#vaginal cups | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

plutotheplum · 3 months ago

Text

Beating Hearts

sylus x fem!reader

summary: following the aftermath of his match, sylus shows you how much he adores you.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, p in v, belly bulge, praise kink, inappropriate use of evol

wc: 4.1k

a/n: he was so sweet in this card <3 if you would like to read an mma au with sylus (mma fighter!sylus x manager!reader), then you can find it here! :)

also on ao3!

“Are the strong always required to be strong?”

Sylus’ words ring out in your mind as you sit beside him on the stairs, draped in silence. He runs his hand through his hair, having wiped off the rivulets of sweat that were sliding down his skin with a towel.

Was he trying to be vulnerable with you? It’s the only reason you can think of as to why he would ask that question. The thought of him being devoid of strength is a nauseating one. He wouldn’t be the same without his strength, the raw power he carried, his Evol a testament to that.

Absent-mindedly, you play with the ring he had given you. Onychinus’ leader is a confusing man. There’s an unexpected softness to him that you’re not used to. It unnerves you a little, the way Sylus had pressed his face into your hair in a gentle kiss.

You stare at the side of his face, Sylus’ eyes have slid shut due to the lack of conversation. He looks even more vulnerable like this and you can’t imagine what you’d do with yourself if he was hurt, or even worse killed if his healing abilities somehow failed him. It’s only then that you realize you care more about the asshole than you should.

Still, it doesn’t stop you from sliding closer, your side pressing against his. Sylus’ eyes flutter open, a smirk pulling at his lips when he sees how close you’ve gotten.

“Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks in a drawl.

“No,” you shoot back, eyes slipping back towards the ring on your finger. “It’s just-” you sigh, avoiding his gaze completely, “the answer to your question is no. The strong aren’t always required to be strong.”

Sylus raises his brows, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. You glare back at him, cheeks flushing under his knowing gaze.

“What I mean to say,” you grouse, “is that it would be good if you were strong all the time, but if you aren’t, then- then you don’t have to be, around- around me.”

“Is that your twisted way of saying you care for me?” Sylus muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“And if it is?” you murmur, leaning into his touch when he traces the tips of his fingers over the curve of your cheek.

“I’d be grateful,” Sylus replies, gripping your chin gently.

Your breath hitches when he leans forward, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. His calloused hands cup your cheeks afterwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. Sylus’ thumbs smooth over the expanse of your cheeks and you reach up, hands curling around his wrists.

“Don’t you think you’re giving too much of yourself away?” you whisper.

“Perhaps,” Sylus murmurs, his breath fanning across your face. “Will you use it against me?”

There’s no uncertainty in your mind as to what he’s asking of you. Loyalty. Yet, you and Sylus come from entirely different worlds, ones that don’t mesh well together, ones that would make blind loyalty a bitter curse.

Against better judgment, you shake your head. Sylus lets out a low laugh, surprise flashing through his eyes at your answer.

“Looks like we both have our weaknesses, sweetie.”

You let out a slow exhale when he tilts your head, lips pressing against your cheek in a reverent kiss. Sylus stares down at you, his thumbs running over your cheeks again. Your lips part when he nears, but he doesn’t kiss you the way you want, instead dropping a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering.

“You said you adored me,” you say weakly, trying to stop him from rising to his feet.

“I do,” Sylus says, smiling down at you. His hand reaches out, pulling you to your feet, his arm curling around your waist to pull you flush against him. “But I won’t show you how much I adore you here.”

The ride back is a tense one.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, fingers alternating between playing with your dress and the ring on your finger. If Sylus notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead keeping his eyes on the road as he drives. It takes everything in you to stop yourself from reaching out for his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“Relax,” he murmurs when the traffic light turns red. His hand spreads over your thigh, warm and comforting and you bite back a whine, eyes slipping shut.

Sylus leans across the center console, his lips pressing against your cheek. You can feel his smile against your skin, your hand reaching up to run through his hair when he drags his lips down across your jaw.

“You’re not playing fair,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side so he can kiss your cheek again.

“I never said I would,” Sylus replies, squeezing your thigh again before letting go as the traffic light turns green.

Sylus helps you out of the car, nodding to one of his men to take it elsewhere while his hand encases yours, pulling you through the doors and down the hallway towards his room.

You watch as he manages to conjure up a vase, disappearing into the bathroom to fill it with some water as he unwraps the bouquet of flowers you had given him. It’s an unfitting image, the most dangerous man in the N109 zone and Linkon combined taking such care with the flowers so as to not crumple the delicate petals.

You wonder whether he’ll be just as gentle with you.

A squeak escapes you as his Evol surrounds you, the red tendrils lifting you off of your feet and bringing you closer to him, until you’re settled on his desk, legs dangling off the edge, feet not quite reaching the ground.

Sylus steps between your legs, crowding into your space, his hands on either side of you, against the wood of his desk. Your head tilts back to meet his darkened eyes better, breath hitching when his hands squeeze at your waist. He pets his hands across your sides lazily, his forehead pressing against yours.

Soft, airy breaths leave you, back arching into his touch as Sylus’ hands roam over you, touching every inch that he can find. His nose nudges against yours, and you rise to meet the challenge, hands splaying across his firm chest before your arms wrap around his neck, drawing him closer.

“There’s something you should know,” you whisper when Sylus presses his face into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“What?” he murmurs, tightening his arms around your waist and pulling to the edge of his desk.

“I-” your breath falters, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. You try again, but your breath gets caught in your throat, something akin to an odd gulp sounding in the quiet room.

Sylus draws back when he senses your hesitation, his brows raising. You blink up at him, shrinking under his piercing gaze.

“Hey,” Sylus says when you try to avert your gaze, trapping your chin between his fingers and forcing you to meet his eyes. “What is it?”

“I’ve never done this before,” you blurt out in a rush, cheeks flushing deeper.

Sylus stares down at you in surprise, clearly taken aback by this new revelation. He doesn’t say anything for what seems like an eternity and the more uncomfortable you grow, trying to squirm off of the desk.

He doesn’t let you, gripping your chin tighter in a bruising grip, his carmine eyes boring down into yours.

“Never?” Sylus asks finally, his head tilting.

“Never,” you mumble, a pout making your lower lip jut out, feeling sullen at his reaction.

Sylus hums before a slow grin spreads across his face, his hands cupping your cheeks, thumb smoothing over the plush of your lips.

“Were you saving yourself for me, sweetie?”

“Shut up!” you retort, swatting his chest.

Sylus laughs, nuzzling into your cheek and kissing it. You lean into it, eyes fluttering shut when he strokes his hand over your hair, cupping the back of your head.

“I suppose I’ll have to take care of you then, hm?” he muses.

“You’re making it seem like a chore,” you huff out, pushing at his shoulders, sending him a glare.

He grins, hoisting you up into his arms. You squeak, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, hands tightening on his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Quite the contrary, sweetie,” Sylus says, planting a kiss to your sternum as he carries you to his bed. “Once I have you, I won’t be inclined to let you go.”

You stare up at him shyly when he lays you down, his hand catching yours as he kisses your knuckles, fingers grazing the ring on your finger.

“Perhaps I ought to get you a better fitting one.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter, flushing at the implication of his words.

You reach for him anyways, lacing your fingers together and tugging him closer. Sylus’ body settles between your thighs, and you whine, lips parting as his face draws closer.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you go,” Sylus murmurs, peering into your eyes, “I meant it.”

The conviction in his voice has your heart fluttering, a satisfied smile pulling at your lips. Sylus laughs, the tip of his nose brushing yours gently as he lowers his head to kiss you.

You stop him, thumb pressing against his lips.

“Do you promise, Sylus?”

“I already lost you once,” he mutters, “I won’t lose you again.”

Your brows furrow, confusion flitting across your face. “What are you talking a-”

Sylus doesn’t give you a chance to finish, shutting you up with a kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, hand leaving untangling from his to cup his cheek instead. A soft gasp spills out of you when Sylus’ hands creep up under your dress, his fingers squeezing at the fat of your thighs.

His kisses grow hungrier, taking and taking until you’re all but gasping, tugging at his snowy hair in an attempt to get him to detach so you can breathe. Your lips are slick with spit and Sylus grins at the sight, collecting the drool that’s escaped from your mouth with his tongue, licking up the side of your cheek and into your mouth.

“M-more,” you whine needily, legs locking around his hips.

“Wet already?” he whispers, fingers reaching between your bodies to find your panties drenched. Sylus coos, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit to rub firm circles into the throbbing bud. “Is that all it takes? My baby just needs some kisses to make her cunt leak.”

You glare at him, pinching his shoulder at the vulgar words. Sylus smirks lazily and you squeal when he slaps your ass playfully, his body jostling closer to capture your lips in another hot, demanding kiss.

Sylus’ hardening cock grinds into your clothed cunt and you whimper, arms wrapping around his neck tighter. His hand smoothes over your hair, keeping you in place, fingers dragging against the skin of your thigh harshly as he pants into the crook of your neck.

“Gonna let me lick that pretty pussy?” Sylus asks, his fingers toying with the band of your panties, “hm, sweetie?”

You nod hazily, sitting up for him. He helps pull your dress up over your head, your bra soon after, his eyes darkening when he sees your breasts and hardening nipples in the cool air.

“Don’t stare,” you grumble, shying away.

Sylus clicks his tongue, shaking his head before lowering it to press a kiss to your right nipple. You whine at the unfamiliar sensation, gasping when his tongue lolls out, licking over your nipple before enclosing his mouth around your breast.

“Oh-” you mewl, pulling his head closer, “S- Sylus, fuck- ngh-”

He flicks his tongue against your hardened nipple, swirling around your skin for a moment before pulling away with a soft, suctioning pop. You fist his tank top, yanking him closer to smash your lips against his.

Sylus grins against your lips, squeezing at your hips as you shove at his chest and crawl up onto his lap. You’re pent up, and can hardly believe you have Sylus here, mouth dropping open as you drag your clothed cunt against his stiffening cock.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, gripping your thighs as he drags you up his body, stopping short of his face.

“W- wait,” you sputter, trying to squirm your way back down, “Sylus!”

“Sit on my face, baby,” Sylus says, smoothing his hands up your thighs and squeezing at your breasts.

“That’s- that’s weird,” you hiss.

He rolls his eyes and you shriek when his Evol wraps around you, picking you up with ease and places you onto his mouth. Your body jolts when his tongue licks across your ruined panties, hands gripping the pillows above his head desperately.

“Oh fuck-” you whine, voice strangled. You bite your lip hard, hands fisting Sylus’ hair when he pulls your panties to the side and licks across your bare cunt.

The bridge of his nose presses into your clit perfectly, and Sylus taps your thighs, his eyes peering up at you as he urges you to move. You find yourself unable to look away, desperation swirling in your gaze as you rock your cunt across his mouth, heat shooting through your stomach as he stares up at you intensely.

Sylus presses his head back and you reach for his hand, squeezing tightly as he sucks his clit into your mouth. He runs his thumb across your skin, slurping messily at your cunt. You shudder, moans and whines spilling out into the air as he ravages your pussy with his mouth.

It nearly makes you cum when he manhandles your body, hiccuping at the way his thick biceps flex as he pulls you off his face and places you flat onto your back.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he rasps, thumbing apart your slick folds and groaning when he sees how messy you are, your slick and his spit coating your inner thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing pitifully.

Sylus buries his face back into your wet pussy, licking across your folds messily before splaying his large hand against your stomach, tilting his head to kiss your swollen clit. He strokes the calloused pads of his fingers across it gently and you twitch, tugging at his hair wantonly.

“Fuck,” he snarls, gripping your thighs roughly, fingers dimpling your flesh as he shoves his face in harder, trying to burrow into your cunt, “‘s not enough.”

“‘m gonna-” you whimper, “if you keep doing that- hah- ‘m gonna cum!”

“Good,” Sylus mutters, sucking your clit back into his mouth, “cum on my tongue, baby.”

You bite back a scream when he presses his fingers inside, curling them and thrusting them in and out of you. Your thighs tighten around his head, trapping him against your cunt and Sylus groans while you suck in a shuddering breath, watching with dazed eyes as his hips grind into the bed spread. The muscles in his broad back shifting drive you further to the edge, but it's the press of his nose against your clit that sends you over, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching as you twitch and jolt, legs kicking out as you cum.

He keeps you pinned in place, licking over your puffy folds, even as you tug at his hair desperately in an attempt to make him stop. Sylus’ eyes meet your wild ones, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he presses a sloppy kiss to your clit. He lands a few more soft kisses, massaging your thighs as you come down from your high.

“I- I need a moment,” you mumble out, body curling into itself, eyes slipping shut at the overwhelming pleasure.

Sylus slots his body behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he tugs you into his chest. You lean into him tiredly when he kisses down your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your side soothingly.

“Was that good?” he asks quietly.

You can hear how smug he sounds, an irritated huff of air leaving you. Sylus smiles against your cheek and you tilt your head back, pecking his lips gently.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Now, now, sweetie,” he drawls, rubbing circles into your hip, “don’t be like that.”

You pout and he grins, dipping his head to kiss you again. Sylus’ hips have begun to move, his clothed cock rubbing into your ass, the hard length straining against the flimsy fabric of his shorts.

“Off,” you murmur, pulling at his tank top, “take it off.”

Sylus takes it off without complaint and you smile at the sight, hands spreading across his chest appreciatively. His shorts come off soon after and you swallow nervously at the sight, the bob of his thick cock entirely too intimidating.

“Relax,” he murmurs, lips pressed against your ear, “you’ll be fine.”

You moan softly when he kisses your shoulder, his hard cock grinding into your ass again. Sylus lifts your leg, and you whimper when he slots his cock between your thighs, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair.

“So soft, baby,” Sylus whispers, fucking his cock between your thighs, “so perfect for me. My pretty, perfect girl.”

“I think I’m ready,” you breathe out, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your clit every now and then, “just- just go slow, please.”

Sylus grasps your face, turning it back towards him to kiss you. It’s softer this time, lips working against yours as he grasps his cock, rubbing it through your folds and coating it in your slick before notching the tip of it against your pussy.

