“And I meant it,” he groans.

“Then you’ll wait.”

Because when the stream ends..he won’t be begging anymore. He’ll be thanking you.

-

You’re less than ten minutes from wrapping up. The game’s winding down, your voice still honey sweet as you thank a new sub and lean into the mic with that soft lilt everyone loves.

But behind the camera? Hinata’s falling apart.

You’d warned him. Stay still, Sho. Just let her stream. But he’s been buried in your warmth for almost an hour now, every second a sweet, slow torture and when you shift in your seat just a little, that velvet drag around him becomes too much.

He gasps, arms tightening around your waist, hips jolting up just a little.

You freeze.

“Shoyo…” you hiss under your breath, barely covering the sound with a cough into your mic. “Behave.”

He shakes his head, his voice a desperate, muffled whimper against your back. “I can’t—baby, I can’t anymore. Please..please let me move—just a little—”

Another shallow thrust. It’s pathetic. It’s needy. And it makes you clench around him again.

Your breath hitches. Your chat spams hearts. Someone clips it.

“Uh—..hey guys,” you say, flipping to your ‘Be Right Back’ screen with shaky fingers. “I’m…not feeling well. I think I’m gonna end early tonight.”

The moment the mic is muted and the screen goes black, Hinata loses it.

He pushes the chair back just enough, arms lifting you effortlessly so you’re straddling him properly. His mouth finds your shoulder, breath hot, needy, kissing, biting—

“Fuck, you were so mean,” he groans, thrusting into you deep and hard now. “Sitting there..so sweet, like nothing’s wrong while I’m just dying inside you.”

“And you listened, didn’t you?” you pant, hands gripping his shoulders, body trembling with release already rushing up your spine. “You were such a good boy…”

He growls, hips snapping up again. “I don’t want to be good anymore. I want to ruin you.”

And ruin you, he does.

Off-camera. Off-script.

Just the two of you in the afterglow of pixels and passion.

𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪 𓆩༒︎𓆪

[halfway-happyyy]

sunday morning vignettes {frank castle}

who doesn't love a little morning sex? felt inspired to whip this up. it's short and sweet, and slightly smutty.

"I like my scrambled eggs and bacon, served by someone that I love." - 'give me that simple life', lorez alexandria

Her favourite mornings were the ones where she awoke to the feeling of his gaze already on her. When she couldn't be sure if he'd just woken up or if he'd been watching her for a while. She had asked him once why he did it, and after a long period of silence, he simply murmured - “I'm trying to memorize every inch of you just in case…” he never told her what the just in case was, but she knew. 

She turned on her side to view him fully, and decided that she liked him best like this. Alive, and warm, and so strong, next to her. She reached forward to trace a fingertip down the crooked bridge of his nose, and watched him smile into her touch. 

“You're something else, you know that?” she asked. 

Frank scoffed. “Somethin’ else is right. More rough road than man, most days. Don't know why you stick around, sometimes.” 

It hurt her heart to hear him speak that way about himself but she forced a smile regardless. 

“I think it’s mostly because you make a mean kimchi fried rice.”

The laughter that rumbled from him was low and warm, the mere sound of it akin to her favourite song. 

His brown irises glittered brilliantly in the warm sunlight pouring through their bedroom window, and she noticed that they were a lighter shade of umber than normal; his biggest tell that he was content. 

“Your mama ever tell ya it was rude to stare?” He simpered. 

“Course she did. But she also had an affinity for devastatingly handsome men, so I think she'd give me a pass.” 

They let the silence collect between them before she confessed that she wanted him. She was playing it coy. It was absolutely more of a need than a want, but she was sure he already knew that. 

He happily obliged her, shifting her onto her side, and easing himself to the hilt inside of her. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, and stayed anchored in her for longer than usual, reveling in the feeling of her all-encompassing warmth. Reveling in the notion that like this, they were two halves of a whole entity. 

“Missed this, baby.” 

So did she. He could be gone a day, a week, or months on end, and it would never take her long to miss the closeness. They fit together like he was made for her, and on mornings like this, she truly believed that he was. 

She reckoned she could live in this moment for the rest of her life; the sharp sting of being fully filled by him, blunted by the repeated brush of his lips against her neck. There was the person she was when Frank wasn't around, and then there was the person she was now - her favourite version of herself. She had no choice but to bloom like a flower under his devotion. 

His hand snaked around the front of her body, to the spot just below her belly where it rested while he continued fucking into her. 

He gently pressed down against her and whispered, “God, I can feel myself right in here,” The pressure was enough to cause a string of nonsensical curse words to spill from her slack mouth. “You take me so well, sweetheart… feels so damn good.” 

She knew then that she wasn't long for this particular world; could tell by the pleasure unraveling deep in her belly like a ball of yarn out of control. She tightrope walked the precipice of her release, knowing Frank would be the one to get her there. 

“You're close, sweetheart,” His husky voice as it traveled across her neck and left goosebumps in its wake, caused her to tremble against him. “and I want you to let go when you're ready. Want you to give it all to me, yeah?” 

She nodded earnestly, for the only sound she was capable of making was a desperate, mewling whimper. 

“Attagirl- that's it, keep going. Breathe through it with me, and ride it out. Feel everything.” 

More often than not, his voice and the words that flowed along with it, was the catalyst for her orgasms. This morning was no exception. She felt every inch of his cock as it moved inside of her, and suddenly she stilled against him, arched her back, and came around him with a series of breathless, high-pitched sighs. 

“Jesus,” Frank groaned, as he continued fucking her through it. “So beautiful like this, sweetheart.” 

She couldn't speak; could only focus on the delicious push-and-pull of him inside of her - so good it bordered on painful - “want you to come for me, Frank.” 

He didn't have to be asked twice. He pressed a last scorching kiss to the nape of her neck and stilled against her, allowing the waves of his orgasm to consume him whole. He stayed pressed against her long after he'd finished, and when he did eventually pull away, she felt his loss keenly. 

“Is it strange that I only feel completely whole when we're together like that?” She breathed. 

Frank waited a beat before kissing the rounded curve of her shoulder. 

“No, because I feel the same way.” 

While he drifted back into a shallow sleep, she rose for the day, in search of caffeine and some food. She settled on bacon and eggs, queued up her current favourite playlist, and got to work. It didn't take long for the scent of percolating coffee and frying bacon to rouse Frank, and he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, wordlessly. 

“Hello, you.” She turned to beam at him from her stance in front of the stove. 

He pushed himself from the doorway to wrap his arms around her. 

“Hi, baby.” 

She gestured to their small wooden table. “Go sit down, hm? I'll make you a plate.” 

He pecked at her cheek and did as he was told. 

When she went over to pass him his plate, he caught her wrist in his hand. “I know I don't say it enough, but I wanted you to know that I love you, sweetheart. In case the sky falls on our head.” 

She caressed a palm to his cheek and smiled. “Love you too, Frank.” 

Love you always.

[biggianteggplant]

1 Word, Fingering

TAMAKI AMAJIKI

You crawl into his lap without a word, straddling him while he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a startled kind of stillness. His hands instinctively come to rest on your waist — cautious, almost hesitant — but they stay there, firm and warm.

You shift your hips just enough to press down, feeling how his knees naturally spread to accommodate you, opening you up effortlessly. The stretch has your breath catching, thighs twitching around him, and his cheeks are already flushed to the tips of his ears.

Amajiki’s voice is barely above a whisper. “…Y-you’re so close.”

And yet, he doesn’t push. Just lets his fingertips lazily trace circles along the dip of your spine, casually — dangerously — brushing places that make you twitch.

His hands slide lower — hesitant, trembling slightly — until his fingers rest just between your thighs, right over your underwear. He doesn’t move at first. Just breathes. Watches your face like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of anticipation.

Then, slowly — so slowly — he starts rubbing gentle circles over the damp fabric. Barely any pressure. Just enough to tease.

You let out a soft whimper, shifting in his lap as his knees keep you open, exposed, waiting. Amajiki’s breathing gets shakier, his lashes fluttering as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I-I can feel how warm you are,” he whispers, voice thick with heat and hesitation. “I haven’t even…”

And without finishing the sentence, he slips his hand beneath the waistband — his finger sliding through the wetness like he’s testing the water, lazy and curious, until he slowly sinks it inside.

He bites his lip as you tighten around him, eyes fluttering closed, heat rushing to his face. But his voice stays low.

“…You're already this wet for me?”

He sounds stunned. Almost shy. But his finger curls like he’s learning your body by instinct — and he hasn’t stopped spreading your thighs wider with his own.

His finger curls again, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize how you squeeze around him. His other hand tightens around your waist, grounding you on his lap as your hips twitch—instinctively chasing the pressure, the friction, the heat.

You let out a breathy moan and he swears under it, cheeks burning red as he watches the way your eyes flutter shut. “I—I don’t think I can stop touching you…” he mumbles, almost like he’s confessing something sinful.

But he doesn’t stop.

His thumb finds your clit—tentative at first, rubbing slow, teasing circles while his finger pumps inside you, dragging just right against your walls. He’s watching everything—your face, your lips, the way your body moves.

You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down on his lap, and he whimpers— because now you’re rubbing right against him, and he’s already hard, already twitching under the weight of you.

Amajiki swallows hard. “Y-you keep doing that and I’m gonna…”

He trails off, but his hips twitch up just enough to let you feel how close he is to losing it. Still—he keeps working his fingers, faster now, more confident, almost desperate. He’s flushed, panting softly, his voice wrecked and reverent:

“…Let me make you finish like this. Right here. Just like this, in my lap…”

His fingers slow down, easing out just a bit — and for a second, you whimper in protest, your hips bucking toward him, chasing the friction.

Amajiki’s breath hitches, his lips parting as he watches your body respond so desperately to his touch. Then—without a word—he gently pushes two fingers in this time.

You gasp. Your thighs twitch on either side of his lap, but his other hand is already sliding to your inner thigh, keeping you spread on his knees.

He’s watching your every reaction like it’s holy. Like you're something sacred and sinful all at once.

“You feel… so full already…” he murmurs, voice trembling but low, his brows furrowed in pure awe.

But he doesn’t stop. His fingers begin to thrust faster — confident now, wet sounds filling the space between your moans as his thumb brushes your clit again, slick and steady and devastating.

Your body arches into him, overwhelmed, thighs starting to close up around his wrist like you're trying to squeeze down, escape the overstimulation—

But Amajiki doesn’t let you. His knees shift, spreading wider, locking you in place. His hand on your thigh keeps you open, keeps you trembling and exposed in his lap as he adds a third finger, stretching you further.

“You’re trying to run?” he breathes, voice suddenly darker, almost possessive. “But your body’s pulling me in so tight…”

You whimper his name, legs trembling again, trying to clamp down—but he’s relentless. “You’re gonna cum just like this. With my fingers deep inside you, right here…”

And he curls them just right, fast and slick and ruthless now, until your hips jolt and your hands scramble for something—anything—to grab onto as your climax starts crashing over you—

And all Amajiki can do is whisper, awed and breathless: “...You’re so beautiful when you break.”

Your body is still trembling when the orgasm fades — chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, fingers clutched in the fabric of his shirt like you’re scared to let go. Amajiki’s still holding you in his lap, but the moment he feels your body start to relax, he freezes.

“D-did I hurt you?” he asks, eyes wide, panic already blooming behind the haze in his gaze. His hands immediately leave your thighs, fingers pulling back gently, almost like he’s afraid to touch you again.

You shake your head, too breathless to speak at first, but the way your body leans into his — trusting, seeking — is all the reassurance he needs.

“I—I’m sorry,” he murmurs, cupping your cheeks with those same fingers he had buried inside you minutes ago. “I just… you felt so good, and I couldn’t stop. You sounded so—god, I didn’t mean to push you that hard—”

You cut him off with a kiss. Slow. Soft. Grateful. His shoulders finally drop, and you feel him melt beneath you, arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you close like you might disappear.

He carefully helps you shift off his lap, murmuring things like “You’re amazing,” and “I’ll get a towel—wait, do you want water first? Or should I cuddle you first? No, wait, I can do both—”

You giggle as he stumbles through his flustered post-care routine, cheeks pink, hair a little messy, shirt wrinkled. He eventually settles behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist from the back and burying his face in your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your skin. “For trusting me like that. For letting me be that close.”

His fingers brush lazy circles on your tummy as you drift in and out of warmth, wrapped in him. Amajiki, who was so shy he couldn't even say "lap" without blushing, now holding you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

And to him? You are.

[soulsforsales]

"I love you. I'm sorry."

Jason didn't mean to say it. Not like this. Not now. Not when he's buried deep inside you, holding you like this might be the last time he gets to.

But it happened when he wasn't thinking - just feeling.

You don't even notice it at first. You are lost in the rhythm, the warmth, the way he looks at you like you're the only good thing he's seen all his life.

You don't notice how his hands tremble, how his breath catches every time you sigh his name, when you moan it into his mouth.

He's not rough. Not tonight. He's soft, taking his time, like he's trying to memorize the feel of having you against him.

Jason is all calloused hands and desperate lips, tracing every curve and dip of your body he can reach, worshipping you in ways you didn't think were possible.

When he finally lets go, he trembles, both from exertion and emotion. He's buried in you, breaths coming in stutters because the feeling in his chest has nothing to do with the pleasure he felt. Because it's too much and not enough all at once.

Your eyes are closed, lips parted, and to Jason, you're poetry incarnate. You're someone who sees him, without the mask, without the guns, and you stay.

You see the broken boy who carries too many ghosts, and you still stay.

The feeling in his chest is unconscionable, and then, it slips. Soft, quiet, like someone ripped it out of him.

"God, I love you."

Jason freezes the second it's said, eyes wide, and you feel the panic in the way his body tenses. Like, he could reverse time with sheer will. Like, he wants to pull it back into his throat, but it's too late.

His truth is out there now, raw and naked.

You blink at him, dazed, a little breathless beneath him and his stomach tightens.

"Forget it," he says, voice sharp, not cold. But you can sense the fear underneath.

You know. You always do.

He tries to pull away. Tries to pretend like he didn’t just shatter himself open.

But you grab his face with both hands and force him to look at you.

"Jason," your voice is soft, but it makes him flinch.

Like, he's bracing for another person to tell him there's no love.

Like, he's waiting for you to laugh at him.

Like, he's waiting for you to see him the same way he sees himself.

But you smile. Warm, real, knowing, and it kills him.

"Say it again," you whisper, pressing his forehead to yours.

Jason shakes his head because saying it again makes it real; it means giving meaning to the storm of feelings inside him.

"I can't -"

"Yes, you can."

Your fingers slip into his hair, thumbs brushing the edge of the mask he wears even when it's not on his face.

Your expression softens when you look into his eyes. Scared, shining with tears, and carrying many more emotions than he thought he was capable of.

"Say it again, Jay."

He closes his eyes, and his walls crumble.

"I love you," His voice breaks at the words, and he's barely holding on but the last thing he wants to do is sob into your neck like the pathetic, scared boy he is.

But he also knows that you'll let him, that you'll hold him, and tell him it's okay.

And that terrifies him. Because you treat him like he's worth all the demons he brings along.

You're everything Jason convinced himself he would never deserve.

Jason inhales, blinks away the tears in his eyes, and then; lets go.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

He buries his face in the curve of your neck and you hold him there.

He repeats the three words like they've been circling inside his chest since he met you (Spoiler: they are).

He says them like it physically hurts not to.

And then, after a few quiet moments, his face still hidden against your skin.

"I didn't mean to say it like that," his voice is soft, slightly shaky, like he's trying not to cry, "not like this. Not until I knew... you felt it too."

You laugh at that, "Of course I do, you idiot."

Jason pulls back at that, a ghost of a smile on his face, and presses his forehead to yours again.

"I love you, Jason."

His smile widens and he closes his eyes like he wants the words to seep into his bones, like he wants to carry them in his heart.

Because he never thought he'd hear them. Not like this, not from someone who truly means it.

"I'd die for you. Again."

He says the words, and suddenly your heart feels too big for your chest.

"I know, but I want you to live for me."

Jason nods and exhales like he's never breathed before. Like nothing made sense until this moment.

Like he could live here forever, and it still won't be enough.

After, he holds you all night. He falls asleep with his arm thrown around your waist and his nose pressed against your collarbone.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

[hayatheauthor]

How to Make Your Characters Almost Cry

Tears are powerful, but do you know what's more impactful? The struggle to hold them back. This post is for all your hard-hearted stoic characters who'd never shed a tear before another, and aims to help you make them breakdown realistically.

The Physical Signs of Holding Back Tears

Heavy Eyelids, Heavy Heart Your character's eyelids feel weighted, as if the tears themselves are dragging them down. Their vision blurs—not quite enough to spill over, but enough to remind them of the dam threatening to break.

The Involuntary Sniffle They sniffle, not because their nose is running, but because their body is desperately trying to regulate itself, to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to take over.

Burning Eyes Their eyes sting from the effort of restraint, from the battle between pride and vulnerability. If they try too hard to hold back, the whites of their eyes start turning red, a telltale sign of the tears they've refused to let go.

The Trembling Lips Like a child struggling not to cry, their lips quiver. The shame of it fuels their determination to stay composed, leading them to clench their fists, grip their sleeves, or dig their nails into the nearest surface—anything to regain control.

The Fear of Blinking Closing their eyes means surrender. The second their lashes meet, the memories, the pain, the heartbreak will surge forward, and the tears will follow. So they force themselves to keep staring—at the floor, at a blank wall, at anything that won’t remind them of why they’re breaking.

The Coping Mechanisms: Pretending It’s Fine

A Steady Gaze & A Deep Breath To mask the turmoil, they focus on a neutral object, inhale slowly, and steel themselves. If they can get through this one breath, they can get through the next.

Turning Away to Swipe at Their Eyes When they do need to wipe their eyes, they do it quickly, casually, as if brushing off a speck of dust rather than wiping away the proof of their emotions.

Masking the Pain with a Different Emotion Anger, sarcasm, even laughter—any strong emotion can serve as a shield. A snappy response, a bitter chuckle, a sharp inhale—each is a carefully chosen defence against vulnerability.

Why This Matters

Letting your character fight their tears instead of immediately breaking down makes the scene hit harder. It shows their internal struggle, their resistance, and their need to stay composed even when they’re crumbling.

This is written based off of personal experience as someone who goes through this cycle a lot (emotional vulnerability who?) and some inspo from other books/articles

[adorekento]

Nanami Kento hates fucking you from behind.

Not because it doesn’t feel good—no, it feels too good. He won’t deny how tight you are, how your pussy clenches around him like you’re made for him, how you shudder every time his hips snap forward.

He knows exactly how you fall apart in that position—shaky legs, pretty moans, hands grasping at sheets like they’ll save you.

But he still hates it.

Because he can’t see your pretty face.

He can’t watch the way your eyes roll back when he hits that spot. Can’t see the exact moment your lips part and his name slips out. Can’t admire how your expression shifts from teasing to begging, how you try to sass him through your whimpers, only to choke on your words when he pulls your hips back just a little harder.

And your husband, Kento, loves watching you unravel.

He wants to see the tremble in your lashes, the pout when you whine for more, the glazed-over look when you’re too far gone to think. He wants to hold your jaw, brush hair out of your face, press kisses to your temple as you fall to pieces just for him.

But still... when he’s behind you? The way you moan when his fingers dig into your waist, how your thighs shake when he grips your ass, the little gasp you let out when he tugs your hair just enough—it’s unfair. You're so responsive it drives him insane.

And yeah, maybe he hates not seeing your face…

But that doesn’t mean he won’t absolutely ruin you from behind.

Because while he may miss the way your lips tremble and your eyes won't meet his, he doesn’t mind watching your fingers claw at the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping you grounded.

“K—Kento . . . !” Your moan cracked mid-word, swallowed by a sharp gasp when he slammed into that one spot your own fingers could never quite reach.

“Yes, my darling?” His voice was like mocking you as if he wasn’t fucking you so deep your knees threatened to buckle.

Oh but the way he still calls you pet names while he's destroying you from the inside out?

Unfair.

Completely unhinged.

Devastatingly hot.

Your mouth hung open, useless, trembling around a moan you couldn't form. Words—his name, a plea, maybe even a warning—had tried to claw their way out, but they scattered the second he hit that spot again.

You didn’t even remember what you were going to say. Hell, you barely remembered your own name.

All you could think was...

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

Kento.

His cock.

His hands.

His voice in your fucking ear.

“Sweetheart . . .” he murmured, “What happened? You sounded so confident earlier, hmm . . ”

You couldn’t answer—you want to but your brain felt like static. Every time you tried to string a thought together, he’d roll his hips with that calculated precision that made you feel owned.

Your cheeks burned. You knew he could see it—your whole body flushed, skin hot and sticky with sweat, legs wobbling like a baby deer.

You tried to lift yourself up, maybe find a little leverage, but his hand was already wrapping around your waist, dragging you back onto him like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

“So sensitive. can’t even think straight.”

You shook your head, whimpering as your nails scraped against the sheets, desperate to hold onto something—anything—that would keep you sane.

But there was nothing.

It's just his cock, stretching you open again and again and again, owning every twitch of your body.

He leaned forward, the heat of his chest pressing to your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“did you forget what you were going to say?”

A whimper slipped out, pathetic and high-pitched.

You nodded.

He fucking chuckled.

Like he hadn’t just turned your entire body into one throbbing, overstimulated mess.

“you don’t need to think, you just have to take it.”

© [ adorekento ] do not steal, repost, or translate my work.

[shyoko]

✧ Making his silent girlfriend loud ✦༺⊹

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.) 

✦ 2.8K words * Masterlist˚ Taglist✧ Requests “Open”₊‧ ✦𓂃 

enhypen x fem!reader ⚠️ cw: nsfw / +18, overstimulation, rough sex, oral (f), impact play, light bondage, dom!vibes, multiple orgasms, crying, degradation + praise, toys, etc. minors dni. read responsibly.

✧ Heeseung ----------

Heeseung had you naked, lying on your back, your body glistening with sweat, your legs spread wide and trembling. You’d already cum. Twice. But he wasn’t planning to stop.

"Shhh, I know, I know..." He whispered as his tongue slowly slid across your clit, once again. "But you said you were enjoying it… so why are you biting your lip now?"

His fingers kept you open, exposed, completely vulnerable, while his tongue moved in slow, precise circles—so exact that your body jolted with every pass.

"Still trying to hold back? Really?" His voice dropped, darker. "I’m wrecking myself just to make you feel everything… and you're still so fucking quiet."

He sucked on your clit harder, making your hips jerk off the mattress. A high, broken moan tore from your lips.

"That." "That’s what I wanted from the beginning."

Then… he intensified everything.

Two fingers slipped inside you, wet, expert. He started thrusting them in rhythm with his tongue, which never slowed, never eased, never gave you a second of rest.

Your body couldn’t take it.

You were panting, moaning loud, eyes brimming with tears, your legs trying to close on instinct.

But Heeseung held you open firmly. "No. None of that. Stay wide for me." "You’re gonna cum all over me, baby. You’re gonna give it to me, even if I leave you shaking for days."

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, pressing you down into the mattress as he kept sucking your clit hungrily, his fingers fucking you faster, deeper.

Your moans turned into screams. Your body arched, broke apart—you came hard, a brutal orgasm shaking you to your core… and it didn’t stop there.

Because he didn’t stop.

"Again. I’m not done with you." "You're gonna scream until your voice gives out."

You kept dripping, your body twitching, his mouth chasing every wave of pleasure, giving you more, forcing another orgasm. And another. And another.

Your voice was nothing but his name, repeated between sobs and whimpers. Your skin burned, your legs refused to move, and still, he kept going like it was the first time he touched you.

"That’s it. Fall apart for me, baby." "I want every part of your body to remember my name."

✧ Jay ----------

You were in his lap, completely naked on top of his clothed thigh, his pants still buttoned—fabric pressing rough against your burning skin. His thigh beneath you, solid, flexed, ready.

Jay had one hand on your lower back, guiding you in slow, lazy movements.

"You know what drives me crazy about you?" His deep voice brushed against your ear, warm and dark. "You’re always so quiet. So… contained."

His other hand slid up to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, heavy, commanding.

"You’re grinding on my thigh, naked, dripping wet… and not a single fucking sound has come out of you."

Your hips kept moving, seeking friction. Your lips parted, but no sound dared escape. The heat in your core was rising too fast to handle.