He kisses you through it, doesn’t let you squirm away, keeps his lips against yours as he presses his cock in. You shift uncomfortably and Sylus nuzzles into your cheek, letting out a low hum.

“Doing so good, sweetie,” he praises, seeing the tears prick at your eyes, “so, so good.”

Sylus is thick, practically splitting you open, forcing your pussy to accommodate him. You whimper in pain and he kisses you gently, brushing your hair away from your forehead as he continues to sink his cock in.

“Too big,” you pout, feeling completely and utterly full.

“Look,” Sylus whispers, his fingers brushing across your stomach when the entirety of his cock sinks into your stretched out pussy.

You peer down to where he’s pointing, flushing when you see the bulge in your stomach, his fat cock the culprit.

“All mine,” Sylus murmurs, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he rolls his hips in, making you gasp and dig your fingers into his forearm. “My pretty fuckin’ baby, all fuckin’ mine.”

“‘s too much,” you hiccup, eyes fluttering shut and moaning when he presses down on the bulge gently, a tingle shooting through your body, making your toes curl.

“Take my cock, sweetie,” he whispers, kissing your neck reverently, his fingers pinching at your nipples.

“Sylus,” you whine when he draws his hips back out and thrusts his cock back in, “want- want more.”

“Are you sure?” Sylus asks, staring down at you, “I thought it was too much?”

Your eyes narrow, hand reaching for his, letting your Evol flare, resonating with him. Sylus lets out a choked noise, his head dropping and eyes squeezing shut, body shuddering behind yours. You smile up at him, satisfied and smug.

“Little brat,” he hisses, though there’s no real venom in his voice. “Again.”

You do as he wants, resonating with him again, moaning loudly when he humps his hips into you, cock dragging through your clenching walls. Somehow, you can hear your own heartbeat, the energy flowing through you heightening your senses as Sylus’ Evol strengthens.

The red and black mist caresses your body, grazing across your nipples and your clit. You whine into the pillows, hand grasping his tighter. Sylus’ Evol eventually dims down the more he gets lost in the wet heat of your cunt, his arm curling around your leg to hoist it up as he fucks his cock into you.

Sylus moves your leg after a while, slotting his hips between your legs again, hips rocking into you. You let out soft airy noises and strangled moans, nails clawing down his back as Sylus presses his face against your neck, growling lowly.

“Feel so good,” he groans, leaving sloppy kisses across your skin, fastening his pace when he feels your legs lock around his hips.

“Sy- Sylus,” you moan, pulling his head up to kiss him.

He returns the kiss just as hungrily, planting his hand on your head to hug you to him as he tilts your hips up a little, cock driving into you. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, hugging him closer as he presses his body flush against yours, heavy balls slapping against your skin, the lewd sound emanating through the quietness of the room.

“Gonna make me fuckin’ cum,” Sylus rasps, dragging kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Then- then cum,” you hiccup, tugging at the strands of his hair gently, “want you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, peering down into your eyes, “want me to stuff this little cunt full?”

You nod eagerly, and he grins devilishly, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck obediently, eyes fluttering shut at the comfort of his thumb, losing yourself in him.

“Resonate with me when you cum,” Sylus whispers, his voice strained as he feels the walls of your pussy clenching tighter and tighter.

He laces your fingers together, bringing your hand to his lips. You can see the way he looks down at you, as though he can’t quite believe you’re here, his head tilting to press his lips against the ring firmly.

It’s a struggle to control your Evol, but you do as he asks, resonating when you feel the tight coil in your lower stomach snap as he shoves his cock inside of you all the way, gasping at the way it throbs inside of you. Your orgasm is blinding, body shuddering violently as you cum, Sylus’ Evol making you see stars.

It feels as though you’ve been set alight, somehow able to feel the energy pulsing around you, just like how his cock is inside of you. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips stuttering to a jerky stop as he slumps over you, gasping raggedly. His cum spills into you, hot and thick, adding to the haze in your mind.

The red and black tendrils stroke over your body gently and you whine softly, chasing after the mist of his Evol when it dissipates. Your thighs are sticky with his cum, his softening cock slipping out of you, cum leaking out soon after.

“I adore you,” Sylus whispers after a moment, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead.

“I know,” you say, eyes fluttering shut when he kisses you, slow and soft, his fingers sliding over your jaw and across the expanse of your cheek.

You smile up at him, body draped over his, chin resting on his chest. Sylus runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, scratches your scalp gently and presses his thumb against your lips for you to kiss.

“I’m glad it was you,” you murmur, head tilting to the side.

Sylus hums, leaning in to kiss you tenderly before he stands up. You bite your lip, watching his broad back as he disappears and returns with warm, damp cloth. He wipes your inner thighs with care, and over your puffy pussy, cleaning the cum and slick that soils your skin.

Your feet press against his chest playfully and he smiles, hands curling around your ankles to kiss the soles of your feet.

“Sore?” he asks, peppering lazy kisses to your ankles.

You nod, feeling a dull ache settle in your thighs and pussy. Sylus kisses your feet again and finds you a shirt to wear, pulling a pair of boxers up over his hips. You curl into him, staring up into his eyes.

“You said you lost me once,” you say quietly, fingers tracing over his chest, “but we’ve never met before.”

A pained expression comes over Sylus, his lips pulling down into a frown. You can’t understand what he’s so upset about, you don’t even understand what he meant when he said that.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylus murmurs, his arm tightening around you, “I have you now.”

You purse your lips, examining his expression a little more intently, but whatever pain was there is now gone. His lips meet yours and you kiss, thumbs stroking over his cheeks soothingly.

“Then keep me,” you whisper, “for as long as you want.”

Sylus runs his fingers over the champion’s ring, sitting prettily on your ring finger. He holds your eyes as he brings it to his lips and kisses it again.

“Eternity, then.” Sylus whispers, forehead pressing against yours. “Crows keep that which is shiny. You, sweetie, happen to burn the brightest in my eyes.”

#sylus smut #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnd sylus #lnd smut #sylus qin

5K notes · View notes

euthymiya · 11 days ago

Text

i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

— word count: 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

— before you read: female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

— comments: i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin.

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing.

Fabric.

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips.

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his.

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him.

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique.

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him.

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat.

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you.

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle.

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?”

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow.

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips.

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own.

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad.

Almost.

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction.

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort.

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts.

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch.

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip.

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him.

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists.

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft.

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock.

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever.

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath.

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it.

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then.

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body.

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back.

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow.

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here.

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper.

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love.

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact.

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning.

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling.

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest.

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive.

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes.

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full.

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod.

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours.

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected.

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable.

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need.

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you.

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin.

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock.

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands.

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

#—rivistyping!#sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus smut #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #lds x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #lnds x reader #love and deepspace smut #lds smut #lads smut #l&ds smut #lnds smut #l&ds sylus

2K notes · View notes

muzansfangs · 6 months ago

Text

You tell them you got a brazilian wax by a guy.

Starring: Choso Kamo x f!reader; Kento Nanami x f!reader; Higuruma Hiromi x f!reader;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: nsfw, dirty innuendos, fluff, jealousy, established relationships, nipple play, spanking, playfully biting the partner arses, oral sex (reader!receiving), vaginal sex, breeding kink, creampie, face sitting, unprotected sex;

Plot: A trend on Tik Tok made you plot a devious plan to make your beloved boyfriend going mad. He knew you had an appointment for a brazilian wax. He obviously assumed you were going to be assisted by a woman. How will he react, when you tell him it was a man? Will his jealousy go too far? Will your prank get you in a bad situation?

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Choso Kamo.

Choso’s lips glided down your neck, nipping, sucking onto the flesh with the same care a potter would handle his fragile new creation. This man was genuinely head over heels for you. Ever since his little brother had introduced you two, Choso had found a new reason to live and, supposedly, be a better person. He had learned so much about human interactions, about feelings and even about intimacy. While he was not properly addicted to sex, this man loved being inside of you more than anything. He needed to touch your soft skin, he needed your warmth around him. That evening was not that different from an ordinary one.

His hands were cupping your breasts, fondling them, thumb and index rolling your handened nipples to elicit from your throat the soft moans he loved to hear from you so much. You did not fail his expectations. You cried out, head lolling back against his shoulder in ecstasy.

“Sing for me, babe” Choso mumbled, your insides clenching around his shaft deliciously as he slowly bucked his hips up to stimulate you.

The squelching sounds filling the room were making your head spin, eyes fluttering to enjoy the sensations to its fullest. You hated pissing him off, you really did, but above anything else you loathed causing his heart to ache. Still, that trend was too tempting not to try it on your sweet boyfriend.

You hummed, sinking down further onto his cock to meet his lazy thrusts “Louder? I don’t want the neighbours to complain again, Choso” you replied breathless, tilting your head to the side to kiss his cheek. Your hand reached towards his left hand, giving it a squeeze, before guiding it down towards your pubes.

Choso groaned, fingers grazing the smooth skin in delight, while he reached down to flick your throbbing clitoris dilegently “They can burn in Hell, baby. — he promptly said, smiling against your neck — All I care about it you and this sweet pussy of yours. Gosh, I can’t wait to taste your orgasm later” he praised you, causing you to shriek for a deeper thrust of his hips.

“Yeah? Is it that sweet, babe? I got to tell Akio then. I couldn’t describe its flavour to him today” you blurted out, only for Choso’s smile to disappear.

Choso.exe stopped working.

His movements halted, his eyes darkening as he grasped your chin to turn your head in his direction. Lying to his face was going to be hard, especially since he had put up such a puppy face that your heart ached in your chest.

“Akio? Who’s Akio?” Choso asked you, his voice low and a tad serious.

“The guy who waxed me today. Did I forget to mention him to you?”.

“Akio is a guy, isn’t he?”.

You giggled, booping his nose affectionately “Sure he is, silly. What’s with that?”.

Choso huffed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he embraced your tighter “A guy… Did you let another boy look at your pussy? Babe, why? Tell me that’s not true! You would never let anyone touch your—” he wept and you could swear tears brimmed in his eyes. Oh no, that was enough. You could not keep it up anymore.

You sighed, shaking your head vigorously “No! It’s a joke, Choso, please! I’ve been an idiot! Forgive me, baby! Look at me” you interrupted him, pressing your forehead against his one.

Choso relaxed, his breath still kind of irregular as he palmed his forehead in distress. You had really scared him. He could not still bear with jealousy. Apparently, he was not the type to go mad. Choso was too kind-hearted for that. Dealing with feelings was still hard for him. His lips captured yours, gently, holding you close as he relished the feeling of being in your arms.

“Don’t do it again” he whispered and you nodded your head in agreement. Poor Choso, struggling with jealousy.

Higuruma Hiromi.

This man was born to give you oral. Underneath you, head squeezed by the fat of your thighs, your dripping core bare for him to lavish with his tongue and your clitoris for his nose to stroke, Hiromi could happily die. The sweet sounds you made, the way you rolled your hips for facilitate the way he lapped at your folds with flat of his tongue were such a delicacy. If he was asked about a good way to die, the stressed out lawyer would have decidedly declared you his designated executioner and welcomed your pussy as his deathbed.

Now, sitting on his face, hands scrambling up to hold onto the metal bars of the bedhead, you whimpered out his name in bliss. The pleasure was so intense your obnubilated mind was neglecting the plan, your thirst for him not quenching in the slightest when you felt the tip of his tongue slip in between your smooth, slippery folds.

“H-Hiromi! Gosh, don’t stop” you drawled out, back arching as his hands, sprawled over your arses, squeezed onto the rounded globes in unbridled possessiviness.

He had no intention to stop, not even as his chin and nose were coated onto a glistening mixture of your juices and his own saliva. This was not a simple way to cherish your moments with him, this was downright his favorite addiction. Hiromi did not really care if you skipped your appointment with the beautician. He frankly appreciated how much care of your body you had, but he had never asked you to get a wax. Never. Still, when you did, he could not deny how much he loved the way his tongue smoothly skimmen over your silky folds.

“Ride my nose harder, baby” he rasped, his cock twitching in his pants as you shifted upwards, following his command eagerly.

You inhaled sharply, eyes downcast to peer down at your husband’s face barely visible from underneath your thighs. The timing was perfect. Eyes screwed shut, Hiromi was gradually guiding your hips back and forth to help you rub your swollen clitoris over his prominent nose. Waves of electricity ran through your veins, as you let out a pathetic whine. Now, or never, you had to drop the bomb before it was too late.

“I don’t think there’s a single hair left, right?” you breathed out, Hirmoni’s teeth nipping gently at your labia with a huff.

“Not even a single one… — your husband rumbled out — Not that I’d mind anyway” he whispered, mouth opening to leave wet kisses on the inside of your thigh. You two were making a mess.

You shivered, biting down onto your lower lip to concentrate better before shattering that poor man’s world with a single sentence “Yeah, I know, Hiroshi did such an amazing job”.

Hiromi’s assualt on your heat ended instantly. Hooded eyes opening, a knot creasing his forehead, he glanced up at you inquisitively “You meant Hiroko, not Hiroshi. I sincerely hope so”.

“No, I meant Hiroshi. — you countered back, breath still uneven as you wiped away the sweat beading your forehead with the back of your hand — Hiroko got down with a cold, he’s in charge of the beauty center now. I probably forgot to fill you up with the news” you replied, trying to sound convincing as Hiromi just stared blankly up at you.

Maybe it was just your impression, but the atmosphere around you, once charged with sexual tension, grew gloomy, almost chilling. His finger slipping into your core all of sudden made you choke out a screech of surprise, pleasure and discomfort engulfing your lower abdomen as you gawked down at him.

“Don’t talk. Not a single word unless I demand you to speak” Hiromi flatly said, curling his finger into you unforgivingly slowly.

You gaped in shock, legs almost giving up as he shoved another finger into your sappy hole, his eyes darkening as he assessed your reaction. He could not believe you had waited up until that very moment to tell him such a thing! You, his muse, his reason to wake up in the morning, you had let another man touch his nest.