"Look at how much you’re soaking my pants." His tone was teasing, but full of lust. "And you’re still trying to keep it in. What do I have to do to make you give me everything, baby?"

He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you down harder onto his thigh, making the fabric rub directly against your clit. You trembled.

"You wanna cum like this, pretty girl?"

You nodded desperately, eyes pleading, your nails digging into his shoulders.

But he shook his head, a dark smile spreading on his face.

"Then moan." "Moan for me. Tell me with your voice. I’m not letting you cum until I hear it."

Your entire body trembled. You were burning inside, but still, your throat refused to betray you.

Jay clicked his tongue. "Alright then." "None of this."

He slowly lifted his leg, pulling away the only thing you needed. The moan that left your mouth was raw, involuntary, broken.

"There it is." His smile widened. "So cute when you finally sound like what you are… a desperate little baby for me."

He slammed his leg back down under you, and the sudden contact made you cry out, loud, raw, your body giving in to the overwhelming pleasure.

"That’s it, baby. Now we’re talking." "Fall apart. Soak my thigh. Scream my name if you need to."

Your voice could no longer be contained. Each movement against his thigh tore out moans, whimpers, cries—his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

You came hard, thighs shaking, body arched in ecstasy.

Jay held you tight, murmuring into your ear:

"That’s what I like." "That voice is mine… and I want all of it tonight."

✧ Jake ----------

You were on top of him, riding him slow, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moans were barely audible, just soft breaths every now and then.

Jake’s hands were on your hips, guiding your rhythm gently, his bright gaze locked on yours.

"You okay, baby?" His voice was soft, sincere, brushing over your skin like a caress.

You nodded, biting your lip to hold in the sound that burned inside your throat. And he saw it. He knew.

"Oh… now I get it."

He sat up, your chests pressing together, his mouth brushing your ear.

"You’re trying to stay quiet." His tone shifted—lower, darker, filthy. "Why? Don’t you want me to hear how good I’m making you feel?"

His hand slid down your back, and suddenly—a sharp slap to your ass, firm, loud, precise.

Your body jolted. A soft moan slipped out before you could catch it.

Jake smiled.

"There it is. That sound… so fucking sexy."

He grabbed the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his.

"Don’t hide it from me, yeah?" "I want every sound. Every moan. Every scream you’ve been swallowing."

His hips started moving under you. Now he was fucking up into you from below, deep, hard, relentless. His cock hit every spot that shattered you from the inside.

"C’mon, pretty girl. Make noise for me. Be good and let go."

Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your breath came in shaky pants. Moans started spilling from your lips, breaking the air.

"That’s it." "That’s what I want. For you to forget all your control."

He held you tighter, fucking up into you faster, until you could barely stay upright on him.

"You know what happens if you don’t moan, right?" "I’ll make you cum so many times, you’ll have no choice but to scream."

And he did.

You came uncontrollably, your voice shattered, body shaking, screaming his name like it was the only thing you knew.

Jake didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around you, kissed your neck, and whispered:

"You’re my quiet girl… but only until I touch you."

✧ Sunghoon ----------

Your legs were trembling with every thrust, your body slick with sweat against the sheets as Sunghoon buried himself inside you with a precision that bordered on insanity.

The sound of sex filled the room—skin on skin, breathless panting… but your lips stayed closed.

And he noticed.

"Again?" His voice came low, laced with disappointment. "You’re really gonna keep hiding those moans from me?"

You couldn’t answer. You just clung to the sheets, jaw clenched, swallowing every sound threatening to break free.

"No."

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and gasping from the abrupt loss. Before you could process it, his hand came down hard, straight to your clit—sharp, loud, deliberate. The shock was electric, a jolt that made you scream instantly.

"That’s what I want." His voice was dry. Dominant. "That trembling mouth. That body twisting. Don’t ever hide that from me again."

And without giving you time to breathe, he slammed back into you, harder, faster, like he was trying to break the silence with sheer, brutal pleasure.

Every thrust was full of purpose. Contained rage. Wild need.

"Your body begs me with every fucking moan you try to bury." "Don’t you get it? This doesn’t end until you stop thinking and start screaming."

His hips pounded into yours relentlessly, pelvis crashing right against your clit, his hand coming down again—another slap, sharp, filthy, cruel—and this time, the moan that escaped your lips was a desperate cry, shattered and loud.

"That’s it, baby. You’re starting to give in." "Your silence is gone. Now you’re mine with every sound you make."

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation—but he spread them again, gripping them tight, thrusting even deeper.

"Don’t close them. I want to see you break for me."

And you did.

You came with a scream, your name turned into a silent cry, your body arching, trembling, sweating, and crying from sheer pleasure.

Sunghoon looked down at you, panting, eyes blazing.

"That’s what I like." "And if you ever try to stay quiet again… I’ll make you scream so hard you won’t be able to talk the next day."

✧ Sunoo ----------

You were naked on the bed, your back against soft sheets while Sunoo settled between your legs, still fully clothed. His eyes trailed down your body with adoration… and a dangerously sharp hunger.

His fingers traced slow paths along your abdomen, climbing up to your chest, stopping right at your nipples.

"You know what drives me insane about you?"

He brushed them with his fingertips, barely grazing, and still, a shiver rushed down your spine.

"You’re so fucking quiet… but your nipples give it all away." His voice was like sweet poison—gentle, smooth… lethal. "So hard for me. So sensitive. And you’re still pretending you’re in control."

Without warning, his mouth dropped to one nipple, warm tongue circling the exact spot that made your vision blur. He sucked slow and deep, while his other hand pinched the other one—firm, precise.

A stifled moan escaped you, but you still fought to keep it down.

"Still resisting?" He looked up at you from below, his mouth wet with sinful devotion. "You really think you can stay quiet while I ruin you from right here?"

He kept going—licking, sucking, lightly biting, playing with your nipples like they were his personal obsession. Meanwhile, his other hand traveled down between your legs.

One finger slid inside. Then two. Slow, steady. The rhythm was exact. Destructive. Addictive.

"You’re dripping, baby. All of this… just from how I suck your tits."

He bit down gently on one nipple, then harder, just enough to make you moan, your body jolting as his fingers picked up speed.

"There it is." "That voice. That sound that drives me crazy."

He returned to your chest, rougher now, tongue swirling, lips sucking until your skin was red and throbbing. Then he switched to the other side, not giving you a second to breathe.

"You’re gonna cum just from this, aren’t you?"

And you knew it. Your legs trembled, your stomach tightened, your moans came free and wild. Your nipples burned, overstimulated, lit up with every flick of his tongue.

"Scream my name." "Do it while your body breaks for me."

And you did.

You came with a raw cry, back arched, nipples aching, his fingers still buried inside you, his mouth still worshiping your chest.

Sunoo crawled up to kiss you, his tongue just as sweet and deep as the way he broke you, and whispered against your lips:

"My quiet little baby… not so quiet now, huh?"

✧ Jungwon ----------

You were sitting on his desk, the lights in his room off except for the soft glow of his lamp. Your underwear already on the floor, your legs spread apart by his steady hands, and him standing between them, unbuttoning his pants with a desperate calmness.

Jungwon still had his shirt on, open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes, dark, devoured you without touching you yet.

"Why do you always hold on, mm?"

His voice was a whisper laden with sweet menace as he stroked your thigh with his thumb.

“So pretty, so good...but so quiet.”

He slid the head of his cock across your pussy , gathering the wetness that awaited him. The contact made you let out a low, almost muted moan.

"This is for me, isn't it? All this dripping sweetness..."

He pushed you gently against the wood of the desk, your back arching reflexively.

“No, no, no.”

"Today you're not going to be quiet. Today you're going to scream."

And then, he buried himself in you. All at once. Slow, deep, without pause.

A choked gasp escaped you, but you still clung to the silence.

"Are you going to make me work for every fucking sound of yours?"

He grabbed your neck with gentle pressure, lifting your face to his.

"Perfect. I will."

His hips began to move. Rhythmic. Steady. Precise.

Each lunge went in deeper than the last, her eyes locked on you as your body began to surrender.

"That's it. You're starting to break, can you feel it?"

"Your body can no longer hide what it wants."

He squeezed your waist tighter, picking up the pace. Your mouth opened instinctively, letting out moans you didn't even know you could make.

"Like this. That's how I want you. I want you to let it all out. Every little noise, every gasp, every scream."

Your nails dug into his shoulders. Your legs trembled, your chest rose and fell hard.

"That's it, baby. Give it to me."

"Don't stop. Let go. I want to hear you beg me without words."

Your body exploded without warning. Your orgasm broke you with a choked cry, your name and his mingled in moans as you clung to him as if he was the only thing holding you.

But Jungwon didn't stop.

"See?"

"You're not so quiet when you're being well taken care of."

He pushed harder, deeper, faster. He was fucking you with a rhythm that no longer sought only pleasure-he sought to leave you scarred, toneless, broken with love and desire.

“And we're not done yet, beautiful.”

"I'm going to get every sound out of you that you've hidden since we met...and more."

✧ Ni-ki ----------

Your wrists were tied to the headboard with his belt, the firm leather biting into your skin every time you moved. Ni-ki was kneeling between your legs, still clothed, with that dangerous smile you knew so well.

“We can stay here all day, baby,” he murmured, his voice husky and his tone so low it made your skin bristle.

“This isn't over until you let out every sound you've been hiding.”

He picked up the small vibrator and turned it on. The buzz was like a promise in the air, and when he positioned it directly over your clit, a shuddering gasp escaped your lips.

But it wasn't enough. Not for him.

"That's it?"

He let out a soft laugh, laden with mockery, as his dark gaze bore into yours.

"Come on, baby. I know you can do better. Much better."

And then he lowered his head, and without giving you time to beg, his tongue came down on you with searing intensity.

Two fingers plunged inside you, precise, impatient, at the same pace as his mouth devoured your center with obsession. Every suction, every swirl of her tongue, every lunge of his fingers... everything was designed to break you.

And it did.

He was shaking you. He'd drag you to the edge.

And he wouldn't take his eyes off your face.

“Look at you...” he murmured between licks.

“You're a beautiful mess.”

You pulled at his belt hard, the leather straining tighter against your wrists. Your legs trembled, your voice threatening to come out, and he knew it. He wanted it. He demanded it.

His fingers found that exact spot that made you look white. A long moan escaped your throat before you could stop it.

“You're shaking, wet, moaning...”

“And you still dare to say you're not loud?”

He dropped the vibrator to the mattress carelessly, and brought one hand up to squeeze your cheeks, parting your lips with his fingers, forcing your mouth open.

“You're not going to hide another fucking sound.”

“I want to hear the whole of you.”

And you did.

The moans came out uncontrolled, raw, desperate. Your body arched, your hips sought more, your eyes rolled back as you cum on his fingers and tongue unable to stop yourself.

“Ni-ki... it's too much... Fuck!”

His name came out of you like a dirty prayer, repeated through tears of pleasure.

“You're so fucking beautiful when you can't stop screaming.”

Your voice sounded satisfied, lustful, as if you'd found your drug of choice.

You came hard, your body undone, dripping, still trapped in his fingers as he watched you from below as if worshipping you.

And when at last your muscles stopped trembling, he slowly climbed up, cupped your face with both hands, and left a soft kiss on your forehead, like a sweet punishment after so much destruction.

"You did so well for me, my pretty girl."

✦N/a: Sorry for leaving you for so long!! 😭 I love you all so much, I hope you liked it.

✦Taglist : @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss

[likeumeanit9497]

something bad | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: after months of built up frustration, chris is dying for relief - and y/n is willing to help.

warnings: SMUT; established friendship; unprotected p in v; oral (f and m receiving); handjob; teasing; dirty talk; mentions of jorking it; biting; cream pie; 18+

notes: teehee im ovulating and my roster is weak rn so my only solution is to read smutty books and write even smuttier one shots. this one actually had me giggling and kicking my feet as i was writing it bc i tried to include some of chris's POV (holy shit i am SO down bad for him rn) so i hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it ;) LOVE U ALL SO MUCH <3

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

He hadn’t meant to end up in this situation. Not strung out, touch starved, and half-hard just from the soft brush of his pyjama pants against his front as he slipped them on. But that’s exactly where he was. Walking back into his bedroom after getting changed in his washroom while you, his best friend, curled up in his bed wearing an oversized t-shirt that kept riding up your thighs. Your soft legs were bare, and even in the shadowed room he could see the silhouette of your pebbled nipples beneath your shirt — a clear indicator that you weren’t wearing a bra.

The past few months had been brutal for Chris. He hadn’t touched a woman, hadn’t been touched by a woman since his last situationship ended in a fiery wreck. It had been months of sexual frustration with no outlet besides nights spent alone with his fist clenched desperately around himself, thinking about things he shouldn’t. Something he could barely admit to himself was that sometimes those thoughts involved you. A lot of times, actually. Especially after nights just like this one, where you laid innocently just inches from him.

This night had been especially trying, because his eyes kept catching on parts of you he should never notice. The plush curve of your ass when you bent over to retrieve a fallen blanket. The sliver of your lower stomach, the soft cotton material of your pink boy shorts as you stretched. Even the feminine silhouette of your collarbone as it protruded from the stretched collar of your t-shirt made his head spin. Each time he noticed these things, he dragged his eyes away and cursed himself. He would never act on these thoughts. He couldn’t. You two were best friends, and crossing that line would lead to risking everything.

Yet somehow, each time his eyes were inevitably pulled back to you, that line kept blurring.

With a soft sigh, he slipped into his side of the bed, forcing his eyes to focus on the television screen as you flipped through movies on Netflix. Still focused on the screen, you subconsciously slid closer to him for warmth, your thigh pressing lightly against his. Casual, he reminded himself as his mouth dried. Except, every inch of your soft skin burned against his like a red-hot brand. His cock twitched in his pants, and with another sigh he shifted slightly, trying to adjust himself without being obvious.

“I swear to god, if you sigh one more time,” Your voice made him jump, “I’m just gonna have to assume you’re dying.” He shot a quick glance your way, trying to determine whether your body language showed you knew what was wrong with him. It didn’t seem to give anything away, however, as you hadn’t even looked away from the TV. Satisfied and slightly relieved, he huffed out a soft laugh, rubbing a trembling hand across his face. “Not dying,” He replied with a strained chuckle, “Just, suffering.” Your eyes darted to him quickly, before returning to the screen. “Oh good,” You deadpanned, “That’s not vague at all.”

He shot you another sideways glance, except this time it was caught by you. There was a small fire burning behind his blue eyes, a fire that you weren’t used to seeing. “Am I supposed to beg you to explain or…” The tone of your voice made his cock leap once again, this time followed by an anxious flip of his stomach. He knew you were relentless when you wanted to get information from him — particularly information about any issues he may be going through, as he had a tendency to try to keep them bottled up — but could he really have this conversation with you right now, with his cock pressing against his thigh; its length so hard he could cry out in pain?

You had turned all of your attention to him now, and he felt as though your gaze was piercing through his inner-most being. There was no way you were going to back down now, so with a deep breath, he decided to share at least part of the truth as nonchalant as he possibly could. “You ever go so long without sex that you start having actual withdrawal symptoms?” Once the words left his mouth, he felt his heart rate spike as your brows lifted, the small smirk pulling at the corner your plush lips showing your amusement. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I wish I wasn’t serious,” He leaned back against the headboard, letting all the air out of his lungs as he gave in to the humiliation of this conversation. “It’s been months, Y/n. Like, actual calendar months.” You let out a soft giggle, causing him to groan. “You seriously haven’t gotten laid since…” You let your sentence trail off, knowing that he didn’t need the reminder. “Don’t do that,” He groaned, scrubbing his eyes awkwardly, “You’ll make it worse.”

Another laugh fell from your lips as you took in his embarrassment. Enjoying this moment maybe too much, you continued poking fun at him. “Well yeah. That’s kinda what happens when you’re as emotionally unavailable as you are.” He pinched one eye open to glare at you. “Thanks,” He muttered dryly, “That makes me feel a lot better.” With another laugh, you nudged him softly with your knee, “I’m sorry Chris, you’re the one who brought it up.”

He let out a short, bitter chuckle. “I know, it’s just…” He paused, and you sat in silence as you waited for him to continue, “I don’t know. I just feel like a horny teenager lately, like I’m crawling out of my skin. Like I need something bad, just to take the edge off.” Another silence passed between you, and very slowly, you felt the mood begin to shift in the room. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You finally asked, your voice softer than before. He replied in the form of a shrug. “What was I supposed to say to you? ‘Hey, I’m so horny that jerking off three times a night isn’t even cutting it’? We’re best friends, Y/n, but we don’t exactly make it a habit to talk to each other about our sexual frustration.”

Your throat had dried up, and all you could reply with was a simple hum in acknowledgement. The mood had shifted even more as you watched Chris’s bare chest rise and fall on the bed beside you. It was the kind of shift you feel more than you see. You adjusted slightly, straightening yourself and chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. After clearing your throat, you spoke in a thin voice. “You know, I could help you with that.”

He scoffed, but he hoped you couldn’t see his length jump under the covers. “Don’t joke like that.” You rolled your eyes, already feeling your body react in anticipation. “Who’s joking?” You replied, your serious expression unchanging. He pulled his hands away from his face and looked at you — really looked at you — and for a second, all of the playful banter between you two faded into silence. He recognized a soft look of playfulness in your eyes, but there was something else laced within them, too. Something much more daring. Much more dangerous.

“You’re serious.” It was an honest question, but it came out like a statement. You shrugged, tilting your head to the side slightly. “You’re my best friend, and you’re obviously going through it.” His breath hitched, and he released a nervous chuckle. “That’s not exactly a casual offer, Y/n.” His eyes dropped to your lips for just a moment, but you kept your gaze on him. “I didn’t make it casually.”

He watched in awe as you shifted closer to him just a little, your bent knees brushing gently against his leg. “You’re telling me you haven’t thought about it before?” You added, your voice a low and tempting whisper. He didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked down from your mouth to your chest, to the curve of your bare thighs folded gingerly beneath you, back up to your steady gaze.

“I’ve thought about it,” He replied after an agonizing pause, his voice rough, “Too many times.” He watched as your lips turned up in a tempting smile from his confession, and with a pounding chest he waited, wild eyed, for you to reply. “Maybe I’ve thought about it too.” You replied, slow and honest. That made him pause. Really pause. He looked at you again, drank you in. The dim light from the television cut delicate shadows across your exposed skin, and the loose collar of your shirt had slipped slightly off of one shoulder. You were his best friend, he saw the familiarity in all of your features, but the air between you both had grown so charged that he felt as though he was in the presence of a goddess, and that realization sucked the air right out of his chest.

“You have?” He finally managed to croak out. You nodded, a sheepish smile on your face. “Sure I have. You’re pretty easy on the eyes, Chris.” He choked out a laugh, before letting out a low groan from the tempting proposition. “Oh Jesus,” He dragged a hand down his face. “What if it makes everything weird?” He asked, though he already knew he had traveled too close to the sun, and there was no way he was going to be able to back down. “What if it makes things better?” You countered, voice soft.

For just a moment, you two just stared at each other, gauging just how far you were going to take this. And then slowly — so, so slowly — you leaned forward, just a little. Not enough to touch, just enough to let him feel the warmth of your body. His breath quickened as he watched your eyes flick to his lips, then back to his eyes.

Still, you didn’t close the gap.

You were leaving it up to him.

His fingers curled into the sheets, each digit needy for the feeling of your skin under them. “Fuck,” He whispered, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He heard your breath catch from the hunger in his tone, felt the smallest shift in your posture as you struggled to keep him at arms length. You were hovering above him now, your lips so close to his own that he felt them curl into a smirk. “I think I do.”

His dilated eyes searched yours — and something unspoken passed between you. He reached up and tucked a piece of loose hair behind your ear, letting his fingers slowly brush against your cheek. You allowed yourself to lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, before asking in an almost-whisper, “What are you waiting for?”

His breath hitched in his throat. For another second, he hesitated. Not out of doubt, but rather to savour the look of needy anticipation across your face, just centimetres from his own. He wanted that image of your flushed cheeks and knit brows burned into his memory forever. So when he finally leaned in, it was slow — deliberate. No matter how badly he wanted you, needed you, he felt the need to give you the chance to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed against yours — just a test. The kiss was soft, hesitant, and foreign. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that it was your lips that he held against his own, your taste against his tongue. And it scared him. Not because it felt wrong. Not at all. It scared him because it felt right. So when you pressed in, he responded as if he’d been holding his breath for months. One of his hands knit into your hair, and the other cupped your jaw as he pulled you down on him fully.

In the blink of an eye, the kiss deepened. No more caution. No more nerves. It quickly turned into the kind of kiss that spoke louder than words ever could. You released a soft moan into his mouth, satisfied by how much pleasure he was giving you. He groaned low in response, his thumb brushing against your cheek softly as he shifted closer; his body pressing harshly against yours. You parted your lips and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth and swallowing your soft whines of approval.

He allowed his hands to explore your trembling body as his mouth, hot and hungry, consumed you. You melted into his touch, letting your body relax against his and releasing another soft moan at the feeling of his strained hardness pressing against your core. Your breath hitched as his hand slid along the curve of your spine, reaching your plush ass and pressing it down against his front — his moan as your ass slid against his length fuelled you.

He broke the kiss first, gasping for air as you rolled your hips gently against him. When he looked at you, he released a strained laugh at your messy hair; mussed from where his fingers had slid into it. “You look crazy.” His voice was shaky, the arousal pumping through his veins at full force. You snorted, dropping your forehead against his as you continued to slowly rock your hips; his hands subconsciously guiding your movements. “Great, you bully me after pulling me into your lap.” He arched a brow at you before peppering soft kisses against your jaw, down your neck. “Did I pull, or did you climb?”

Soft moans floated from your mouth as his lips danced across your skin. “I think it was mutual.” You replied breathlessly, losing yourself in the pleasure. His lips trapped yours once more. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling of your swollen lips meshed with his. But you knew he needed more. Needed your lips to make him feel good elsewhere. So you lowered your mouth to his sharp jaw, taking your time as you dragged your tongue along his body until you reached his protruding hip bones.

He stayed as still as he possibly could, terrified that one wrong movement would put a stop to everything, as you gripped the waistband of his pyjamas and tugged. He lifted his hips without saying a word, eyes locked hungrily on yours, and let you strip him. Once you removed his boxers, his cock sprang free — thick, leaking, and pressed taut against his stomach. You paused to look at him, really look at him, and bit your lip at the sight.

“Jesus, Chris, you’ve been holding out on me here.”

He laughed breathlessly, feeling a wave of pride at the sheer lust hidden behind your comment. “I would have shown you it anytime, if you asked sooner.” Your smile was slow and wicked as he watched you sit on your knees in between his legs. “Well if I had known what you were working with down here I just might have,” You wrapped your hand around his thick length, making him hiss in relief, “Should’ve told me.” You added in a low whisper.

“I didn’t think I could have you.” He replied honestly, watching with a slacked jaw as you slowly worked his length. “You still don’t,” You replied with a teasing glance up at his flushed face, “I’m letting you borrow me.” He was about to roll his eyes and fire back something cocky when you wrapped your warm mouth around the head of his cock — killing the words before they could pass his lips.

“Fuck,” He groaned softly, his hips immediately jerking upwards. You took him slowly at first, tongue circling his tip while one hand stayed wrapped against his base where it pumped in time with your mouth. Your free hand rested against his thigh, grounding him as you relaxed your throat to allow him to reach deeper into you, inch by inch. The sight of you, mouth filled with his cock, was almost too much for him to handle. With a deep groan, his head dropped back against the pillow while his hands rested limply in your gathered hair.

Coming up for air, you looked up at his angular features with a smirk. You ran your lips against the underside of his shaft, stifling a groan from the feeling of its velvety skin. “Is it everything you dreamed of?” You asked, cracking a sarcastic joke to hide your own desires. He looked down at you and laughed — shaky — stunned by the pleasure and your mockery all at once. “You’re evil.” He groaned, dying for the warmth of your mouth. You giggled softly. “Shut up, I’m generous.”

Before he could reply, you took him deep again, humming around him, making his head spin. His hands involuntarily tightened in your hair, and you took it as a sign to go faster. Hollowed cheeks, you began bobbing your head with intent. He watched as your eyes flicked up and locked with his own, and the glint of danger within them nearly undid him.