“Did this man touch my home? Did you let him graze his fingers over your pubes, down to your labia, spreading them for him to enjoy the view?” he interrogated you, his tone sharp and cold, taking the same edge it did when he was in a courtroom. This was a problem. You knew you had to stop that circus.

You cried out, lips parted, as you shook your head “H-Hiro! It was a joke! It was a joke, I swear!” you fretted, watching with glee as his expression relaxed and he slided his fingers out of you.

You did not register how he slipped out from between your thighs, pushing your face down onto the pillow as he bit down onto your arse. All you knew was that, when he finally was deep inside of you, his mouth neared your ear and he got back at you from your silly staunt “Let me fill you up with something better than a fib, hm?”.

Nanami Kento.

Large and calloused hands gripping your hipbones, cock stretching you out deliciously, you did your best not to reach your climax right away. Kento Nanami, the best partner you could have ever asked for, was taking his sweet time with you. His hips smacked against yours in a firm, steady pace, as you almost drooled over the polished wooden surface of the desk.

Sex after he came back from his small work trips was the best. Passionate, intense, the lust blinding you two all of a sudden. This time, it had washed over you, when he had seen you saunter towards him all dolled up for a dinner out. A dinner he had promised you before leaving and a dinner you were probably going to be late for.

“I missed you. Wholeheartedly. Waking up alone sucks” Kento stated, burying himself into you to the hilt.

You moaned out, nails scraping the wood as you pushed back against him, squeezing him up perfectly to enjoy the way his girth made itself space within your walls. You were absolutely in a frenzy, your make-up ruined, as you rested your cheek against the desk.

“I missed you too, oh so much” you replied, breath uneven as he leaned down to plant a kiss onto your nape, thrusting slowly into you, making love instead of fucking. This felt just perfect, so perfect that, if it was not for him speaking up, you would have forgotten completely about the devious plan you had in mind.

“You even waxed for me, huh?” he whispered, causing you to tighten up around him again and for your husband to grunt in pleasure.

“You shall t-thank Noboru for the last minute appointment he agreed on” you blurted out, Kento’s eyes widening at your words. A shot through the heart would have felt less painful.

A man had seen his wife’s pussy? Oh, that was impossible. He was probably too tired and had misheard your words. The Hell with that, he was never tired when he was with you. Kento Nanami had heard you correctly. He cleared his throat, hips still, whilst he gazed down at you.

“Noboru?”.

You swallowed forcefully, glancing at him from above your shoulder “Yeah?”.

“Are you perhaps implying you lied down on a couch, legs wide open, to let Noboru touch your pussy?” he inquired, voice calm and collected, even if his grip on your hips was getting bruising.

You nodded your head “And what if I did?”.

“Then I will accompany you the next time you want to get waxed. — Kento replied, giving you a warning thrust that made your breath hitch in your thraot — You know, I would not want our dear Noboru to just imagine the filthy sounds your pussy makes, when I fuck it. Let’s give him a show, darling. What do you say? Would he like to watch me fuck you?” he asked you, resuming his relentless pace.

His hand landing harshly onto your rear caused you to whimper out, sweat beading your forehead, as you regretted your choice to tease your beloved husband. His silent, latent jealousy was turning out to he too hot to handle. He caught a glimpse of you trying to open up your mouth to admit it was all a lie, but he shushed you with another spank.

“Hush, sweetheart. — he cooed, your whines a melody he would have never get tired of — I know you were joking. But we both were serious about trying to have a kid, right? Let’s start tonight. Fuck the dinner, I’ll cook for you later” he rasped out, increasing the pace of his thrusts.

Oh, dear, your wobbly legs and the hot seed dribbling down the inside of your thighs were the signs the only two men allowed to see you naked were your husband and your gynecologist.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I always feel so giddy when I write for JJK. Hopefully, you’re going to enjoy this piece. I don’t think you guys will get a part two soon, but I do not close the door to that possibility.

Anyway, likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @axesfordays @areyouflying

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x y/n #choso kamo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #hiromi higuruma x reader #hiromi smut #higuruma smut #higuruma x reader #jjk x you

4K notes · View notes

arcielee · 6 months ago

Text

ilībio

Summary: Aemond finds comfort in your cunt. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 2.6+ Warnings: reader AFAB, dubcon elements?, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, rough sex as a coping mechanism, p in v unprotected, a hint of possessive Aemond as a treat Author’s Note: Thank you my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 This story was partly inspired by the brilliance of @peachysunrize (my muse 💜) and @adragonprinceswhore and their wonderful pieces they shared on this hellsite, but it was also inspired by this bitch ass anon. This man is beautiful and I would do anything to be a hole at his disposal. Enjoy! Valyrian translations: ilībio is whore, Iksā ñuhon is you are mine 😈

The instructions from the madame were clear: you were not to speak to the prince and you most certainly were not to look him in the eye.

It was hard to follow her explicit instructions, as he was as beautiful as he was captivating. You recalled the night when you first saw Prince Aemond. He was poised at the entrance, pulling back his hood to reveal the silver spill of his hair that showed gold in the amber light basking the brothel, his brow furrowed as he looked over the room before taking a step. He was tall and lithe with a grace that cut through the crowd, not sparing a glance at the patrons or whores that parted to allow him through.

You remembered hearing the stories of the old gods of Old Valyria and thought that he was truly the embodiment from those legends, that he glowed from the ichor knitted into his veins.

He paused to look at you, and you felt your heart begin to gnaw at your ribs, your pulse erratic as you burned under his one-eyed scrutiny. Your head was in a fog, unable to understand his question. “Your grace,” you chose to say with a curtsy that was clumsy and unpractised.

He did not care for the attempt or for your formality, but instead repeated his question. “Where is she?”

You escorted him to Sylvi as requested, and the madame was quick to capitalize on her honored guest, excusing you at once. You continued to watch him from the shadows, entranced, lost in the daydream of being whisked away with the favoritism of a Targaryen prince.

When he finally left, she caught your gaze that followed him. Her law was laid, he was hers alone, and your envy was hot and thick in your blood, but you were nothing but another whore to serve, awaiting at her beck and call.

It was her constant threat of being cast out to Flea Bottom that kept you obedient. She wished you to be a decorative piece, dressed in sheer gowns chosen to complement your figure, and tasked to carry a carafe that would keep the cups filled. You did what you were told; you moved throughout, your fingers curled around the neck and the other hand supporting the bottom, careful not to spill a drop.

Your second run in with Prince Aemond was nearly your undoing.

You did not even see him, as your trained demure gaze left you counting your footsteps, and despite how lean the prince looked, he felt solid enough when you stumbled into him. Your hands cramped to hold the bottle upright, your senses flooded with the scent of the leather he had been wearing earlier, mixed with the sheen of perspiration and the bathing oils you surely would never afford.

You were rooted to the cobblestone with the realization that he was bare.

He seemed to tower over you, and the dragonfire that burned bright showed in the lavender of his eye, glittering in the sapphire of the other. You were mortified and he frowned in return, his silver brow furrowed as he looked you over.

You stared back at him, your embarrassment fading, and perhaps it was your unabashed awe that caught his attention–but whatever it was, he would not tell you.

Prince Aemond reached out to grip your jaw, dimpling into your cheeks. You could feel the warmth from his fingertip trickle down your spine and pool into your core; your thighs clenched for relief, your heart screaming to be consumed.

He tilted his head, his eye boring through as if he could see what you desired, though it was painted plainly on your face. He smirked. “One whore is as good as another,” he spoke out loud, and you felt your heart expanding, pumping your blood and encouraging your steps to follow after him.

The prince glided to a stop in front of an enclave that was draped in silk and lace. The whore and her patrons inside recognized him at once, scattering like rats into the shadows and leaving you alone with the dragon prince.

Your hands were still shaking as you set the carafe on top of a table, wiping your palms on your skirts. You turned to face the prince and saw his posture was proud, his muscles tensing as his hands balled into fists at his sides; his eye was ever-watchful of you.

Your lips parted with a soft exhale to soothe your nerves, to settle the pounding in your chest. You took a slow step towards him, your fingers wishing to reach and touch the marble he had been crafted from, but instead you untied the dress that was wrapped around your waist. The fabric pooled at your feet and you were just as bare, your blood seering to the surface when you saw his cock twitch, a lust that began to cloud his eye.

It was exhilarating to entice a god.

Your eyes widened with your own admiration as you took him in, a trepidation that fluttered throughout when he did not reach for you right away. Another exhale and you moved closer to kneel before him, your head tilting up to look at him.

His jaw ticked, a curiosity flickering, waiting for your next move.

You swallowed your hesitation and your eyes washed over him with reverence, falling to the lines that cut into his slim hips and trailing in-between. Your touch was gentle to wrap your fingers around his hardening cock, moving it aside to press a wet kiss on the curve of the base. You rested back on your heels and looked up again, licking your lips.

The prince had you rooted with his heady gaze, a rose dusting to his features. His hand touched the top of your head, returning your attention back to how hot and heavy he now was against the palm of your hand.

It thrilled you. Your tongue flattened to follow along the side, tracing every ridge and vein of his impressive length. The tip was flushed and you pressed another kiss, licking away the briny taste from your lips before wrapping them around to savor the dragon thrumming in your hand.

He gave a low groan, tensing with how your mouth moved to engulf him. His hand curled into the back of your scalp with a hold that made your skin prickle; your hand grabbed his hip to anchor your endeavor, moving up and down until he was slick from your spit, your desperation to try and swallow every inch of him.

You gagged, pulling back to lick your other hand and wrap it around what could not fit, matching your pace. He now held onto you with both of his hands, his fingers knotting into your hair with a hold that brought tears to your eyes, but you would not stop–the taste of royalty igniting in your blood vessels. You were spurred on with the sounds that spilled from his lips, and he bucked into your mouth, bruising your throat.

Only then did you let go, gasping for air. “Forgive me–”

He did not let you finish. He reached to wrap his hand around your upper arm and he pulled you to stand. “Get on the bed.” His voice was low and lethal, velvet that wrapped around to control you.

You scrambled on top with a visceral shiver from that anticipation already curling at the base of your spine. You looked up at Prince Aemond and it beckoned him closer with a heavy sway between his slender thighs. “My prince, you will not fit,” you realized, “I must–I need to prepare myself…”

He loomed over you, balancing one arm on the edge of the mattress while the other reached to stop your hand. “Allow me,” he murmured, bringing his first two fingers to his tongue before dipping to slip them between your silken folds.

It mixed with your arousal, jolting through you as his fingers curled into you. The stretch burned for a moment, but his touch was tactful, pressing upwards until colors began to dance in front of your eyes, soft sighs spilling.

You whined when his hand pulled away, wiping your slick onto his cock. He pushed forward until you melted back onto the bed. Your legs spread to invite him to the cradle of your hips, and he paused to look at you, a softer expression worn as his eye dropped to your lips.

Your pulse quickened with your hope for a kiss.

But instead, his hand dipped to guide his length. You felt a shiver of delight from the glide of his swollen cockhead up and down your slit, gathering the wetness that pooled. You ached for more, willing, wanting, canting your hips to angle yourself in a way for him to sink into you.

The prince took his time and you back arched, gooseflesh rippling over from the intimate pressure, from his intoxicating scent and the softness of his hair tickling your skin, from the heat that seemed to permeate from him. He pushed into you further and it was a fullness you had never experienced before; your walls clenched with the slow rut of his hips, deeper and deeper, until he fully sheathed himself within your warm cunt.

The prince melted into you, molding to your body. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse to muffle his low groan that rumbled through you.

Your lips pressed to his collarbone, a muted mewl in response. Your vision spun and your legs lifted to wrap around his slender waist, pulling him closer. Your hands followed up the definition of his arms to his shoulders, nails biting to hold onto him; you licked his skin.

He pushed back with a shudder, eye blown and red blotches staining his alabaster skin. A slow roll of his hips went even deeper and you moaned at the sensation. This pleased the prince, and his lips touched the soft spot under your ear, your nipples pebbling when you felt his smile, his rasped command on your skin: “Let them hear you.”

The madame taught all the girls how to feign pleasure. There was an art of kohl and hooded eyes, of girlish whimpers and whines to encourage patrons to completion.

But it was unneeded with how the prince was splitting you in half with his cock.

His palms pressed to hold you against the slow snap of his hips, fucking you into the bed until you were teetering on the precipice of both pleasure and pain. Tears pearled at the corners of your eyes and spilled with his brutal pace. He does not see them, his sharp chin tucked to his chest, mesmerized by the white ring forming around the base of his cock that glides in-and-out of you.

It sparked a kaleidoscope of colors with each thrust and you clenched again. “Gods,” he hissed, “you were made for me.”

His praise was muted, your mind so lost in the haze of passion building, in the wet suction of your cunt desperate to pull him back into you. Your slick spilled in-between your thighs, your fingers fluttering to his hips to pull him even closer–

But Prince Aemond pulled away.

You could not stop your whine, pressing to your elbows to watch him. He cupped your chin, not rough like before, but enough to tilt your head back and truly look at you. The severity of his features softened, the natural curl to his pink lips ticking upwards and hinting at a smile. “I want you to turn around and get on all fours.”

Your stomach dropped at the thought of him claiming his pleasure in a more… unnatural means, remembering the horror stories that the girls shared. You burned as you moved, just as he wished–for how could you deny a prince? You faced away, your arse up.

His palms were warm when they touched your hips, sliding back to spread your cheeks to see how you glistened for him. There was another noise of content as he shifted behind you, another trill of pleasure up your spine when you felt his cock pressing into your cunt again.

This new angle was tight, and your hands knotted into the linen of the bed to brace yourself. The prince does not force himself on you, but takes his time to fit; he leaned over you, his lips touching the curve of your spine and his large hand reaching around to palm your breast, pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb.

You crumbled, another muffled cry into the bed, your nerves aflame. His hand followed to the nape of your neck, a firm hold to pull you back up. “Let them hear you,” his repeated rasp was hot against your skin.

His hands bruised into your hips, sinking into you until the tops of his thighs were flushed against your arse. You were shaking, your back arching to feel him pressing even further than before. He hummed and slammed into you with a pace that builds.