“Fuck, I — I’m close,” He gasped, feeling his cock swell in your mouth. As soon as he spoke, you pulled off of him with a wet pop, wiping your mouth quickly before climbing back onto his lap before he could react. “Not yet.” You replied, voice gritty with lust. His hands fell to your thighs as you quickly peeled off your shirt, revealing to him parts of you that he had never seen before. His eyes dragged down your body — every new inch somehow familiar and new all at once — and attached his mouth to your hardened nipple as you rolled your warm heat against him in slow, taunting circles.

His hands moved to the back of your thighs, lifting you slightly off of him so that he could run two digits across your clothed centre. “You’re soaked,” He muttered against your tit, voice wrecked, as he felt the slippery fluid that had soaked through your boy shorts. You gasped as he bit down against the sensitive bud before allowing him to slip your underwear off. “I told you,” You panted, the cool air against your heat sending a shiver down your spine, “You weren’t the only one who wanted this.”

And then, in one fluid movement, you sank down onto him.

You both moaned — yours high and breathy, his deep and guttural — as you took him all the way in, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside of you. You were paralyzed for a moment, unable to move as your eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck, Chris. You f-feel —” Your words were caught in your throat as he gripped tightly onto your hips, struggling to stay still as he let your tight walls adjust to his size.

After a moment, you finally began to move — slow, grinding rolls of your hips drew gasps from his parted mouth. Your hands were planted against his chest, nails biting into his skin caused his pleasure to intensify as you rode him. With each rhythmic bounce, a gruff curse fell from his lips. Your heart raced at the sight of Chris so unraveled beneath you, so willing to allow the pleasure you were giving him to show through his knit brows, glazed eyes, and deep moans.

You began riding him in earnest — hips snapping, thighs flexed around his waist. His eyes traveled to your breasts as they bounced in front of him with every movement, and his hands — buried in the plush of your ass — reached up to grab onto them. You leaned forward, allowing him to wrap his mouth around one hungrily, as your pleasure built in your lower stomach. Your moans turned sharper, pleasure breaking through your determination. The sounds you made went straight to his cock as it slipped in and out of your spongey cunt at a pace that pulled him closer and closer to his orgasm.

His hands moved back to your ass, where his fingers dug into your flesh in desperation — to keep you right there, to get you to slow down, he had no idea. “Fuck, Y/n, I’m —” You didn’t even let him finish his strained sentence before slowing your pace back to a slow grind. His eyes shot open, wild and desperate, looking up into your much darker pair. “You’re not gonna cum, are you?” You tilted your head menacingly as you spoke, and the power you had over him in that moment almost scared him. Not because he didn’t trust you. But because he didn’t trust himself.

A groan that came deep from within him spilled from his lips as you continued to barely move on top of him. His cock throbbed inside of you, begging for a release. His hands traveled along your naked body, taking their time on your hips where they attempted to press you harder against him. Looking up at you, he noticed a different look in your eye. The arrogance was still there, but brewing underneath that seemed to be a hint of desperation. Of raw need. Just as he realized that you were torturing yourself just as much as him, that your teasing wasn’t intended to be a tactic of control, your walls seemed to slip for a moment and he saw the silent plea in your eyes.

As if to confirm it further, your hand slid between your thighs, fingers working your clit as he watched you writhe. “D-don’t you dare c-cum.” Your demand came out strained and breathless as you tried to hold onto the control, and although the sight of you struggling made his head spin, he decided to do everything in his power to play along with your little game. “So what,” He began, each word coming out with a struggle, “You wanna cum all over my cock, make a mess while your tight pussy wraps around me? Huh?” His filthy words were a shock to your system, yet your response was nothing more than a sharp moan as they drove you closer to the edge.

Your reaction pulled him even closer, but still you weren’t granting him the release his aching cock needed. Each time he thought he was going to reach that rush of his orgasm, you lifted yourself off of him to keep your own at bay, drawing out the pleasure for both of you to the point of near-pain. This torture continued for what felt like hours until, after one particularly close call, you lifted yourself completely off of his length, trembling in the air where your slick heat was just inches from his face. His eyes locked into the glistening, pink bead, and without a thought he attached his mouth to your swollen clit to keep himself from begging — unwilling to give you the satisfaction.

As his tongue swirled in hungry circles against your bundle of nerves, a sharp cry fell from your lips. Hands raked through his hair, your body detached from your mind as you rolled your hips against his face. Releasing a moan that vibrated against your core, Chris grabbed onto your ass and pulled you up so that you were now straddling his face. Your juices melted against his tastebuds, and he devoured you like he could never get enough. One hand digging into the head board, the other laced through his wavy hair, your legs trembled on either side of him as the threat of your orgasm loomed closer and closer.

Chris felt it in the way your clit swelled against his tongue. Heard it in the way your moans turned animalistic. Saw it in the way your limbs went slack. And just as you were about to give in to the need to come undone, he removed his mouth from your clit and spoke, “Don’t you dare cum.” You looked down at him, shock written all over your face from his use of your words against you as you took in his taunting expression. Your cunt throbbed from the lack of contact, but the look in his eyes that told you he knew exactly what you had been doing caused your stomach to do an excited flip. You had been taunting him, pushing him to his breaking point, so that he could destroy you.

And just like that, once you both locked eyes, he did exactly that.

In a single, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. “Oh fuck,” Was the last thing that left your lips before he drove his cock into you, hard and deep, drawing a shocked cry from your throat. His strong hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head as he slammed relentlessly into you — done with the teasing, done with the games. He dropped his mouth to your ear, nibbling the lobe before speaking gruffly, “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

You released a sharp moan upon each of his thrusts, and practically screamed out once he dug his knees into the mattress, adjusting his angle to make sure that you felt every inch of him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groaned against your damp skin, already feeling like he could fall apart from the way your walls enveloped him so perfectly. Your back arched at his words, and when he lifted his head to look at you he noticed that the smirk that was previously plastered on your face had been replaced by an overwhelmingly desperate, hungry expression.

Your body was no longer your own. You fell into the trance you had been craving since you first slipped him inside of you. The feeling of being pinned down by him, of allowing him to use you the way he wanted, was intoxicating. And he knew it. As if reading your mind, his mouth dropped to your ear once more. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” He licked a stripe from your ear down your neck as you nodded greedily. His hips snapped into you harshly, causing you to release a sharp squeak.

“Tell me how bad.” His voice had dropped an octave since flipping you onto your back, and the sound of it made the hair raise on the back of your neck. A long-winded moan fell from your lips as pressure continued to build in your lower stomach, his cock traveling up inside of you, hitting that spot again and again. “S-so fucking bad.” You replied, each word coming out strained and punctuated by his thrusts. He sucked your neck hungrily, releasing a grunt from your honest admission. His own orgasm was threatening to run through him at any moment, yet he refused to slow down his pace.

“Shit,” He moaned, his voice dragged out in lust. You felt his cock swell inside of you just as he felt your cunt flex around him. His fingers found your clit, where he rubbed tight, frantic circles that made you buck beneath him. “I need you to cum for me. Now.” His words were clipped, his movements wavering slightly though he managed to keep the same speed. The demand, so raw and guttural, was all that you needed to get over the edge. Your eyes snapped open — meeting with his — and your legs tightened around his waist as you cried out; your body jerking beneath him as your orgasm tore through your restrained body.

As you tensed around him, milking his cock so perfectly, he refused to stop. Instead, the sight of you writhing beneath him was enough to grant him the energy to fuck you harder; pushing you through it until you melted into a puddle. He felt his balls tighten as he watched your powerless fingers claw into the head board — imagining them tugging at the roots of his hair or burying themselves into his back. He felt his cock stiffen as his eyes trailed down to your full chest — watching as your tits danced to the rhythm of his thrusts. And then, as you rode the waves of your orgasm, the delicate sound of his name on your lips pushed him over the edge.

He groaned, finally losing all control. “Where do you want me?” His voice was nothing more than a whisper. He was unable to manage anything more than that. But still, through your high, you heard him. Looking into his eyes, you slurred, “Inside me, please.” At your words, he pulled back to slam into you one last time, filling you completely before his throbbing cock painted your trembling walls white. His body jerked with the force of his release, and his harsh thrusts shifted to soft rolls of his hips as he let his orgasm overtake him.

He moaned out your name in broken whispers as he tightened his grip on you, finally reaching the release he had been craving for months, buried deep inside the warm pussy that he had spent many nights fantasizing about. The satisfaction within that realization sent one final wave of pleasure through him, before he finally let his body collapse on top of yours.

You both lay there, sticky bodies tangled together as your heaving chests and spiralling brains slowed down into a gentle lull. Your eyes fluttered shut as you savoured the feeling of Chris’s release as it slowly dripped from you, and, if you really focused, you could still feel him pulsing inside of you. Eventually, he pulled himself off of you and kissed you on your forehead. A soft, lingering touch that contrasted with everything that had just happened between you both.

He flopped beside you on the bed before immediately pulling you closer. You both laid in the quiet room, the air around you like a warm blanket. Your head rested on his chest, one hand tracing circles along his stomach. You felt the comfort of his breathing as he let out a long, slow breath, his hand running up and down the curve of your hip in lazy strokes. You lifted your head eventually, looking down at his face with a smile.

“You okay? You’re being suspiciously quiet.” You teased. He glanced up at you, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m having a moment.” He replied, sparkly blue eyes dancing across your face. “Oh, sorry,” You replied, mock-solemnly, “Didn’t mean to interrupt your existential crisis.” He let out a soft laugh, smacking your ass playfully. “No no, I’m good. Just…trying to catch up with the fact that that just happened.” You dropped your head onto him again, chin propped against his chest. “You’re feeling better.” You remarked, noticing his once tense muscles had seemed to relax into the comforter beneath you both. He stayed quiet for a beat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, then said, “Yeah, I am.”

The words hung there a moment, heavier than they sounded. Uncertainty seemed to cross over you both simultaneously, before you spoke up again softly. “So…no identity crisis? Should I be expecting any panicked texts by tomorrow?” He met your eyes, raising a brow with a smirk. “Only if you start acting weird.” He replied, to which you scoffed. “Me? Never.” He chuckled and ran a gentle hand through your hair, soaking in the sight of you before him in this way. The room fell into comfortable silence once again, before Chris took another deep breath, this one slightly more charged.

“So…this was a one-time thing, right?” You lifted your head from his chest, letting out a small laugh. “Is this your attempt at letting me down softly?” He snorted, rolling his eyes in mock-annoyance. “Actually, I was hoping the opposite.” You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip. “Ah, I see,” You propped yourself on your elbow, “Already trying to schedule round two, hm?” He turned to look at you, noticing the pleased expression across your face and admiring the way that you seemed to glow post-sex. “Just wondering if the offer could ever extend beyond emergency treatment for soul crushing sexual build-up.”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, running your hand along his stomach. “So, what I’m hearing is you want to do this again, no sexual crisis required?” He grabbed his bottom lip between his teeth, shrugging. “I’m just wondering if I’m allowed to hope, or if I need to go back to rubbing one out to you every night.” Your eyes widened from his choice of words, but after gently poking his ribs you crawled back onto him; wrapping your arms around him and letting yourself feel his skin against yours. After another beat of silence, you spoke softly against his neck. “You’re allowed to hope.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[madamechrissy]

Escort! Satoru- part five

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- mutual pining like a mf, obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mutual pining, lots of yearninggg, kissing (I KNOW YAYYY) dry humping, teasing, fingering, public play, fluffy and cute- there will be a part six! (final) pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Four - Final Part>>>

Escort! Satoru finally does it, he asks you on that date, watching the shock in your eyes, the trembling of your lips as you step back, and Satoru feels it then, the hammering of his heart. Is it too late? Should he have reached out again to you after the first night, when you didn't answer? His blue eyes peer at you over those glasses, as the sunlight beats down on your skin, making his cheeks just a little reddened, striking across his pale skin.

Escort! Satoru eases his hands gently off your face, when you swallow nervously - he hurt you so badly that night, the embarrassment of asking him to hold you, dying for a mere kiss on the lips. How could you be so foolish, truly, you had to try to forget him in any way you could, after sleeping with him and knowing he would never be yours, always sharing him, he was just there because of your money and maybe he enjoyed it. But it wasn't more.

Escort! Satoru realizes how much he fucking missed you now, as if some void is filled by your presence, but you lower his hands gently, holding them for a moment. 'I was so...' stupid, you were stupid 'I'm very sorry I asked you for things you never do,' you sigh, looking around, seeing people walk by. 'I should have respected your-' Satoru stops you then, tilting your chin up, your gaze focused on him. 'I should have held you, okay? I'm sorry...' you feel your eyes fill with the tears, as words you've dreamed of are spoken, and they feel just like that- a dream. 'I want a real date, could we?'

Escort! Satoru eyes you when your phone rings, and you look down nervously. 'I have a date tonight, the first in... years' Satoru steps back now, glaring at you. 'With who?' you blink in surprise. 'Why does it matter to you? Do you think after months I wouldn't ever wanna try?' Satoru grips your wrist, thumb brushing against the veins gently, sending shivers down your spine, as he tries to compose himself, he has no right to be so mad, so jealous. 'Fine, then give me a date after' he murmurs, desperate for you, how can he see you and not try? After everything he's been yearning for appears before him, and he knows how badly he fucked up. 'I don't know...' you want to, god you do, but you also know how badly Satoru can hurt you, uniquely. 'Please just, give me a chance to explain myself, to be myself and not...' he trails off, the wind blows gently and a little blossom lands on your hair, which he sweetly brushes away. 'One chance'

Escort! Satoru is furious thinking about anyone touching you, though it's toxic and unrealistic in every aspect. His job was to touch, though he'd throw it all away if you asked, god he would, because he doesn't find joy in any of it. No amount of money fills this emptiness, but he never thought he'd have a chance with you - only to ruin it. 'I'll go out with you this weekend, but you pick the place, and pick me up' you say softly, his heart thuds as he nods eagerly, desperate and pathetic for you - something he's never been until you ruined him with just your energy, your body, that laugh he'd love to have back. Memories of your night fill him then, as he aches to touch you, to know you, to kiss you.

Escort! Satoru plans the date to a tee, but the whole time he's wondering - where are you going, and with who? Would you prefer them over him? Meanwhile you're trying to get through that date, mind wandering, you just tried to open up for the first time since Satoru broke your heart - even if it was your own fault. You try to smile, and enjoy him, a handsome man that surely was perfect on paper, and interested in you. As the night goes on and the drinks pour, you think to yourself, you should try, letting him kiss you at the end of the evening, wondering what you'll feel. It's nice, but it's nothing like just being near Satoru. Frustrated almost to tears, you're laying in bed that night, as the man in your head that you almost pushed down enough, is back front and center.

Escort! Satoru can't stand it, knowing you're on a date, he almost texts you so many times before he caves - 'ready for our date?'- he smirks, hoping your with whoever it was. But you don't answer him for hours, until you finally write him - yes - and that's it, no sweet banter like the two of you had. It's different, had you really already moved on? He trembles as he texts you - 'how was the date?' - and you write - 'it was fine, any jobs tonight? - and that's when he realizes you're mad. The sweetest girl he met is so clearly mad. He hadn't taken a job tonight, and he's cancelled his week, but he gets it clearly. - 'no job tonight, I'm excited to see you' - He's never said that to anyone. You heart the message, emotions catching, excitement but apprehension in equal parts, you just don't know if he's serious, you're so scared to let go again.

Escort! Satoru picks you up that night in his car, some little Maserati sports car that looks like it goes way too fast. You can't act like he's not sexy as fuck as he steps out of it, opening your door and grinning at you, but you try to hold back, smiling with a 'thank you' as you slide in next to him. Satoru's hand craves to press on your thigh, but fuck if he's not nervous, he hasn't had a date since he started this career despite his job being to go on dates, not a real one, not with someone he asked. He's damn near shaking with his nerves, trying to play it off, as he drives through the quiet streets, smiling over at you with a quirk of his lips. 'You look beautiful' his words make you flustered, nervously tugging a bit on the gorgeous dress you're wearing, glittering like the stars in the sky - fuck your very skin itself glitters. 'you're saying it truly this time?'

Escort! Satoru glares now, foot on his break, scowling at you. 'what do you mean truly? you think I didn't mean any of it?' you blink back unexpected tears, looking out the dark tinted window as he drives once more. 'It was your job, that's all, and I told you I took it too far, you shouldn't feel bad that happened. I - ah!' he skids to a stop suddenly, pulling off the side of the road, and unbuckling your seatbelt so fast you can barely register. He's got you on his lap so fast, as cars whirl by, shaking the fucking car and shocking you further, as he handles you like it's nothing. You brace your hands on his chest, so nervous now, hands clenching the black jacket of his tux, breaths faster and faster. 'You are beautiful, I never said that because of a job' he swipes away your tears, lips hovering over yours, as he exhales, breath tickling your lips. 'What are you doing, Satoru?' your whisper is weak, as he drags you even closer, and his eyes dart to your lips. 'What I should have done that night'

Escort! Satoru slams his lips on yours then and there, you feel it like hot, electric shots going through your body when he does, when he's pressing those plush, glossy lips on yours, and you're shattering over him, lost in his kiss. Satoru has never felt anything like it, like finally kissing you, his tongue slipping in your mouth, drinking up your every cry, every gasp, as you roll your hips just right, and he feels the heat he's been dying for against his aching cock. 'Fuck...' his hushed words are met with your little cry, which just has him dragging you down harder, ready to devour every sweet inch of you, but barely being able to drag himself from your lips, gasping as he pulls back, eyes meeting yours, glimmering now. 'Satoru you... kissed me...' you're close to crying now, trembling as he sighs, cupping your pretty face, the one that's haunted him. 'I've wanted to since I first saw you'

Escort! Satoru keeps kissing you, over and over, desperate and messy, you almost cum just from that friction against you, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, as his huge hands press into your skin. 'I need you, fuck I need you sweetheart- god you have no clue' you're easing back, struggling to compose yourself. 'Am I so VIP?' you tease softly, and he feels it then, the soft way you're asking - not judging, but scared. He exhales, resting his head on yours, shaking his head and pulling you down again. 'I'll gladly delete my whole fucking profile, for a chance with you' his words sink in fully. Your cheeks are hot under his gentle touch. 'I just don't... Satoru, you don't have to do this for me. I understand...' He kisses you once more, before your phone rings.

Escort! Satoru glares, and you can't help but giggle. 'Are you jealous?' he just sets his jaw, as you look over and see it, holding the phone with a shaky hand, and he pulls you harder on his cock, having your eyes roll back in your skull. 'Tell him you're on a date' he whispers, gripping you so tight, before easing you to sit back in your seat, kissing you over and over. 'Let's get there, okay?' you're trying to compose yourself, seeing him shift and wince while he drives once more, pouting. 'You enjoying my pain, sweets?' you can't help but giggle again. The date is pretty and serene, the restaraunt on the roof top, swathed in moonlight. Satoru feeds you carefully, the two of you sharing dessert, talking and laughing like the first time he fucking met you - when he knew then, something was so special about you, something he could never pin fully, but he sees it, with how the candle light hits your face, your sweet blush as his hand slips up your thigh.

Escort! Satoru is not happy to learn you've had a kiss, and your amused little smile is quickly lost, when he slips his fingers between your thighs, and you wildly look around, as he smirks at you. 'That's cute, you kissed? did you like that?' he's taunting now, possessive gaze, that you can't get enough of, fuck you want all of him, even though you're scared, so scared to be hurt again. He's pressing his fingers against your panties, which are soaked, watching as your eyes get lidded, hand gripping the thick white cloth, and he slips under then, feeling the heat he'd been dying for, leaning in close. 'Asked you a question, hmm?' you lean closer, hips shifting, jerking as he thumbs your twitchy little clit, making you gush. 'Would you be mad if I liked it, Satoru?' he sighs, slipping two fingers in your slick hole, making you almost moan in the fucking restaurant now. 'You're wet for me, aren't you, all me?' He's curling them now, acting so casual as a waitress refills your wine, and you pray no one hears the squishing noises your juices are making.

Escort! Satoru can't help but suck you off his fingers, right before he makes you cum, and you're throbbing around nothing, wanting. You're clenching your teeth as you watch, as if he's finishing his dessert- and when he tastes you again!? He can barely control himself, eyes dilated while you sink into his tastebuds, ready to finally give you what you want, and need, and deserve, fuck you so good you can't function, and hold and kiss you. Satoru slips his lips on yours in front of the restaurant, and you taste yourself, whining into his lips. Suddenly a girl sees him, a frequent client who'd gotten too obsessed, and walks right up to him, crossing her arms. He eases back in the seat, as you look down shyly, unsure of who she is. 'I'm on a date' his words make your heart flutter now, as she glares. 'ah, so you do kiss? was this some special package, do you know how expensive you are?' you bite back a smile, and Satoru just grins, shaking his head like a little shit. 'It's different, she's my girlfriend.'

Escort! Satoru blushes when you whisper 'your girlfriend, huh?' in his ear moments later, as a very angry client stomps off, and he brushes back your hair, hard body against yours, studying your face. 'Would you... be my girlfriend?'

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[snail-day]

Satoru doesn't do well with the idea of leaving you. Never has. Probably never will.

Even the short missions are enough to make him sulky, but the long ones? The ones where he’ll be away for days, maybe weeks? He turns into a whining mess. You wonder if he's always been like this, just never voiced it aloud to anyone before.

Packing takes three times longer than it should. Every time he tries to fold a shirt or zip his carry on, he ends up abandoning the task halfway through just to wrap his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into the crook of your neck with a pitiful little whine.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin, maybe saying it enough times might make the whole thing mission disappear. "You’re my little Pokémon, y'know? I should be able to just catch you in a ball and bring you with me."

You laugh, warm and breathless, reaching up behind you to card your fingers through his snowy hair. "You could try," you tease, and he groans dramatically, squeezing you tighter.

It’s not just joking, though. When you offer to come with him, he always gets a little quiet. A little stuck in his mind. Turning you around and pulling back just enough to look at you, and the way his bright blue eyes shimmer... God, it breaks your heart a little. He wants to say yes. You can see it in the way his hand trembles against your side. The way his pretty eyes scan your face. It's on the tip of his tongue.

But instead, he just shakes his head slowly, a wobbly little smile on his lips.

Because the thought of something happening to you, curse or no curse, makes his heart ache. Makes his mind wander a little too far for his liking.

What if he’s in the middle of a fight and someone targets you?

What if he’s too far away to reach you in time?

What if...?

"Can’t risk it," he finally says softly, thumb brushing back and forth against your hip, memorizing the feel of your soft skin. Maybe your scent will eventually be engrained in his mind. "You're... you’re everything, baby."

Already pulling you against his lean chest again, holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, mumbling "I love you" over and over against the crown of your head. His palm rubbing up and down your back in loose patterns. You almost think he's tearing up.

"I love you. I love you so much. Don’t forget, okay?" he murmurs between kisses to the top of your head. "Be safe. Call me if you even think something’s weird, kay? I’ll come running, promise."

You have to physically pry him off you just to get him to finish packing. And even then, he keeps glancing back at you every five seconds. Begging for one more hug. One more kiss. One more chance to touch you before he has to drag himself to the door.

By the time he actually gets to the door, he’s somehow hugging you again, despite your giggling protests, rocking you gently side to side in his arms, mumbling about how he’s going to miss you so bad he might just quit being a sorcerer and become your full-time house husband. (He’s only half joking.)

Finally, after a hundred kisses and whispered I love yous, he leans down one last time, nose brushing against yours, voice soft and almost trembling: "Be here when I get back, 'kay? I don’t wanna come home to a world without you."

But then, quieter, so quiet you nearly miss it he adds: "...And don’t... don’t forget about me either, yeah? Don’t find someone normal while I'm gone. Someone who doesn't leave. Someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve."

It’s said with a half-laugh, light and teasing, like he’s trying to play it off, but you can feel it in the way his arms tighten around you, the way his voice wavers. That tiny, hidden crack in the foundation of Satoru Gojo: The fear that being the strongest might mean ending up the loneliest too.

And even as he finally forces himself to step away, flashing you that big, blinding smile. You catch the flicker of sadness he tries so desperately to hide. Because no matter how strong he is, when it comes to you, Satoru’s always afraid that someday you’ll realize you deserve more than a man who keeps having to leave.