It returned you to that pleasure you tasted earlier when his fingers curled within you, something anew. It was a warm sensation that prickled over your skin, igniting with his thrusts. Your hips rocked back to meet with his unrelenting rhythm as he crashed against you, again and again, until you shattered, splintering off and lifting above, a thousand butterfly wings fluttering throughout you.

Your cries pulled him after, your cunt grasping for his release. It was quieter for him; the prince hunched over you, his damp brow pressing to your spine with another guttural groan as he pulsed hot and deep into you.

You fell into the mattress, breathless and drunk from the pleasure pulled. Your mind was tittering how you should fetch a cloth to clean the prince, to pour a fresh goblet to wet his throat, but your body refused.

At best, you muscled enough strength to turn your neck and look at his sharp angles as he laid on his side, taking in the vision he commanded: the rose tones that touched him intimately, the freckles sprinkled on his shoulders, the lavender color that returned to his one eye.

Princely, you thought. “Beautiful,” you murmured.

His jaw ticked and for a moment, you swore he flushed from what you said. He touched a finger to your hip, following your curves and coming up to press into your chin to hold your attention–as if you would dare to look away.

“I will be back for you tomorrow,” he decided.

Your practiced stoicism masked your elation. “She will not like that, my prince,” you reminded him, thinking of the venom that poured when Sylvi glared at you. She made sure to mention him like a trophy she possessed, her face perpetually smug with her every mention of him.

A smirk played on his lips. He pulled you into his chest and you felt his spend spilling in-between your thighs. You did not care but melted into his warmth, your arm wrapping around his waist, pressing your face to his chest and feeling the low hum of his heart.

“She will be of no concern,” he spoke like a man who acted without any fear of consequences, but you supposed that this was the tone of all royalty. He pressed a kiss to your hairline and it jolted through your chest. “Iksā ñuhon.”

You curled against him, too dazed to comprehend the weight of his words that rolled from his lips–the tongue of Old Valyria. They meant nothing to you as you laid in the arms of a god.

hotd masterlist || arcie's navi

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd x you #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader

5K notes · View notes

ssophialoren66 · 1 year ago

Text

#vaginal cup #how to use menstrual cup for beginners #best menstrual cup in india

0 notes

hoshigray · 8 months ago

Note

This is my first time requesting something but HEAR ME OUT, "Slow Cuddle-fucking with og Sukuna while he is holding (and caressing) Reader (His wife) tightly and praising her (with him having size(difference) and breeding kink) oneshot please please please PLEASESSS😭

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: NAH CUZ I SEE THE VISION, HOLD ON–

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - monster-fucking (he got 2 dicks, y'all) - double penetration; anal and vaginal - spooning dp position - breast fondling + nipple play - breeding kink - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - dacryphilia - pet names ([little]dove, good girl, my wife, woman) - soft! kuna, but not too OOC - mention of drool/spit and tears.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k

“Stay still, woman…Mmnnn, good girl, nice and easy…”

It’s not a rarity for Sukuna to have his hands on you as you two slept through the night. After all, he is the King of Curses; asking permission to touch his is beneath him. You were made for him to hold – sculpted for his cursed hands to touch – everyone else was far behind or had no standing compared to your demonic husband. And with you both sharing a futon every night, who’s supposed to tell him to keep his hands to himself?

You, his little spouse, knew of this. Marrying the King of Curses was something you never imagined would happen — let alone falling in love with the giant man! You’ve always had dreams of becoming a sweet little partner to someone; for that to be fulfilled by the cursed man who could kill thousands in the blink of an eye is astounding.

And, of course, being a wife entails all the duties accompanying the package. Especially now, as you two lie together on the floor, nude bodies nestled close on the futon above the tatami floor, and your naked figure trembling from the insertion of one of Sukuna’s paired cock. And your heart drops at the second one brushing up against the crevice of your ass when he pushes the one inside your throbbing, velvety channel.

“Mmmph…! Sukuna, no,” you whined, your butt inching away from the second member. “I can’t handle both—“

“Don’t lie; you’ve done it before and did it well,” a hand brings your waist to him. “Or maybe I should just have one of the concubines take care of me, seeing as though my own wife is neglecting their duties.”

He wouldn’t do that; Sukuna’s interest in his insignificant mistresses had long been diminished once he took you up as his bride, practically collecting dust as he hadn’t visited them since you shared a bed with him. Now, he uses them as tools to probe you. And he has to hold back the mischievous snicker when your eyes widen with anxiousness, wrapping your arms around his neck in desperation.

“N–No, please!” You pleaded; it was the only sufficient approach. “I’ll be good to you, I promise!”

The four-eyed curse scoffs. “Then do what you’re supposed to,” Each crimson orb takes in information about your bashful expression, “And attend to your husband like a wife should.”

Further complaints cease at his command, so you quiet down and arch your behind to him submissively. Sukuna takes your initiation with his hungry bottom hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh as you guide his other dick to your lubed asshole. With a hum, he pushes himself and forces you to take his cocks with your bottom, needing a few seconds to breathe when your holes reach the base of his members.

“Good girl,” he says to your ear to make you shudder, and he lifts your leg with the hand that finished groping your asscheek. “Obeying me so well like always…”

He begins to move without a signal, slowly pulling himself in and out of your warm wetness that coats his length with your slick. You can’t help but grip the girth limbs that massage your insides, involuntarily throbbing on them with shaky breaths.

“Mmmaah, ohhhmyG—Mmm!” Speech isn’t easy, even with his upper left hand cupping your cheeks. And your brows furrow as the upper right sneaks to grope a breast. “Faaahh, Suk..una, I’m too full already…”

“Mmm? Is that so?” Sukuna asks with a patronizing tone, licking the helix of your ear to hear you gasp. “But we’ve barely started yet, my wife. Don’t bore me before I can enjoy you yet.”

His hips go at a gradual cadence that has you keening a mess, the sensation of the veins of his cocks felt by the walls of your holes. You howl silently, not wanting to make too much noise.

But that doesn’t fly with your husband, speaking to your ear with that hoarse voice. Almost has you melting as he squishes with your cheeks, “Let it out, princess,” he commands. “I want to hear that voice; don’t you dare hide that from me.”

Fuck, the way you felt on his dicks was so fucking good, having the cursed behemoth burrow his face into the cubby of your neck. Slow kisses on your skin segway to sucks that should mark for later. He could never get enough of how small you were up against him. His giant palm swallowed your tit, your ass bouncing with every thrust, and how damn tight you were as you accommodated the two members making your entrances busy.

Goddamn it, he bites his lip, dialing up the speed of his ruts a bit. Scratching your inner walls has you squeaking louder, unable to stop yourself when he grinds his hips after a sudden grim pound. So warm and snug for him as if you were meant for him. He knew you were meant for him — taking his huge, fat shafts with no objections, just arching your back further so the sensation could be more pleasurable like the loyal, little pet you are. “Hmngh…! Yeah, just like that, little dove; keep clenching around me like that…”

Restraint was gone long ago, letting your voice and shrieks fly out and fill the quiet bedroom. The sound of his skin shaking against your ass, the heat of your cheeks making it hard to think, and the shivers crawling your spine with every graze to your sweet spots. Everything feels like a haze, your brain too clouded to think outside this moment.

And then you sense the hand on your breast let go, slithering down to your unattended clitoris, which has your eyes shoot wide as your demon husband presses down. “—Khhff! Nooo, ‘Kunaa, you mustn’t…!”

He lifts a brow with a grin; you dare question him? “And why shouldn’t I?” He pinches the delicate bud, resulting in a scream sneaking past your lips. “Hmm? Plead for yourself.”

“Becau—Ahhh! Mmmm, I’ll cum. I’m gonna cumm…”

“Then don’t,” Sukuna doesn’t remove his digits playing with your clit, and the hand on your chin pulls your face to look at him. “Cum without my permission, and I’ll make sure to not be so kind next time...” His words carry a warning filling your bones with apprehension, yet his soft lips greet yours and he hums into your mouth. The kiss serves as a distraction from his thick digits gently swiping on the pearl.

The rhythm of his hips, however, increases in speed and prompts more moans to be taken by Sukuna. Drool trickles down your lips, same with tears that welled up earlier from the insertion of his girth inside your ass. Your eyes roll at the jab to your silky walls, breaking the sweet yet passionate kiss to cry out as your husband’s fat balls smack your ass.

“—Ooooo, fuuuck, I can’t,” your eyelids shield your vision, using the rest of your senses to indulge in this euphoric pleasure. “‘Kuna, I’m so close, so—Ooohh!”

“Me too…Ghhh! Shit, me too…” Sukuna presses his hot face to yours when you throw it back, licking the tears off your sweaty skin. You looked so stunning like this, all disheveled and immodest because of him. “Gonna take my load, huh?” He licks the sweat off your shoulder and bites when you don’t respond. “Answer me, Y/n.”

“—Ahhh, yes!”

That’s not enough. “I said,” he pinches your clit again as he gives slow yet rough ruts to your holes. And he can tell by your twitching that you’re doing everything in our power not to come. “Answer me.”

Holy shit, this was borderline torture. “Mmmph! OhhhLord, ‘Kunaaa, I want you to fill me up. Pleasee, pleasepleaseee, I wanna be full; wanna be all ‘round and fat with your child…!”

“Keh, dumb pet; who said I wanted a brat, huh?” He scoffs, yet you can hear the groan as he licks and sucks on your neck while squishing your hot, tear-stricken cheeks. “Fine then; go on and cum with me. So damn needy for my seed…”

Sukuna brings your chin for another steamy kiss, his lower left hand holding yours as his pelvis goes at an irregular pace. Your muffled shrills are taken by feisty lips, teeth clashing with his fangs before sucking on his tongue, and the upper left hand releases your chin to caress your chest once more, tweezing the nipple along with swipes to your clit.

Release gradually creeps up your shaky frame, crying to his mouth when your chasm and anus pucker around the lengths that graze your walls with the tips. Sukuna is not too far behind you, pumping his load into you with a few harsh plunges, making your contracting cunt and rear full of his hot and thick semen. The lower right hand propping your leg up leaves soft kneads on your inner thigh, hoisting it up further so his shafts are deep enough until his pulsing balls meet your ass.

You withdrew from his lips to breathe, your figure quivering through the aftershocks, and your slit and asshole still flutter around his girths. And you mewl when he kisses your cheek and temple.

“Mmm, that’s my princess,” he purrs while placing your leg down to massage your waist. “Such a good dove…”

6K notes · View notes

rememberwren · 7 months ago

Text

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep.

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!”

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking.

“What guy I recommended?” she asks.

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?”

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.”

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.”

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day.

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life.

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.”

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?”

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all.

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it.

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him.

“Hello?”

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line.

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?”

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him.

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says.

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted?

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?”

“Five. Don’t be late.”

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in?

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost.

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting.

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize.

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek.

“The water is for you,” he says.

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.”

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh.

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.”

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.”

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question.

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair.

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing.

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book.

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?”

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer.

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.”

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him.

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again.

“Here.”

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean.

His thoughtfulness touches you.

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you.

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?”

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death.

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.”

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?”

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.”

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears.

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend.

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks.

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?

Masks are cute, you say.

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free.

You’re terrible.

You’re…thinking about it.

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST.

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness.

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one.

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another.

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.”

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed.

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.”

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions.

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’.

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary.

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that.

What is it?

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true.

But all he said back was: how can I help?

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working.

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better?

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better.

You bring the pasties anyway.

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass.

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs.

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free.

“Hi,” you squeak.

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t.

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more.

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.”

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing.

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years.

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length.

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas.

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you.

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way.

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.”

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.”

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face.

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.”

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax.

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass.

“Good?” He asks.

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.”

“I’m not backing out.”

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line.

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you squeak.

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.”

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs.

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it.

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up.

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats.

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through.

His thumb gently strokes your sternum.

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast.

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again.

He hushes you, surprisingly tender.

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain.

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.”

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again.

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again.

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow).

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length.

“Eager to be done?” you wonder.

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said.

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply.

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently.

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.”

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.”

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way.

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.”

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable.

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call.

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much?

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring.

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering.

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello.

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry.

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?”

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.”

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.”

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?”

“Twenty minutes from now?”

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye.

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop.

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow.

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes.

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.”

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands.

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation.

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks.

“Not that I’ve noticed.”

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit.

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.”

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one.

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?”

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.”

“Nosey.”

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out? “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.”

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt.

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off.

“Maybe you should look closer.”

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.”

“You could—if you wanted to.”

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat.

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly.

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair.

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.”

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.”

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness.

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex.

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple.

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind.

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?”

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing.

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips.

“What else do you need?” he asks.

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly.

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure.

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth.

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh.

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola.

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite.

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.”

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?”

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?”

You nod, feeling like a bobble head.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps.

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief.

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art.

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.”

“Good,” you breathe.

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right.

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length.

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily.

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure.

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?”

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.”

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it.

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.”

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit.

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat.

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms.

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit.

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex.

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again.

He hums behind you, a smug sound.

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.”

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead.

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you.

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you.

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat.

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?”

“Yes.”

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see.

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself.

“Regretting it already?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.”

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head.

He scoffs a little.

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.”

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly.

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.”

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #skin deep

3K notes · View notes

blondedmuse · 1 year ago

Text

MISERY BUSINESS

felix catton x reader

synopsis. ꩜ based off of this request.

author’s note. ∿ i need this man so bad it’s not even funny. smut (fingering, oral f receiving, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, praise, marking, voyeurism I guess idk) it's been a while since I wrote something on this account and its not proofread so be nice, also a bit of a rushed ending??

word count. ⨾ 2.7k

The harsh thud of the car door closing awoke you from your mid-day reverie by the lake. The sun was beaming down on you almost bare body, only covered by a bikini. It was hotter than usual and everyone else at saltburn seemed to share your complaints. The heat aside the weather was pleasant—Felix on the other hand looked less than.

He looked annoyed, almost upset, even from far away. When he exited the car Oliver and Felix went their separate ways, Oliver looking just as unhappy. You wondered what happened in just few hours that could’ve soured their moods but it was only a few moments later when Felix approached you, grinning in attempt to hide the scowl he was dressed in minutes earlier.

Once he reached your figure he towered over your body as you laid on the dock. Having well acknowledge the heat now and your lack of clothing he discarded his shirt and quickly lowered his frame over yours so that his was barely hovering over yours.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

He shook his head with a small grin. “nothing.”

You scoffed. “Liar.” He raised his brows.

“What’s wrong?” You prodded again. He dropped his head in hesitation, his lip between his teeth as he contemplated telling you what happened on his and Oliver’s road trip, what he felt, what the truth was—but he couldn’t. Not yet anyways.

He looked up at you. “I- Oliver just said something and it hurt me more than I thought it would.”

You sat up, the two of you adjusting your bodies as you did so. You stared intently at his face, watching how his eyes glossed over and how he could barely hold your gaze. It was a different demeanor than what other people knew, one of the more human parts that made people fall in love with him.

You lifted his face towards yours. “I’m sorry.” The silence that followed after your statement determined he wasn’t interested in sharing anything deeper than the surface of the matter.

He looked back at Saltburn then back at you. “Don’t be.”

You scrunched your brows. “Hm?”

“I don’t know,” He said earnestly. “It’s not your fault, I should’ve listened to you earlier. You kept saying you had a bad feeling about him and I didn’t really take it to heart…til’ now I guess.”

“Oh, Felix,” You sighed, cupping his face, your hand over his jaw subliminally believing that it would release the tension he held there.

“He’s out tomorrow.” His hand caressed yours as it rested on his cheek.

“Really?”

“Really.” He confirmed. “Maybe now I can get you, alone, yeah?” His body pushed yours back down on the doc so he was hovering over you once again.

"Felix," You laughed. "Always distracting me, aren't you."

"No 'm not," he mumbled, nipping at your earlobe. "You weren't doing anything important anyways."

"I was going to ask another question," You giggled.

"Okay," He answered, pushing himself so that he kneeled above you, a knee on either side of your torso. "What?"

When he was playful like this he was such a beautiful sight in front of you, you almost felt bad asking him a question as if you were ruining the mood.

"You're not really kicking him out are you? I feel bad."

He sighed. "I am kicking him out and you shouldn't feel bad, he’s in the business of misery it’s almost like his job to make people feel bad." He crawled back over you once again, something heavier within him now. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw, his clouded eyes. His mouth made its way back to your body, this time trailing down your stomach, beginning to leave marks you knew you’d have to hide at the party tonight.

“Felix,” You frowned. “I just-”

He cut you off. “Enough, alright. He was a creep anyways, you said it yourself,” He told you and you nodded, internally agreeing.

“He’s going home after the party.”

The feel of his voice as he mumbled into your skin was enough for you to stop thinking about the situation for the moment. It wasn’t until nightfall you were reminded of Oliver's unrelenting presence—it was his birthday after all. Still, no matter where you were in Saltburn, you couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes upon you, you couldn’t help but feel that you were never alone.

"Can we go somewhere a little more private?" You asked Felix and he hardly registered the question. His hands up your dress the lights were dim, colored strobe lights bleeding in from the outside. The room was close to empty but the music could be heard throughout the house. You could ask him anything to anyone and it wouldn’t really mean anything—and it didn't help that the two of you were getting dizzy on champagne.

So, you didn't ask you question again but your eyes flickered to the maze that could be seen from the window and he understood what you wanted.

"Whatever you want, angel." He grinned, pulling his hands away to grab yours, taking you to the garden.

You scrunched your brows together. "I should be calling you that y'know."

He laughed with you. "You have wings too."

"But I'm a fairy"

"Close enough." You laughed to yourself as you and Felix walked through the house and towards the maze. There was a bottle of champagne in your left, Felix’s hand in your right, grounding you with each step. The more the time passed the less ideal it felt to walk in heels—you thought of ditching them all together. Still, they held the integrity of your costume, matching the chosen Midsummer Night's Dream theme. You'd dressed up as a fairy, donning flowers in your hair and a frilly slip dress, the costume obviously incomplete without wings.

Your heels pierced through the dirt once you’d made it to the grass, your feet sinking slightly with each step. You groaned to yourself, not going unnoticed by Felix.

“You okay?” He asked, stopping to turn to you.

“My heels,” You answered.

He furrowed his brows. “What about them?”

“Well…” You hesitated. “They’re killing my feet and they keep sinking into the dirt. They’re gonna get dirty.”

“We’ll we can’t have that know can we,” Felix replied, picking you in on fell swoop, your body now in his arms, your legs dangling from his grasp.

"Felix," You giggled his named through broken laughs, surprised with the immediacy of his action.

"What? You know I'd do anything for my best girl," He told you, returning the wide lipped smile on your face.

"I didn't ask you anything."

"You didn't have to."

You went limp in his arms as you sighed, comparable to an act of defiance as if you were annoyed, as if he did something wrong; but you knew he couldn't if he tried. He shook his head but the smirk on his lips was undeniable as he carried you the rest of the way to the center of the maze.

"You're insufferable, won't even let me carry you," He carped, putting you down and letting you lean against the cold metal of the statue as you put the bottle of champagne on the ground beside you.

"I did and you love me," You retorted, inching your face towards his, leaving a sliver of space between your lips. The bronze on your back that chilled your skin was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Felix's body, from the warmth of the air around you. It was intoxicating, his breath on your skin and the breeze of the wind. Looking up at him you could see that carnal glimmer in his eyes when his hands roamed your body only moments earlier, and this morning on the dock. It was something you craved and that was something he knew and savored the fact.

"Well I can't deny that," He smirked before closing the gap between the two of you. You could feel the indent of his grin as he kissed you, his lips turned up into a wicked smile, something more depraved, but still, nonetheless, Felix.

"Why don't I finished what I started earlier, love?" He asked against you not bothering to pull away and you only moaned in approval. His lips traveled from yours to the lobe of your ear so he knew you could hear him clearly.

"You need to use your words, darling."

"Yes," You keened, wanting—needing more than what was being given.

"Good girl," He hummed, his hands drawing down the straps of your dress before they traced down the rest of your body all the way to your thighs. He hooked his hands under them, lifting you to sit on the base of the statue.

"This okay?" He asked, looking into your eyes for conformation, the raise of his eyebrows encouraging it verbally as well.

"Yeah," You sighed breathelessly. "But I still need you."

He smirked again. "Let me fix that then."

Felix's hands gently lowered the front of your dress, exposing your breasts and taking one of them into his mouth, moaning around it.

"You're beautiful, darling" He mumbled, groaning as his tongue slid over your hard nipple. His words were genuine but you couldn't help but feel a little cheesy, kicking your foot playfully at his leg and you felt his erection, hard as you did so.

"And you know that already," He chuckled, sucking your nipple more aggressively. "But it's true." His words made you ache with impatience, whine with desire. Felix pulled back before lowering himself to his knees, his eyes not daring to leave yours. Only when he licked an agonizingly slow, sloppy stripe against your clothed cunt his eyes focused on the sight in front of him.

You breath hitched in anticipation as he pulled down your panties with his teeth and taking them off, shooting you a wink as he pocketed them. Immediately after his gaze moved back to your wet pussy, wasting no time in tasting you.

He dropped his head and his tongue slithered to your clit, flicking the pearl a few times before wrapping his lips around it. Your core was hot against his face, your scent, heady and electrifying; he could spend hours between your legs. Your hand went to claw at his hair, your fingers entangling with his brown locks.

"Ri-Right there," You breathed, attempting your best to string a coherent thought together, but it was hard when one of his hands massaged the outside of your thigh while the other came up to your empty hand. Your fingers interlocking, his thumb kneading the side of your palm as he sucked harder at your clit. You squeezed it as you released strangled moans, strained from the attempt to stay quiet.

"You can be louder, love. No one else is going to hear you except me." You didn't believe him, swearing you heard something in the bushes move along with the fact that there was a full blown party happening in his house right now; but you couldn't help yourself either.

He slipped two fingers into you, eliciting a lewd moan with ease. Your legs pressed together and he almost felt suffocated at the momentary feeling of being entirely enveloped by you—but it was exactly what he wanted.

"Oh God, Felix," You fingers digging deeper into his scalp and he groaned.

His movements were mindless and uncalculated, but they had you reeling each time. He knew your body like a book, where to touch to have your head spinning. The longer he spent between you legs, the louder your moans got, your hips helplessly bucking up to meet his fingers and mouth.

"Atta' girl," he murmured against you core. "Cum for me, love, I can feel you squeezing me."

Your movements got sloppier, raunchier, as your orgasm approached swiftly. It struck you like a bolt of lightning, your body overtaken with rapture and relief. Felix watched as you come down from your high, his fingers still working you over.

"You did so well f'me," He coaxed, finally removing his fingers from your core and scaling up your body, his moving to cling to yours and swallowing any soft moans you had left.

"Need you," You whispered as his lips nipped at yours.

"Need me or my cock?" He chuckled, drunk on you.

"You know what I mean," You replied, hands already to undo the buckle of his belt.

He stopped you before you could go any further. "I know, I just want to hear you say it, darling."

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, the smile on your lips indicating otherwise. His brows darted up, goading you on.

"Please?" He pressed and you exhaled in pleasure, in desire.

"Need you inside me, Felix." The corners of his mouth turned up into that smug smirk you've known for so long and he nodded in thanks.

"As you wish, my love."

He was rock hard, heavy and hot in your hands, precum dripping from his tip. You were just as wet and desperate as he reached down as he lined himself up with your entrance, sheathing himself inside you without another moment of hesitation. His arms caged your body under him as he hissed at the feeling. He gave you a a moment, letting you adjust to his size, his cock completely filling you up as he was buried deep inside of you.

"You're so tight," He praised as he kissed you, moaning into your mouth as he began to move. The pace of his hips started slow, gently rolling into yours, your clit brushing up into his pelvic bone at just the right angle. Felix tuned into how your moans falter when he hit just right spot, the sensation going straight to your core.

"Feels so good," You keened as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

"Yeah? Tell me about it," He asked as he increased his pace, the speed of his pounding becoming relentless, evoking obscene noises from you. You wrapped your legs around his torso, heels digging into his back as you gave him the perfect angle to go even deeper as his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly.

You were sure your nails were going to leave a mark as they clawed into his shoulders while his hand slowly travelled to your core, rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit to help you reach your climax. You clenched around him in a manner so desperate, cunt fluttering around his cock. You didn’t have time to tell him you were cumming, screaming and sobbing as ecstasy hit you like a brick wall. You arched your back as his name fell from your lips again and again like a hopeless prayer. He followed suit seconds later, soaked with you as buried his head into the crook of your neck. He came with a strident cry as he bottomed out, filling you to the brim. You went limp under him as he panted weakly with his voice hoarse in your ear.

Still hazy from your climax your eyes widened as you saw Oliver walk into the maze. Felix didn't hear him, but he took note of your expression.

"What? Are you okay? What's-"

You interrupted him. "Oliver." Felix's head whipped around to the man standing behind him.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Felix exclaimed and you pulled your legs from his torso and fixed your dress. Felix pulled up his trousers, buckling up his belt before fully turning to face Oliver.

"What are you doing here, mate? I mean, really?" You didn't say anything, composing yourself as Felix stood in front of you. Oliver opened his mouth to speak but Felix cut him off before he could explain himself.

"Actually I don't wanna fucking know, I've seen enough." He sighed and looked back to check on you.

“I think you should go,” You said to Oliver. “Before you do anything more to embarrass yourself.” The words were harsh as they came out of your mouth but you didn’t know what else to say. You watched as he walked away with his shoulders slumped, no doubt some guilt weighing them down.

“Are you alright?” Felix asked you, turning back around. You nodded still processing what had just happened as it seemed the champagne had worn off a while ago. You grabbed the bottle off the ground and held it up, offering it to Felix with a smile he didn't hesitate to reciprocate back.

"To Oliver's fucking party!" You laughed confused as ever, taking a swig of the bottle before he grabbed it from you.

"To Oliver's stupid fucking party."

#jacob elordi #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton saltburn #saltburn #oliver quick #blondedmuse.nsfw #felix catton x reader smut #felix catton smut #jacob elordi smut

6K notes · View notes

sunshineyuyu · 5 days ago

Text

princess treatment (j. yh)

★ summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. ★ pairing: yunho x f!reader ★ genre: college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 4.3k ★ tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: this is the prequel to the jongho fic chained and the final “part” of this series! yunho from chained was just a lil too hot for me to not write something for him too! let me know if i missed any warnings!! ofc beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | chained (jongho sequel)

you look so hot tonight. you’re wearing your new favorite top—with a deep deep cut that makes your chest the center of attention—and a pair of jeans that you know makes your ass look good.

all of this to hopefully attract the attention of one choi jongho, who you’ve been crushing on for the better half of the semester, since san introduced you to him. he’s built and tan and nice and smart and sexy.

and he’s currently leaning against a wall—cradling a red solo cup and swirling its contents like he’s james fucking bond or something—and chatting up some pretty blonde girl.

you practically feel smoke coming out of your ears as you stare at the two of them—the way jongho leans forward so that he can hear the girl amidst the blaring sounds of somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper. ryujin puts a hand on your shoulder and the warmth of her palm makes you realize how tense you are. she shoves a beer into your hand.

“forget about him, honey,” she says. “he’s not worth it.”

“it’s not like he’s a fuckboy,” you whine, struggling to crack open the can with your recently cut nails. ryujin takes pity on you and opens it for you. you take a deep drink from it before wiping the edge of your mouth with your wrist. “he’s nice. he brought homemade coffee to class for me the other day.”

“mmm,” ryujin says. “i know, honey, but no boy is worth it. c’mon, let’s go play rage cage.”

you let ryujin pull you away to a different room, where the birthday girl yeji is parading around on wooyoung’s shoulders while spraying everyone with bubbly champagne. you don’t even really know yeji—she’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance, but you came because you wanted an excuse to get drunk and look hot and get jongho’s attention, only two of which you’ve managed to succeed in.

you finish the beer at an alarming rate and crush it in your fist.