[luster-less]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ your body is his birthright

this man does not believe in personal space. if you’re in the room, he’s touching. doesn’t matter if he’s got a match in an hour—if he catches a glimpse of your bare thighs under one of his shirts, he’s already hard. you’ll be brushing your teeth, and he’s coming up behind you, lazy grin stretching across his smug face as he presses his cock right against your ass. “didn’t even know ya were awake, sweetheart,” he’ll say, voice still rough from sleep, and then he’s bending you over the sink like it’s nothing. just lifts the shirt, pulls your panties to the side, and slides in with a hiss through his teeth. he doesn’t give you a second to process—he’s already fucking you before your toothpaste hits the counter.

his mornings start with cum leaking down your thighs and his mouth on your neck, whispering “such a good girl f’me.” and if you try to resist? if you whine that you’re sore, or that you have work, or that maybe he should chill for like five seconds? he just growls a soft “nah, you don’t get to tell me no, not when you walk around this fuckin’ house leakin’ from the night before.”

miya atsumu believes in full access. free use isn’t even a kink to him—it’s how he shows affection. you sit on the couch to relax? he’s got your legs spread across his lap, hand already sliding up your inner thigh, fingers dipping into your soaked folds like he owns them (he does). you’re making dinner? he’s got you bent over the kitchen island, one hand gripping your throat and the other fucking you from behind so deep you forget your name. food burns on the stove because he’s got you gasping, drooling, eyes rolling back while he mutters filth in your ear: “you love this, don’tcha? love bein’ my little fucktoy. can’t go a day without my cock, huh?”

and don’t even think about saying no when you’re wearing something cute. short shorts? he’s dragging them down your legs and licking into you from behind while you try to hold yourself up on trembling knees. his favorite shirt on you with no bra? he’s sucking your nipples raw while grinding against your heat until he’s desperate enough to take you on the floor, the bed, the fucking hallway.

this man has a mouth like sin. he eats pussy like it’s a reward, like it’s holy, like he needs to be buried in you just to keep breathing. tongue everywhere—circling, sucking, dipping inside—his arms locked around your thighs while you squirm. he lives for the mess, for the taste of you dripping off his chin, for the way you beg him to stop when you’re already cumming again and again and again. but he never stops. he keeps going until you break.

and the filth he spews while inside you should be illegal. he’ll hold you down, cum spilling out of you from the last round, and say “bet ya love bein’ filled up, huh? you’re made for my cock. fuckin’ greedy little thing. can’t get enough, can ya?” every single time you finish, he’s praising you like you’ve given him the world. “atta girl. look at ya, takin’ it so good. let’s do it again.”

refractory period? he doesn’t know her. he’ll cum, take a breather, and slide right back in while you’re still twitching from the aftershocks. your legs are shaking? pretends he doesn’t see them. you’re crying? he kisses the tears away and fucks you deeper. he’ll pin you down, rub your clit until you scream, and thrust until you’re writhing, completely brainless beneath him.

he’s not satisfied until you’re crying, drooling, covered in his cum, and still begging for more—because you will. he makes sure of it. you’re addicted, ruined, owned. and atsumu? he’s proud of that. he’s cocky, sweaty, flushed, breathing hard while he watches you collapse and says, “fuck, ya look so pretty like that. think i’m ready for round five.”

[softaestluv]

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

This chapter does contain explicit smut, 18+ content!

Tags: Rough sex, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Paying for services with sex, Vaginal fingering, Oral sex, Office sex, dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, mechanic

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4 (final part!) Ao3

A kiss, brush of lips, tongues and teeth.

Wandering hands, firm and steady on your hips— possessive, greedy.

Heavy eyes and shallow lungfuls, trembling fingers and a drowning pulse.

Scorching fever, yearning, aching for something more.

Every morning before work, languid kisses pressed between the oil and cloth fabric of Simon’s truck seats. Awkward angles and smashed positions. A clean Simon, all mouth wash and redwood soap, taste of morning tea on his tongue. Sweeter and longer kisses, gentle hands and a smoothing tongue, soft voice and honeyed croons.

Swoops butterflies low in your core, tightening your chest, hiding smiles between his lips.

Every evening when he picks you up from work, frantic kisses pressed against your front door and his broad chest. Indecent, shaming your neighbors with such a desperate act. Your mechanic Simon, dirty, filthy; sweaty and stained, salty on your tongue. Rough and brutal kisses, pinching hands and clashing teeth, deep timbre and gritted demands.

Burns warmth in your core, nudging your thighs together for any stimulation, quiet gasps and mewls swallowed between his lips.

Never more, never any less.

The first time he dropped you off at work, you were hesitant, swallowing over a thick lump in your throat because you wanted more from the night before. You didn’t know how to ask, or if you even should.

His fingers were reassuring when he held your chin, a murmured, ‘have a good day f’me, okay?’

Then he had stamped a kiss against your mouth. It was supposed to be chaste, you knew that, but you didn’t want it to end just yet, didn’t quite get your fill. You probably shouldn’t have made out in the parking lot of your job or perched yourself in his lap either, but you did. Scratched at the insistent craving in your lungs before running into your work building late.

When he had walked you to your front door after picking you up, you wanted to invite him in, you did invite him in. He declined, shaking his head with a soft chuckle, and a brush of his knuckle against your cheek— just droppin’ you off sweet’art.

And like a man contradicting his words, he pressed you flat against the wood of your door, drowned you in his saliva, dragging his mouth, fangs and all, against yours feverishly each time. Barely managing to pull away to bid you farewell.

It went on for a week, mindlessly feeding your fire with make out sessions in his truck and your porch, like two desperate teenagers trying to quench their thirst.

A week was all it took for Simon to fix your truck, had your engine running like new, but a gnawing itch dug at the back of your skull as you stood in his office. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be excited, not with the imminent lack of pre-work kisses and murmurs, any post-work bites and promises in your future.

As if your truck being fixed was the end of it.

A knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you aimlessly nodded along, pinching your lips between your teeth as Simon explained the work he did on your truck. You didn’t really care, your shitty old pick up was the last thing on your mind, even more so when he kept talking with his hands, thick fingers spread wide with each gesture, dipping into even thicker wrists. Solid forearms, veins curled over each curve, right up to each bicep.

Covered in stains— “Y’alright, bird?”

Your mouth fell open, darting your eyes back to his, “Yeah, yeah I-,” you fluttered your lashes, taking a deep breath, “So, what happens now?”

You mean between you and him, not your stupid truck, and you’re sure he knows that, but all he does is huff a laugh, closing the thin distance between the two of you. Bullies you right up against his desk without a care, hands landing on either side of your hips, consequently boxing you in.

“Well,” He pauses, bending his head to the crook of your neck, brushing the bridge of his nose up the delicate skin, drawing rapid goosebumps, “You still owe me f’my services.”

“A twirl?” You breathe, unsure.

“Go on, then.”

It’s hard to spin eloquently caged against his broad chest and the desk, but he doesn’t seem to mind when the plush of your body rubs against the front of his coveralls. Stopping you when your ass faces him just like he always does with a sturdy hand on your hip, except this time you’re pressed right up against his slowly thickening cock.

Your poor cunt, greedy and desperate clenches around nothing over his bulge. You’re sure he can feel it because he exhales a fucking deep chuckle, blurs your eyes with embarrassment.

And then those same hands are nudging you forward, your palms falling flat against the wood with a gasp as he lays his chest over your back. He’s warm against your cool skin, working in the sweltering garage all day while you sat in his conditioned office. The contrast stings your flesh, makes you painfully aware how hard he had been working to fix your truck. The callouses and scars on his hands evident enough, and the thought suddenly makes every touch even more searing. Taking care of your shitty inconveniences without a second thought.

His fingers skim the seam of your pencil skirt, trailing just a little lower to trace against your knee, rakes chills down your legs, “Had t’work a little harder this time.”

You inhale a sharp breath between your front teeth, “Yeah?”

“Mmh, gonna have to do more than just a little spin, love.” He hums, slowly hitching the fabric of your skirt to your hips.

“Yeah?” You repeat, your default answer when his hands are on you.

Simon laughs again, vibrates your back, “Yeah, baby.”

He hooks his fingers in your ruby red panties and tugs them down your thighs. A sticky string of your arousal clings to the fabric, beads in two when the material pools at your feet.

“Let’s see,” He purrs, “Did two oil changes free of charge.”

His hand smooths against the swell of your ass, thumb resting just under the curve, kneading the flesh gently before leaning back. Drags his eyes steady over your ass, and spreads your pussy open with a stamp of his thumb. You squeak, a bit humiliated at your compromising position; it makes an unbearable warmth bloom down your chest, but you like it.

Can’t do anything but like it when he’s ripping the stitches of your vulnerable flesh bit by bit with the reverence in his irises, the hunger seeping into his almond-shaped eyes as he stares at your pussy.

His thumb sweeps through the seams of your pussy and brushes right up against your sensitive clit. He’s firm on the puffy mound, petting confident strokes against the bead, makes you stutter over your breaths with each new shape like he fucking knew how you liked it already. Your legs spread wider at that, head nodding forward against your chest as you succumb, surrender to the sensation.

This is what you had been waiting for. This. His stained fingers on your clit, drooling over his thick digits.

You had been so well-behaved, let him trace your figure with teasing hands, make you late to work every morning, unfocused and wet in the chair in your office, leave you a breathless mess against your front door, so you like to think you deserve this. Deserve to lay against his desk and let him do whatever he wants to you.

“Fixed your air con.” A finger presses into your poor empty cunt.

Your fingernails dig into the wood.

“Got you a new set of tires.” A second finger joins the other.

A moan scrapes against the back of your throat, pushed straight out from the stretch, knees bumping against the desk as you slump slightly.

The first several drags are slow, using the time to coat his fingers in your slick, agonizing to the insatiable ache you need absolutely smothered. Your puffy walls clamp onto his fingers, using your pussy to ask him to press harder, deeper, further, just like you know his deft fingers can.

He gives you exactly what you want, but he makes an embarrassing show of it. Curls his fingers right where he needs to make your pussy squelch loudly, pulls them out just so he can see your slick cling to his skin, connecting the two of you with a dribbled string. Smears it on your pussy, swiping your clit with each movement over and over again.

Then, he follows the string straight to the source, licks around the digits buried in your sopping folds. You’re already wet, a sticky mess, and it only gets worse when soft lips encase your clit. Your knees out right buckle under you, body weight slumped against the desk when his teeth brush against the bead, coaxing your clit out of the hood by nipping, sucking, toying with it while he plunges his fingers deep.

Yeah, yeah, this is what you deserve.

You’re so close off that, gooey, tacky delicious honey washing over you, panting and shaking under him, toes curled uncomfortably in your heels. Your moans echo off the thin walls, and you struggle to remember if Johnny was still in the shop before Simon bent you over his desk within the brink of an orgasm.

The thought leaves your mind as soon as the strokes turn languid, nothing but really hooking his fingers in your walls as a placeholder while he unbuckles his coveralls. You whine, protesting even though the sound of clanking metal promises a better outcome, something bigger, thicker, because you were so fucking close.

He shushes you, tutting his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “None of tha’, takin’ what you owe me.”

His words make you moan, bobbing your head, yeah, yes, you’ll let him take as much as he wants if he keeps your pussy stuffed. You fidget heel to heel in anticipation, looking over your shoulder to watch. It’s a sight, all beefy muscle, tan lines and freckles, damp chest hair and pubes. Every move is determined, fueled with a purpose, shown in the way his arms flex, his brows furrowed.

You practically fall flat against the desk when you see him free his cock, fat and reddened, leaking with precum. The shaft is thick, a slight curve to it, barely fits in the palm of his massive hand. But all you can focus on is the girth, smacks hard against his fucking belly button.

“And now your bloody engine.”

His cockhead pressed to your entrance.

“Tell me, sweet’art, how’d you plan on payin’ all that?”

“With this,” You whine, arching your back, so your pussy rubs right up against his tip.

He hums, hand on your back pressing your hips flat against the desk, so your cheek is flush with it, “You mean this pretty little cunt, huh?”

You nod pathetically, scratching your skin against the wood because you don’t think you quite have it in you to use your words, confess that you’re willing to use your pussy. And he doesn’t push for you to, takes it as a good enough answer.

The stretch stings, makes tears well in your eyes, but it’s hurts so good. You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the burn, really drown yourself in the feeling of being so full. It’s a slow start, shaping your spongy walls to take his full length, moist lips mapping shapes against your neck in encouragement to take it all.

You think you’re ready for it, clenching around him, bucking your hips and pleading with quiet words for more— please Simon, I can take it.