“i’m gonna go get some air,” you say. “i’m not really feeling rage cage right now.”

“i’ll come with you,” ryujin says.

you venture to a different part of the house, trying to locate the stairs back down to ground level, but instead spotting a balcony. ryujin follows you here, where up close you realize it’s not empty.

the balcony is big—big enough to have several foldable lawn chairs strewn around, all occupied by various zooted-adjacent individuals. you and ryujin find a small opening against the railing, and you push up against it to feel the wind blow against your hair.

“men are shit,” you proclaim, apropos to nothing.

“men are shit,” ryujin agrees.

“you wanna smoke?” this voice is new, and it doesn’t belong to ryujin. it comes from your other side, and you turn slowly to appraise the person it originates from.

he’s holding a blunt out to you, a small thin thing between his thumb and pointer finger.

it’s jeong yunho.

you don’t really know yunho, but you know him enough. he’s a friend of seonghwa’s, which means you’ve seen him at enough parties—been shoved next to him during rage cage, had him hold your hair back while you took a bong hit. he’s tall, with soft black hair, and has a tattoo of a dragon curled around his right forearm. there’s a perpetual lazy look to him—a smirk always playing at his lips.

he’s attractive, and he’s offering you a smoke from his blunt. you don’t think twice before you’re stepping closer, pressing your lips against the end of the blunt and inhaling. a low tsk comes from ryujin, but you focus on letting the sour smoke fill your lungs, all while you maintain eye contact with yunho.

“ryujin,” you say, coughing a little since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a direct hit. “can you get me some water?”

ryujin gives another tsk, but then you shoot her a look that she understands in an instance, and she slips away to “get you some water.”

you turn back to yunho.

“you looked like you needed it,” yunho says, taking a pull from the blunt and then blowing the smoke back out.

you hum lightly, crossing your arms from both the night chill and because you know it makes your tits look better.

“you’re right.”

yunho holds the blunt back out to you, right in front of your mouth. you take another hit. this time you close your eyes and you breathe it back out, letting your head fall back and your hair hang loose.

“it’s nice,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” yunho says.

you continue the back and forth of the blunt a few times, until you’re starting to really feel it, which is good because the blunt is practically finished, yunho barely pinching onto it after your puff.

“last one,” yunho says, a little breathy, and eyes more hooded than usual.

on this last one, you meet yunho’s half-gaze and blow the smoke directly into his face. he’s closer than you really remember him being, but you don’t mind. he’s big and he blocks the wind. he flicks the stub of the blunt onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. he raises his head back up to you.

“that was hot,” he says.

“i’ve always wanted to have high sex,” you say.

“i can make that happen,” he says.

he leads you to the stairs, down them, and out the front door with a surprising amount of clarity. meanwhile, you’re letting the sound of whatever chainsmokers song is playing drag you back to your high school days. an uber appears out of seemingly mid-air, and you’re suddenly in the backseat of a sedan. yunho’s shoving the armrest into the backseat and pulling you into him.

the ride is smooth, and you take it in turns to focus on different things. first, the dulcet sounds of a jazzy trumpet, fragmented and dusty because of the car’s worn speakers. second, the rushing of lights in the windows, leaving behind trails of white, yellow, a smear of blue.

finally, yunho’s hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles in that sliver of skin between your top and your jeans. it’s nice, makes you feel warm. you press deeper into his chest, your hand pressed into the cotton of his shirt.

he leads you up to his apartment and throws his keys into a ceramic bowl near the front door.

“do you want water?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen like you hadn’t propositioned him fifteen minutes ago after sharing a blunt together.

“yeah,” you admit, when the full feeling of cotton mouth hits you.

after several gulps of the most delicious filtered water you’ve ever had, yunho’s crowding you into the countertop. he towers over you, but that works because you like feeling small, overpowered.

“you sure about this?” he asks, and if you weren’t high you would’ve said something about appreciating the ask for consent. instead, you lock your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height and pressing your lips against his.

the kiss is immediately intense, his tongue roving against yours, while his hands—jesus, they’re massive—press into your sides, palms hot and fingers digging.

“yes,” you say.

he picks you up effortlessly, and you manage to wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you into his room. he sets—no, throws—you down onto the mattress. you bounce a little and fall backwards onto the pillows. you’re getting ready to bite out a retort at being tossed aside so roughly when you see his face: calm, emotionless, but a distinct darkness in his eyes.

“fuck.” you mean it as a breath, but it comes out like a moan.

yunho pounces.

he kisses you briefly, before descending to your neck, your collarbone. he’s pushing your top off your shoulder, mouthing at the flesh at the top of your breast.

“take it— take it off,” you say.

yunho obliges, sitting back to push your top up past your chest and over your head. he lingers there for a little longer, eyes running over your tits and your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze.

“hot,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“touch me,” you say.

he obliges, palming your tits and pinching your nipples. rolling them between his fingers and revelling at the way you keen under his touch.

“sensitive?” he says, all breathy while watching you.

“y- yes,” you say. “the- the weed—”

“mmm, yeah, i know what you mean.”

you reach down to the button of your jeans, but yunho catches your hands and lifts them above your head. he presses into it, hovering over you.

“i’ll take care of you, princess,” he says. “be patient.”

this pulls a squeak out of you. the assertive tone, the pet name, combined with the way that it only takes one of his hands to lock your wrists in place—it’s new to you, but you’re suddenly so fucking desperate to get out of your pants.

the unoccupied hand goes to your jeans, and you close your eyes, as yunho deftly unbuttons it, but drags down the zipper slowly to reveal your mildly scandalous underwear: red and lacy with a little bow.

yunho whistles. “y/n. that’s kinda sexy.”

he releases your wrists to use both hands to slide your legs out of your jeans. he goes slow, trailing behind his hands with his lips, which leave a scorching trail of lazy kisses. he’s looking at you as he goes, his eyes never wavering. you almost blush from the heat of his glare.

“you shy?” yunho teases, reaching up to palm one of your tits.

“no,” you say. “just- just ready.”

“mmm,” yunho says. “i told you, princess. be patient.”

in an instant, you’re suddenly on your stomach, bouncing again. your waist feels a little tender from where he gripped you hard to turn you over, and your head feels a little woozy from the sudden movement, but then you feel yunho tapping on the outside of your thigh.

“up.” one word, one syllable, but coated in dominance, and you’re on your knees in an instant, ass up.

“fuck, that’s a nice view,” you hear yunho say, and you feel his hands splay out on your cheeks. he squeezes a little and chuckles.

slap!

you fall onto the mattress, arms slow to catch yourself. did he—? did he just smack your ass? the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed was some light hair pulling, but you’re finding that you don’t mind the buzzing you feel in your ass right now.

in fact—

“oh.” it comes out like a whine, and yunho hisses in satisfaction.

“you like that, huh, princess?” yunho says, his voice low.

“mm.” you can’t manage words.

“good,” he says, but even then you can’t anticipate the next slap. it’s harsher this time, and you jerk from the touch. “gonna make ur ass red to match those panties.”

it’s filthy. the way he’s talking. you’ve only heard talk like this in porn, and you’d always thought it was overly scripted. but yunho’s just talking, eliciting tiny squeaks and squeals of surprise from you that you also have only heard in porn and thought was fake.

“p- please,” you say, lower lip trembling a little. you finally chance a look back at yunho, and you find him still completely clothed, kneeling on the bed behind you with his hands on your hips.

“please what?” yunho says, smirking.

“touch me,” you gulp.

“where?”

“here.” before you can overthink it you’re taking his much bigger hand and moving it to your core, to where your underwear is already soaked.

“okay, princess,” yunho says. “since you asked nicely.”

he starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, a feathery touch that still makes you shudder. his other hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

“stay still, okay?”

you whimper in response, because soon he’s pushing aside the crotch of your panties, teasing the pad of his finger at your dripping entrance.

and then he’s pushing not one, but two long fingers into you. the first thrust is slow, and you can feel your walls pulsing around the digits. the second, third, fourth thrusts are hard and fast, and his hand on your back is bruising.

“fuck,” yunho hisses. “so wet and tight, princess.”

“hnng,” is your reply, because yunho is hitting that spot in the back, and your thighs are quivering.

“turn around,” yunho commands. “i want to see you when you cum.”

you scramble to follow his direction, flipping onto your back and pulling your knees closer into you. yunho shoves fingers into your mouth before you have a chance to say anything, and you suck on instinct, lapping at his fingers and tasting yourself on them.

“fuck,” yunho says, and then he withdraws the fingers and pushes them back into your cunt. you stare down at his hand, at his arm—the one with the dragon tattoo wrapped around. at how the scales of the dragon dance with the veins of his forearm as he pistons his fingers into you.

you’re a babbling mess of whines and coos and squeals, and suddenly yunho’s other hand flies up to your throat.

“this okay?” yunho asks quietly. his voice is low, like he’s trying to be sultry, but you can tell he’s watching carefully to see your response.

this is new. you’ve never done this before. you’ve seen it, heard about it.

you like it.

you nod, and yunho smirks.

his grip is loose, but this new pressure on your throat makes you a little dizzy, a little lightheaded, and makes the fluttering in your stomach speed up. both your hands come up to grip his arm, to feel the muscle beneath your fingers.

“i’m- i’m close,” you croak.

“good.” and yunho picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you until you feel that crest of nerve endings exploding. your back arches, your head falls back, your eyes close—the feeling ten times more intense than usual because of the weed in your system.

you collapse against the bed, breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers.

“fuck,” yunho whispers. “that was hot.”

he’s perched over you now, a hand on your cheek brushing your sweaty locks out of your face. he kisses your neck, softly.

“i- i want—” you have to pause to catch your breath.

“yeah, princess?” he grins at you.

“this,” you say, your hand cupping the very apparent tent in his pants. this takes yunho by surprise. he jerks, but your hand remains. you experiment with palming him a little, feeling how firm his cock is. how big it feels even under the thick strain of his pants.

“yeah?” he says.

“yes,” you say. “please.”

“ok, princess.”

he reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off by the collar. you blanch at the sight of his torso. lean, lithe muscle. another tattoo along the top of his ribcage that you’ve never seen before. black calligraphy strokes that spell out something in what you think is japanese.

“what does it say?” you say, before you can stop yourself. you run your fingers along the words, touch soft.

“nana korobi, ya oki,” he says, equally softly. “it means ‘fall down seven times, get up eight.’”

“it’s beautiful,” you say.

“not as beautiful as you,” yunho says, and he tugs your underwear down from your hips and off your legs. you suddenly remember exactly what you’d asked for.

“so. fucking. beautiful,” he continues, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them halfway down his thighs. there’s a small wet patch on his briefs, but those are soon pulled down too to reveal—

he’s big. long but not too thick. the head of his cock flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

you feel your mouth inexplicably fill with saliva.

“you’re- you’re—”

“you can do it, princess,” he says, kicking off his briefs and jeans the rest of the way. “you can take it.”

you nod obediently.

he reaches over you for his bedside drawer, returning with a silver foil condom packet and a little plastic bottle of lube. he tears the condom open with his teeth, spitting out the corner and then rolling the thing down his length. you lay back, eyes up to the ceiling. you hear the distinct pop of the lube cap, hear a liquid sort of noise, and then you feel his fingers again. cold and a little slimy, probing at your entrance and briefly nudging at your sensitive clit.

“you ready?” he says, lining himself up.

“mm.”

he pushes in slowly, and it takes all of your willpower not to clench instinctively. he groans while he slides into you, and the pace allows you to feel every inch of him. the stretch is difficult at first, but the further in he gets, the less control he has and soon, he bottoms out.

“you can- you can move,” you say.

“don’t have to tell me twice, princess.”

yunho’s hands find your waist, grip it hard, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, but still slow. you can feel his eyes on you, making sure his size doesn’t overwhelm you. as he builds up his pace, his hips snap against yours, filling the room with positively lewd sounds that combine with his deep breathing and grunts and your whimpers and whines.

he fucks you into the mattress, stretching you so deliciously.

you find one of his hands and lead it up to your throat. yunho’s eyes widen, but he wraps those long, perfect fingers around your neck, grip tighter this time.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, princess,” yunho says. “taking my cock like that. such a good fucking girl—fuck!”

you’re overstimulated, but in the best way. lightheaded from the choking, sensitive everywhere from the weed, and so turned on from yunho’s praise. you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly fucked.

as yunho pounds into you, he starts cooing and moaning about how good you look, how good you sound, how good you feel.

“yeah? you like that, princess? yeah—let me hear you. tell me how good i’m fucking you. fuck—your pussy is perfect. like you were fucking made for me. such a perfect princess.”

you can’t tell if you’re close to another orgasm, or if this is just all one long extended orgasm. all you know is that your body is buzzing with pleasure, and you feel really fucking good.

eventually, yunho’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. he gives one final push and stays buried in you, chest rising and falling.

he pulls out slowly, checking to make sure the condom worked.

“fuck, that was good,” he says, breathless.

“yeah,” you agree, boneless.

yunho swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking off the condom and tying it up before throwing it into a trash can. you’re a bit miffed that he is already fully operational, while you feel like you had all of your inner organs rearranged.

“give me a sec, princess,” he says, as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants. “i’ll get you some water and get you cleaned up. just relax.”

your head still feels a little woozy, but you slowly come back to your senses as you hear yunho bustle around outside. finally, he comes back into the room guzzling a chilled bottle of water. he recaps it and hands it to you. you drink deeply as you feel yunho wipe at your thighs with something warm and wet. the cool water reinvigorates your throat after having yunho’s hand pressed against it.

“you good?” he says. “i wasn’t too hard or anything?”

“no,” you say. “no, it was good. i liked it.”

“good girl,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your head. it’s mildly patronizing, and but you’re to tired to retort back.

he shifts deeper onto the bed to lean back against the headboard, running his fingers along your spine. it’s relaxing and—together with the water—helps you ground yourself as you feel the last remnants of weed and arousal fog clear from your mind.

“you like jongho, right?” he asks, apropos to nothing.

you choke. you spend the next few seconds spluttering and coughing while yunho rubs your back soothingly.

“i don’t- why are you—?”

“that’s why you were all sad at first, right?” yunho says. “on the balcony?”

you stare at him, finally able to breathe properly.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me.”

yunho hums. “i don’t know about that—” and he pinches your back when you open your mouth to protest “—but i don’t mind being your fuck buddy while you get over him.”

you purse your lips. truth be told it was good sex, but your… thing for jongho isn’t something that you can just get over with a couple good fucks and some weed. you don’t know how to tell yunho—someone you’ve only really ever been around either drunk or high or both—about pulling all-nighters with jongho to finish your homework together, sleepy and giggly and delirious; or how he knows your coffee order without ever having asked; or the way his eyes crinkle when you show him a funny meme.

so, you settle with a small smile and a peck to yunho’s jaw.

“i’ll consider it,” you say, and you get up to start redressing. you’re sobering up properly now, and the flimsy top you’d been wearing before feels a little scandalous for your current mental state. after hesitating briefly, you grab yunho’s discarded top and put it on.

“well shit, when you do stuff like that,” yunho says, running his eyes over how his shirt dwarfs you.

“i’m- i’m cold,” you mutter.

yunho just laughs, ruffling his hair.

“hey—you hungry?”

he takes you to the 24/7 burger joint just outside his apartment, harsh fluorescent lights and greasy air doing their best to sober you up even more. he orders and pays for you, while you slide into a corner booth to avoid anyone seeing how utterly fucked out you look: hair in a messy bun to hide the knots, body swimming in yunho’s shirt, mascara smeared under your eyes, and hand constantly on your neck to cover up the massive hickey you discovered while peeing—when had yunho even given it to you?

yunho scoots into the seat opposite you with a handful of napkins and a little paper cup of spicy ketchup. after you receive your tray of food, you and yunho spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the basics when you both realize that you don’t know much about each other.

it’s easy to talk to yunho, whose light chuckles and lazy smiles are comforting. while you might not take him up on the fuck buddy proposal, you just might keep him around as a friend.

you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you reach for it to see a text from san, asking if you’re okay.

to: san

[1:40 AM] yeah i’m good

[1:40 AM] actually can u come pick me up. i’m at the burger place on 8th.

from: san

[1:42 AM] yeah omw

you slip the phone back into your jeans while you sip on your soda.

“san’s coming to get me,” you tell yunho.

“oh, cool,” yunho says. “yeah i was gonna offer to take you home or something—it’s so late.”

you hum, warming in appreciation for yunho’s intent. he really isn’t a bad guy—not that you’d thought that before. he’s always been a neutral acquaintance, but you’re really starting to enjoy his company now.

“thanks,” you say. “for the food, and—the other stuff.”

yunho laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose with a greasy finger. you dab at it with a crinkly brown napkin.

ten minutes later, your phone vibrates again to indicate that san is outside in a silver uber. you thank yunho again, and even give him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, your face flaming as you turn away from him to leave the diner.

when you throw open the door of the car, you find not san, but—

choi jongho, stuffed into the backseat with a slight flush on his cheeks and a loose grin. you stare at him, and he stares back. the only empty seat is in the middle.

“scoot,” you say.

“i’m too big for the middle seat,” he says, but he doesn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle to give you the space to slide into the car. you nudge him. “just climb over me.”

a low string of curses leave your mouth as you reluctantly clamber around his big frame and into the middle seat, where you finally see san sitting on the other side. you’re so preoccupied with greeting him and thanking him for coming to get you that you don’t notice jongho’s eyes narrowing at the shirt you’re wearing—yunho’s.

“you coming to our place or going home?” san asks.

the words your place are on the tip of your tongue when you look back at jongho, noticing now a small red bruise blossoming just under his jaw. this causes you to snap a hand to your own hickey, which you hope is hidden by the shadows.

“home,” you say quietly. “ryujin’s probably waiting for me.”

the uber starts up again, and you lean your head back onto the headrest, determinedly avoiding jongho’s gaze. you know that you just went off to hook-up with someone random, but it doesn’t sting any less that apparently jongho was doing exactly the same thing.

at that moment, your phone lights up with a new text.

from: unknown number

[1:59 am] hmu whenever, princess ;)

continued in chained (c. jh)!

#yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho smut #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #ateez smut #ateez imagines #[sunsh writes]#sunshineyuyu fic

922 notes · View notes

badathumanemotions · 3 months ago

Text

Sweet Cravings

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Master List Category: Smut CW: Pregnancy, Marriage, Pudding, Pregnancy Kink, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (fem), Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Aftercare, Softness WC: 2,867

Ever since you got pregnant Spencer can't keep his hands off of you. (Not Proof Read)

Spencer Reid walked into the kitchen, the soft patter of his footsteps on the linoleum floor the only sound in the otherwise quiet apartment.

You were standing by the counter, your back to him, a spoon delicately scraping the last remnants of chocolate pudding from the plastic cup in your hand. The simple act of watching you, in a tight tank top that barely concealed the swell of your belly, sent a warm feeling through him. The way you licked the spoon clean, eyes closed in quiet satisfaction, was a sight that stirred something primal within him.

"You know you're going to share that, right?" he teased, his voice low and playful. You turned to face him, a sly smile playing on your lips. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, a hint of the devilish intentions swirling in your mind.

"There's no more left," you said with a smirk, holding the empty cup out to him. The way your tongue darted out to catch the last remnants of pudding on your lips was a silent invitation, one he wasn't about to ignore. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to trace the soft curve of your jaw, guiding your mouth to his. Your kiss was sticky sweet, a delicious blend of chocolate and the essence of you that he craved.

Ever since you started showing, his hands hadn't been able to resist exploring the new landscape of your body. The swell of your stomach, the fullness of your breasts, every inch of your skin seemed to hum with a new vitality that drew him in like a moth to a flame. His fingers trailed down to the hem of your tank top, inching it upward as his mouth moved from your lips to the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your earlobe, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. Luckily for him, your pregnancy hormones had you turned on at the drop of a hat, and it didn't take much to set you alight with desire. You leaned into him, your own hands reaching for his belt, eager to feel the familiar heat of his skin against yours.

Spencer steadily guided you back against the kitchen table, his hands firm yet gentle as they held your hips in place. You felt the edge of the table press into the small of your back, reminding you of the countless times he'd taken you there in the heat of the moment, leaving you trembling and satisfied.

With surprising ease, he lifted you, the strength in his arms belying his scholarly exterior. You gasped as he set you down on the cool surface, your legs automatically parting to accommodate him.

He took his time, savoring the moment as he peeled the tank top up and over your head, revealing your swollen breasts that begged for his touch. His eyes feasted on the sight, drinking in every detail of your transformation. His hands cupped them gently, thumbs flicking over the tight peaks of your nipples, eliciting a soft moan from your parted lips.

Spencer leaned in, his mouth closing around one of your nipples, suckling eagerly. You arched your back, pushing into his mouth, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. His other hand played with the neglected breast, kneading and teasing, as his tongue swirled around the sensitive skin.

You felt your core clench, the need for his touch growing more insistent by the second. You reached down to stroke the growing bulge in his pants, feeling his arousal through the fabric. He groaned, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, and the intensity of his gaze was thrilling.

He lavished your breasts with attention, his tongue and teeth teasing, his hands kneading and squeezing. The sensations were almost overwhelming, and you felt a wetness pool between your thighs. He noticed and his eyes darkened, his pupils dilating with hunger. He kissed a trail down your stomach, pausing to place a gentle kiss on your navel.

Spencer's hands slipped to the waistband of your sleep shorts, his fingers deftly untying the bow. He pulled them down, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. He kissed along your inner thighs, his stubble tickling your sensitive flesh. His hands followed the path of his lips, smoothing over your skin as the shorts fell to the floor.

You watched as he knelt before you. His hands spread your thighs wider, revealing the glistening wetness that awaited him. His gaze was intense, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own.

He pulled you to the very edge of the table, aligning your centre with his eager mouth. The first touch of his tongue against your folds was like a spark setting flame. You gasped, your hands clutching the table's edge for balance. He tasted you, savouring the sweetness that was uniquely yours, and the way your body quivered under his touch. His mouth moved with purpose, exploring every inch of your sex with a focus that was both tender and relentless.

In that moment, you were his goddess, the embodiment of creation and beauty. Your pregnant belly was a testament to the life growing within you, a life that was a part of him in the most profound way. He revered you, and his adoration was clear in the way he kissed, licked, and teased you.

Spencer feasted on your flesh, driving you to a blissful high with every stroke of his tongue. Your thighs quivered around his head, your hips rocking against the table as he pleasured you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he delved deeper, exploring every fold and curve of your sex. He knew your body better than anyone else, and the way he touched you was a symphony of pleasure, each movement calculated to bring you closer to the edge.

The genius in him had always manifested in every aspect of your relationship, but in the bedroom—or in this case, the kitchen—it was a gift that kept on giving. He'd studied your reactions, your sounds, and your breathing, learning the precise moments when you needed a gentle caress or a firmer touch. His tongue danced around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, while his fingers delved into your wetness, stroking the spot that made you scream his name.

And scream you did. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with an intensity that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head. Your body bucked against his mouth, your hands fisting in his hair as he drank you in. The warmth of your release painted his face, a delicate display of pleasure that made him smile against your skin.

Spencer stood up, his own arousal pressing against his pants. He pulled you to the edge of the table, aligning his body with yours. He claimed your mouth again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The intimacy was heady, a silent declaration of his ownership and adoration.

In mere seconds, his clothes were off, thrown aside without a care for where they landed. His bare chest brushed against your swollen breasts, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You felt his erection against your stomach, a blunt reminder of the primal urges that had taken hold of him. He didn't want to delay this any further, the need to claim you, to feel your body pulsing around his, was too great.

Spencer helped you lie back, his gentle hands supporting your weight as you settled onto the cool kitchen table. He paused for a moment to appreciate the view, the way your pregnant belly rose and fell with every breath you took, the way your legs dangled over the edge of the table, inviting him in. He stepped closer, positioning himself between your open thighs.

With a smouldering gaze, he took the tip of his erection and teased your clit with it, watching as your hips instinctively bucked to meet him. The sensation was exquisite, the softness of your flesh against his hardness, the way you glistened with desire. You moaned, your eyes half-lidded with anticipation.

He didn't rush, taking his time to savour every moment. Each inch of his cock sliding into you was a symphony of sensation, the tightness of your walls around him a warm embrace that made him groan with pleasure. Your body stretched to accommodate him, a testament to the countless times you've been together, your bodies moulding to each other's needs.

As he watched himself sink into you again and again, his eyes glazed over with a mix of pleasure and primal need. The sight was erotic, a visual representation of his dominance over your body, your willingness to take all of him. With each thrust, his balls slapped against your ass, the sound echoing through the room and driving him closer to the edge.

"You're so wet for me, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Do you like being filled up with your husband's cock?" His words were like a caress, a whispered declaration of his ownership, and they sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. You nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as your body was overtaken by pleasure.

"I want you tied to the bed, always ready for me," he growled, the primal need in his voice making your stomach flip. "I'll keep you full of my cum, breeding you until you can't take anymore."

Your eyes widened with excitement, the kinky promise of his words sending a shiver down your spine. The breeding kink had always been a part of your relationship, a delicious game that played on your deepest desires. But now, with a baby growing inside you, the reality of his words was a heady aphrodisiac.

"Oh, god, Spencer," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. The thought of being at his mercy, of being filled with his seed, swollen with his child, was more than you could handle. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Your body was made to carry my babies, isn't that right?"

"Yes," you moaned, the word escaping on a rush of air as his cock filled you completely. His strokes grew deeper, harder, each thrust claiming you as his own, marking you as the vessel for his progeny. The words were raw, unfiltered, and utterly intoxicating. They tapped into the deepest part of you, the part that craved his dominance, his possession.

The kitchen table creaked under the force of your movements, but you were lost in the sensation of him inside you. Your pussy was practically leaking all over him, a slick, needy mess that only served to drive him wilder. Spencer's eyes were dark with lust, his pupils dilated as he watched the place where your bodies joined, the way your flesh stretched around his length.

The rhythm grew faster, more erratic, his hips slapping against yours. The sound was almost as intoxicating as the feel of him, pushing deep, retreating, only to plunge back in again. You could feel your climax building, the muscles in your core tightening as you chased the high that only he could give you.

And then his words, that sweet, filthy talk that had always had you on edge, started to flow again. "You're mine, baby," he groaned, his voice tight with his own need. "Always and forever. My cock is going to fill you up, claim you, make you mine all over again."

You whimpered, the words alone pushing you closer to the edge. You felt your body tighten around him, your pussy squeezing him like a vice as the tension grew. His hands roamed over your body, claiming every inch of your skin as if he were worshipping a goddess. "You're going to come for me, aren't you?" he demanded, his voice a low growl that resonated through your very soul.

With a deft touch, Spencer found your clit, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Each touch was a spark, igniting the fire that was already burning out of control. You bucked your hips, trying to get closer, trying to get more of him.

"Cum for me, baby," he ordered, his voice a mix of love and dominance. "Cum all over my cock."

You didn't need any more prompting. The orgasm hit you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your eyes roll back in your head. Your body convulsed around him, muscles spasming as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. He never stopped moving, never broke rhythm, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside that sent sparks of ecstasy shooting through your veins.

"Good girl," he praised. "That's right, cum on my cock." You felt your pussy clench around him, milking his length as your release painted him in your juices.

As the last tremor of your climax subsided, Spencer's own need took over. His strokes grew erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants. The sight of your body, writhing with pleasure beneath him, was perfection. With a guttural groan, he let go, his eyes squeezing shut.

You felt the hot rush of his cum fill you, his body tensing as he emptied himself into your welcoming warmth. It was a feeling that never got old, the knowledge that he was leaving a part of himself inside you. His seed painted your insides, and you revelled in the sensation.