Then, he’s just fucking brutal, unforgiving.

Your teeth knock together with the first determined thrust, your eyes snapping open in shock because you were not ready for that. It tears the breath straight out of you, hurts your lungs from the force. Rips a cry of his name from your core, your chest, your throat because you’re sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

Each thrust is harsher than the last, hip bones painfully slammed into the desk with each smack of his cock. The sound of his balls slapping against your flesh, loud and obscene, echoes how aggressive he’s really fucking you.

The gooey honey from his fingers and tongue turns to white, hot, searing pleasure. Borderline painful, as he forces you to take it with no where to run, so you just lay there and take it like a good paying costumer. Accept the onslaught until his hand bands around your throat, curls around the small muscle, and arches your back as much as you physically can so his mouth can press hot against your ear.

“D’ya think I’d jus’ be done with you too?”

You nod, squeak a strained ‘yes’ because you had thought that. Anxiety pinched your chest before his cock split you in two, before he made you his.

“Can’t get rid o’me that easy, sweet’art,” Simon grits through each word, “Work in grease and grime; you’re stuck with me now, baby.”

The words remind you of how dirty he is, how dirty you are for liking that fact. Even more so when his other hand tugs your shirt and bra low, digging indents into your breasts, and you can see how filthy his hand is from work— the same hand that was buried in your pussy moments ago.

Oil, dirt, sweat, grease and grime smeared on your skin, all over your dainty skirt and white blouse. Marking you as his in more ways than the dark hickeys he leaves on your neck and bruised fingertips on your hips.

It numbs your thoughts to nothing but the way you know his cock is just as filthy. Fucking you into a slippery, sticky mess with each rut of his hips. And then he hoists your foot onto the desk, hits a gummy spot that has you arching, quivering in his grasps. Blinding you and consuming you whole.

Your body decides that’s all you can take, squeezing so tightly around Simon as your orgasm becomes ferocious and unbearable. You seize up, Simon dropping his forehead against your shoulder as he tries to fuck you good and well through it, cussing under his breath. Everything’s fuzzy, blurry, and hazy; you’re dizzy, every part of your body melted into the sensory receptors of your body.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it, what words you’re saying, but you’re babbling for him to finish in you, cum inside you, taint your delicate flesh with every thing he possibly can.

It’s a few more shallow thrusts before his fingers are digging harsh into your hips, sharp teeth pinching against your shoulder. Warms your already scorching cunt with his spend, bucking his hips deeper with each new spurt.

Even after you milked him for all he’s worth, he rocks his cock into you again and again. Slower, softer, more careful from the way he was just bruising your cervix seconds ago. Relishes in the way your folds flutter overstimulated around him, middle and index finger tracing around where the two of you meet, where your pussy stretches so pretty for him, like he doesn’t want to slip out just yet.

Your fingers tangle into his on your hip, “Don’t think I paid my full debt yet. If you take me home, I can really show you how grateful I am.”

You’ve never seen him speed faster to your house, ripping the keys from your grasps when he deems you took long enough to open your door. It makes you laugh, finding it quite hilarious how eager he is to fuck you all night, a trucks engine worth of orgasms.

That night you let him fuck your mouth, slobbering and choking over his fat cock as he carves the shape into the back of your throat. Sucking the salty taste clean from him.

When morning comes he fucks you again, even though your pussy is sore and swollen, your muscles contracting painfully with each movement from overuse. The way he coaxes your orgasm out of you is worth it all, the way he kisses you goodbye soft and sweet after a shower at the door is even more so.

His promises to return later that night with his thumb rubbing tender strokes behind your ear are even better. Except this time you don’t have a theoretical debt to pay or a shitty pick-up, just a simple guarantee.

masterlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

[girlrotterr]

— "𝘚𝛨𝛦'𝘚 𝑇𝛨𝐼𝛮𝛫𝐼𝛮𝐺 𝛢𝛣𐒆𝑈𝑇 𝛭𝛦 𝛦𝑉𝛦𝑅𝑌 𝛮𝐼𝐺𝛨𝑇, 𐒆𝛨!"

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: loser!ellie x stripper!reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: loser!ellie headcanons!

𝛢/𝛮: first attempt at headcanons!! soo this may be a little jumbled but I absolutely loved making this!!

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who swears it’s the last time she’s coming to see you because she can’t risk embarrassing herself again. But the moment she remembers the rhythm of your body, her mind drifts, and suddenly she’s back at the club, dollar in hand, cheeks warm as she recalls the tiny, breathless “Hello..” she squeaked out the last time. Before she knows it, she’s there again, telling herself it’s just one more time.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who’s made herself a regular at the club, nervously occupying the same table every night, hoping for just a glimpse of you. But her dorkiness draws attention; other dancers lean over, offering her dances with winks and playful smiles. She goes stiff, almost panicking, stuttering, “Oh, no—I mean, no, thank you,” glancing toward the stage, desperate for you to see that she’s loyal to one person only. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s just one dance.” Too polite to shut them down, she mumbles, “I, um…no, sorry,” rubbing the back of her neck and avoiding eye contact like her life depends on it. “I’m, like… kinda into someone already,” her voice is so quiet that the other dancers smirk, teasing her about her crush. She turns bright red, waving them off, mumbling, “It’s…not like that,” even as her eyes drift to the stage. 

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who can’t help but stare when you’re on stage, entranced by every movement, forgetting herself so completely that she grips the edge of her seat, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. The second you look her way, though, her cheeks flush crimson, and she fumbles over her drink, trying to play it cool, but you see it—the way she’s completely, hopelessly hooked on you.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie whenever she thinks she’ll act smooth next time, she ends up a flustered mess. Her hand trembles midair as she finally gathers the courage to slip a dollar between your thong; the moment their fingers brush, her eyes go wide, and she swears her heart might actually stop.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who tries to mutter something cool under her breath, like “you’re so sexy,” but it comes out so soft and awkward that you have to lean in to hear her. Your knowing smile makes her cheeks heat up even more. 

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who barely finishes her shift at her part-time job before she’s rushing to her phone, pulling up her bank app to see if her paycheck hit. The second she sees it’s in, she’s already thinking about all the ways she can spend it on you. She might be broke for the next two weeks, but the thought of seeing your face light up is enough to keep her going.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie hyping herself up by imagining what she’ll surprise you with next. The moment her shift’s over, she’s browsing for little things you’d love: those fancy earrings you mentioned once, a necklace she thinks would look perfect on you, or that one bottle of perfume she remembers you ran out of. By the time she’s done, she’s practically holding an empty wallet, but she doesn’t even care.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who shows up at the club with a nervous grin and a freshly wrapped gift just for you, stuffed in a little paper bag she decorated herself to save money. She’s a bit embarrassed handing it to you, mumbling, “It’s nothing fancy,” but her heart’s racing as she watches you unwrap it. Every time you gasp or smile, her face lights up even brighter, totally worth every last cent.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who sits at home counting change, literally living off instant ramen, but with zero regrets because she already spent her last dollars on that pair of heels you were obsessing over. She pictures you wearing them, looking absolutely incredible, and can’t wait for your next dance. Even though she’s practically starving, she figures seeing you in them will more than make up for it.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who can’t even afford the gas to drive herself home but still manages to slip a folded bill to you at the club, the look on her face a mixture of pride and shyness as she mutters, “Just…y’know, for you.” It’s her last dollar, but when you smile and lean in to thank her, she’s practically glowing, whispering to herself that she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who hypes herself up to ask you out after your shift, but when she sees you coming her way, her mind goes blank. “You’re, like… really good at…” she blurts out, regretting it the instant it leaves her lips. Blushing hard, she watches you raise a brow, her heart racing as she shuffles awkwardly on the spot. But when you smile at her, she’s secretly thrilled.

⋆⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie dresses in a rotation of baggy jeans that hang a little low on her hips, with boxers peeking out and a series of painfully awkward T-shirts proclaiming phrases like “Raw Sex” or “Big Dick Is Back In Town” in bold, obnoxious letters. She strolls in with her half-tucked T-shirt, completely unaware of how ridiculous she looks, thinking they make her seem cool.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who tries to keep her composure as you eye her stupid shirt, but the blush creeping up her neck gives her away. She fumbles, wishing she’d worn anything else, but it’s too late. You lean in, whispering, “Nice shirt,” and Ellie is left a red-faced mess, speechless, trying to figure out if you’re making fun of her or if you actually think it’s… well, nice. “It was laundry day…” She fidgets nervously with the hem of her shirt, tugging it down to cover the waistband of her jeans, as if you won’t notice the bold letters across her chest.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who goes completely stiff when you slide onto her lap, her eyes wide as she tries to figure out where to put her hands without losing her mind. Her palms are already clammy, and she stares up at you, clearly overwhelmed, the tips of her fingers hovering, barely daring to graze you. As you lean closer, brushing your chest against her, she bites her lip to keep from making a sound, her breath catching. When you take her hand and guide it to your waist, she’s sure you can feel her fingers trembling, cold against your skin. You whisper something teasing in her ear, and she’s suddenly even more nervous, her pulse racing as she clings to your words.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie who’s a flustered, shaky mess when her fingertips brush the soft skin , cheeks flushed red as she tries to avoid looking too overwhelmed. You can feel her hands flex slightly, as if she’s afraid to grip you too tightly and ruin the moment. Every little movement from you has her body tensing, her fingers trailing tentatively over you, and the way she’s practically holding her breath gives her away. When her fingers graze your ass, she flinches, almost pulling back, but your playful smile makes her stay put.

⋆  ⁺  ∿ Loser!Ellie whose cheeks are flushed, and she can barely make eye contact, her voice a hoarse whisper as she mumbles, “I—I don’t usually… um..” When you rest your hands on her shoulders, guiding her hands more firmly around you, her fingertips sink into your waist, icy and shaky. She tries to lean in like she knows what she’s doing, only for you to kiss her neck, leaving her a quivering mess. She tilts her head back, giving you full access, her breath hitching audibly, and she prays you don’t tease her about it. But you do, whispering against her ear, making her shift in her seat as her face flushes an even deeper shade of pink, almost whining in response.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog2]

Phainon hates to see his angel cry. It twists something deep inside him—something fierce and tender all at once. You, with your soft eyes and trembling lashes, trying to hide your tears with the back of your hand, as if even your sadness has to be quiet. He reaches for you before he can stop himself, his usually steady hands turning gentle as they cup your cheeks. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “Not when you’re supposed to smile, not when you’re mine to protect.” There’s no armor between you and him here, no battlefield—just the vulnerable warmth of your body pressed against his chest as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

He holds you for a long while, his hand splayed against the small of your back, firm and grounding. You can feel how tense he is—his whole frame humming with quiet rage at whatever hurt you—but he reins it in just for you. Instead of letting his anger burn, he pours that fire into something softer, something that simmers in the way his lips graze your hairline and linger there. “You’re not allowed to cry alone, you hear me?” he breathes. “If the world dares to make you sad, then let me be the one to wipe it away.” His voice dips low, husky with feeling, and his fingers curl possessively in the fabric of your shirt.

Phainon rarely lets his guard down, but with you? Everything shifts. He tilts your chin up so your eyes meet his—those beautiful eyes he always calls dangerous because they make him want things he shouldn't. His gaze softens, and his thumb gently traces the corner of your mouth. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re sad?” he whispers, almost ashamed to say it, but you can feel the way his breath catches when you blink at him. “Not because I like seeing you hurt—never that. But because even your sorrow makes you look like something I could worship.” His forehead leans into yours, and suddenly his lips are ghosting just above yours, not quite kissing, but close enough to make you ache.

“Let me make it better,” he says, barely audible, like it’s a promise and a plea all at once. His hands wander a little, tracing the curve of your waist with reverence, letting his touch linger where you’re softest. There’s no rush, no pressure—just the subtle way he lets his affection speak through every slow caress and gentle sigh. He doesn’t need to say much more. His body is warm against yours, solid and safe, and his lips finally brush yours with all the intensity of someone who’s been holding back far too long. It’s not just a kiss—it’s comfort, it’s longing, it’s love, and maybe a little desperation.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and dazed, his hands stay wrapped around you like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go. “No more tears,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Not while I’m here. Not when you belong in my arms, smiling and laughing like the light you are.” And even though you’re not an angel—not really—he still looks at you like you hung the stars. To him, you’ll always be divine.