Spencer remained still for a moment, his cock buried deep within you, his chest heaving with exertion. He placed gentle kisses along the skin within reach.

Finally, he pulled out, his cock glistening with the evidence of your shared passion. He knelt down, his gaze fixed on the sight of his cum slowly slipping out of your well-fucked pussy. It was a mesmerizing vision, one that made his pulse quicken. His seed trickled down your sex, a testament to his virility and the depth of his claim on your body.

Reid watched with a sense of primal satisfaction as the sticky white liquid pooled on the table below you. The smell of sex filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of chocolate pudding. The sight was carnally erotic, a reminder of the raw, animalistic connection you shared. His hand trailed down your belly to the spot where he'd just been, tracing the line of cum that trailed down your inner thigh.

He grabbed a clean kitchen towel from the counter, his movements deliberate and precise. With tender care, he began to clean you up. Each wipe was gentle yet thorough, his eyes never leaving the spot where his essence met your flesh. The towel grew damp with the evidence of your shared passion, and he was in no hurry to be done.

Once you were clean, he helped you sit up and pulled your shorts back into place. He took the towel and cleaned himself off before pulling his own clothes back on. You watched him, the love and admiration in your eyes unmistakable. The way he tucked his shirt into his pants, the way his muscles moved under the fabric, was a sight that never failed to arouse you.

Spencer noticed your gaze and leaned in for a soft kiss. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle and concerned. You nodded, still basking in the afterglow of your climax. He knew your body was sensitive now, and he didn't want to push you too far.

He led you to the couch, his arm around your waist, supporting your weight as you walked. You sat down, your legs still wobbly from the intensity of your orgasm, and he grabbed a throw blanket, draping it over you. His eyes searched your face, looking for any signs of discomfort, any indication that he'd been too rough.

Spencer took a seat beside you, his hand immediately finding its way to your stomach. He gently caressed the mound, feeling the baby's soft kicks under his fingertips. The look of wonder in his eyes was a stark contrast to the fiery passion from just moments ago. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as he whispered sweet nothings to the life you both created.

Leaning back against his chest, you felt the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart, and the comforting embrace of his arms around your waist. His fingers continued to trace patterns on your belly, the baby's movements a silent reminder of the love that grew between you.

The two of you settled into a content silence, the only sound being the occasional sigh of satisfaction that escaped your lips as Spencer's touch grew more soothing with each stroke of your belly. You felt the baby's movements slow and steady, a gentle reminder of the love that had brought you to this moment. You couldn't help but reflect on the man who held you so tenderly. Spencer Reid, the brilliant and quirky agent you had come to love. He had become your rock, your confidant, your protector, and now, the father of your child.

#criminal minds #spencer reid smut #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #mgg smut #mgg #pregnancy #dad spencer reid #spencer reid x pregnant reader

1K notes · View notes

plutotheplum · 4 months ago

Text

Close to You

sylus x fem!reader

summary: a sleepy morning with sylus results in unravelled feelings.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, friends with benefits to lovers, smut, fluff, oral sex, vaginal fingering, mutual masturbation, face-sitting, p in v, handjob, dom/sub undertones, aftercare

wc: 4.9k

a/n: i fear i am obsessed with the man

also on ao3!

It’s wonderfully warm.

That’s what you think when you begin to stir, eyes blinking open blearily as soft rays of sunlight pour into the room, having snuck through the gaps in the curtains. A yawn escapes you and you squirm under the blankets, pressing your face back into the warmth of Sylus’ chest.

His arms tighten around you and a smile tugs at your lips, legs tangling with his.

“Morning,” he rasps, his voice deeper than usual, laced with the remnants of sleep.

“Morning,” you whisper back, lips pressing against his chest in a soft kiss.

Sylus cups the back of your head, his large hand stroking over your hair gently and you sigh, letting your eyes slip back shut.

He’d stopped by last night, said he had some information about a group of abnormally acting Wanderers. One thing had led to another however, and you’d let him stay the night, his body pressed up against yours.

“Stay,” he grumbles when he feels you try to pull away, his face burying into your hair.

“I have work,” you murmur back, twisting your head to glance at the clock beside your bed.

The glowing numbers tell you that you’ve slept in, and you groan, slumping back down as you realize you were most definitely going to be late.

“Call in sick,” Sylus replies, his hands squeezing at your waist.

You want to deny him, but Sylus knows you better than you know yourself. You can never find it in yourself to truly resist him, not when he pets across your body so soothingly anyways. You just hope it doesn’t turn into a repetitive occurrence, it’s not like you can keep missing work whenever you feel like being wrapped up in his arms to make out with him lazily.

Reaching for your phone, you write out a quick text, sending it to Jenna to tell her you’d come down with a sudden fever. You can feel Sylus’ lips on your forehead beginning to drift and you tilt your head, letting him land a kiss to your cheek as he caresses your hip.

“You’re a bad influence,” you whisper, feeling his hand creep up under his shirt that you’re wearing.

“Maybe so,” Sylus says, shooting you a smile.

You bite your lip when his thumb swipes the underside of your breast, his calloused fingers spreading across the skin of your breast before finding your nipple. His red eyes bore into yours and you don’t let your gaze slip away, mouth opening to let a soft moan spill out as he tugs and pinches at your nipple.

“You look so pretty like this, sweetie,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours.

Sylus doesn’t kiss you and you don’t make any move to kiss him either. It’s what makes the push and pull between you and Sylus so rewarding, he riles you up and you rile him up until one of you snaps. It’s what you’d done last night anyways, bent over the arm of the couch in a short skirt with your ass in the air, pink panties bared to his eyes as you’d grabbed the tv remote that you had accidentally dropped.

Too bad your panties hadn’t survived the onslaught of his hungry mouth, his fingers getting impatient until he’d ripped the flimsy fabric off of you and fucked you right there in your skirt.

The feeling of his mouth on your neck draws you out of your thoughts, letting him play with your breasts as he trails hot kisses down your skin. Your arms loop around his neck, fingers splaying across his broad back. You can feel his muscles flex as he moves his arm, both of you panting softly as he gropes at the fat of your breasts.

“Ask for it, baby,” Sylus whispers, rolling the hardened nub between his fingers.

You shake your head, gritting your teeth when you feel him roll his hips against your side, the feeling of his half-hard cock making arousal pool between your thighs.

“No,” you pant out, biting your lip as your back arches, “you ask for it.”

Sylus lets out a low laugh, nosing against your cheek as he presses another kiss to your skin. “You know I’m not one to beg.”

“First time for everything,” you retort, pressing your breast into his warm palm firmly, fingers trailing down his bare chest.

A smile spreads across your face when his cheeks flush, your hand drifting lower and lower until your hand presses against the hot bulge of his cock through his thin pajama pants. Sylus groans at the feeling of your hand and you wrap it around his heavy length, now fully hardened.

“So hard for me,” you coo, batting your eyelashes up at him as you drag your hand up and down. The hitch of his breath is welcome and has you feeling bolder, tongue licking across his sternum.

“Dirty, little whore,” Sylus hisses, his fingers digging into your side as you hook your leg over his hip and press yourself closer. “Always pushing me, aren’t you?”

You grin, letting him roll his hips into your hand as you kiss across his chest, the sound of your lips on his skin emanating through the room. Sylus grabs at your ass, pulling you up so that you're settled on his lap, your knees bracketing his hips.

“Look good like this,” you murmur breathlessly, palming at his cock a little more.

The imprint of his cock is clear, pre-cum causing a dark spot to appear on the fabric. Your fingers trail over his length, eyes entranced as you watch it twitch under your touch. His fingers grasp at the shirt, pushing it up and feeding the fabric into your mouth. Half-lidded eyes stare down at him, the hem of the shirt bitten between your teeth.

“Pretty baby,” Sylus whispers, his gaze trailing over your exposed breasts and stomach, down to where a pair of white panties sit snug on your hips. You hope he won’t rip them, but his fingers grasp at the material, pulling up and a sharp gasp leaves you, your panties digging into your cunt deliciously. “Greedy pussy, hm? Can feel you dripping all over my cock.”

You send him a glare, shirt falling back down to cover your body from his wandering eyes.

“You’re annoying,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sylus only grins and tries to pull the shirt back up again, but you swat his hand away and stay seated on his lap stubbornly. He clicks his tongue, red eyes darkening at your challenge.

“Stop being a brat,” he warns, fingers tapping against your thighs.

“Or what?” you reply, raising your brows. You give him an innocent look, letting your lower lip jut out into a pout.

“Or I’ll fuck you until you-”

You don’t give him a chance to finish, crawling up his body. Sylus’ eyes widen for a moment, confusion flitting across his face until he realizes what you’re doing. Your clothed cunt settles onto his mouth and he groans, nosing at your panties to breathe you in.

“Much better when you don’t speak,” you sigh, running your fingers through his snowy hair.

You’ll have to pay for your boldness later, but you don’t care, biting your lip as you roll your hips against his face. Sylus licks at you through your panties, his hands coming up to grab at your thighs and squeeze at the fat.

“Just like that,” you whisper, head tipping back as he sucks at your slick through the fabric of your panties.

Your hips roll and rock as you please, fingers gripping his hair. Sylus moves your panties to the side before long and you gasp, body doubling over as he licks across your bare cunt.

“Oh- oh fuck!” you mewl, writhing atop his mouth when he thumbs apart your folds to spit on your pussy.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Sylus rasps, his fingers gripping your thighs a bit firmer to push you onto his mouth again.

His tongue glides through your folds a few times, flicks at your clit lazily and kisses the swollen little bud gently before he tugs your weight down onto his face fully. A loud squeal leaves you and you think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, seeing stars behind your eyelids as he eats you out hungrily.

“Sy- Sylus!” His name sounds in a wail, and he simply grunts into your cunt, fingers dimpling into the fat of your ass as he slurps and sucks like a man starved.

The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are horribly lewd, and your fingers don’t know where to latch onto, alternating between tugging on his hair and grasping at the rumpled sheets beside his head. Mindless chants escape you, wet pussy rubbing against his face unabashedly and across his tongue as he holds it there for you to grind against.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper, your hand landing over his as he pushes the shirt up to grip one your tits.

He squeezes roughly and you moan, grabbing his wrist to guide his hand higher, closing your mouth around his fingers. You suck desperately, tongue swirling and eyes slipping shut as your hands curl around his wrist and forearm tightly. Sylus groans into your pussy again and your hazy eyes peer down to find his crimson ones staring right back at you.

A drunken smile spreads across your face and you lick at the pads of his fingers before kissing them. His eyes narrow and you moan when he spanks your ass at your display of blatant brattiness. It does little to deter you, mouth sucking his fingers in deeper until he spanks you again and sucks your clit into his mouth harshly.

You come with a cry, body shaking and thighs trembling. Sylus moves you off of him and you mumble out an apology for suffocating him, slumping against the bed as he pulls you into his chest and kisses your forehead.

It’s a little too intimate for what you two are to each other, but you’re secretly grateful for the bits of affection he gives you. Sylus doesn’t need to know that you’re starved of it, although you think he might’ve picked up on it with how clingy you’ve become, insisting that it was okay for him to stay the night only a few weeks after you two had first slept together.

“That was nice,” you slur softly, droopy eyes peering up into his.

Sylus huffs out a laugh, his hands petting at your sides. “I’m sure it was.”

Your slick glistens over his mouth and his chin and you sit up, tugging his shirt over your head and handing it to him. Sylus uses it to wipe his mouth and tosses it behind him, the fabric landing on the floor of your bedroom.

“Think I deserve a kiss for all that,” Sylus says, his nose nudging against yours.

You nod your assent, tits squished up against his firm chest as his lips meet yours. Sylus kisses you messily, tongue slipping into your mouth almost immediately so you can taste yourself on his tongue. A soft whine leaves you, returning his kisses with just as much fervor as you let your hand drift down, dipping into his pajama pants to grasp his hard cock.

His hips buck into your hand at the feeling and you smile against his lips, slowing the kiss to something more languid and lazy as you drag your hand up and down his throbbing cock.

“Hand feels so fuckin’ good, baby” Sylus sighs against your lips.

You hum, tilting your head to kiss his cheek and then his jaw. Pre-cum wets your hand, the slick noises of his cock filling the room as you stroke his cock for him. Sylus moans into your mouth, his hands unable to stop touching you as he grips the fat of your ass and then your hips.

“‘m sensitive,” you whine when his hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers rubbing over your clit.

“You can take it,” he whispers back, kissing you again as he slips two fingers inside of you.

You’re both panting again, meeting each other’s kisses with the same passion. His cock throbs in your hand and Sylus lets out a low moan when you tighten your fingers around him and let your thumb brush over his leaky tip.

“How cute,” you tease when you see the tips of his ears flush pink, his eyes half-lidded and chest rising and falling at an increasing pace as you twist your wrist and move your hand a little faster.

“You’re going to regret this,” Sylus replies hoarsely, his face tucking into the crook of your neck as he fucks his cock into your hand.

A half-laugh, half-moan escapes you when he curls his fingers inside of you, quickening the pace of his fingers as he fucks them in and out of you. Your other hand joins the mix, cupping his heavy balls. Sylus lets out a strained moan, his hips thrusting harder into the heat of your hand as you play with his balls, massaging and caressing them.

It’s a stark change from how he usually acts. Sylus is just as needy as you, despite being the leader of an illegal faction from within the N109 Zone. At least with each other, you both get to indulge in what you want. It’s how you came to this agreement anyways, a little coaxing from Sylus and some carefully placed kisses later and you were agreeing almost immediately.

His fingers move faster, scissoring inside of you to draw out more whiny gasps from your throat, his thumb joining to rub at your swollen clit. A whimper breaks out of you, body shuddering as you cum on his fingers, your hands stuttering as you struggle to keep them moving through the haze of your orgasm.

Sylus lets out a growly moan, shoving his face deeper into the crook of your neck as he comes. You can feel his heavy breaths of air against your neck, the rise and fall of his chest when his cum coats your fingers and smears across his abdomen. It’s hot and thick, and you whine, wanting him to kiss you again.

He lifts his head sluggishly, slots his lips over yours and kisses you until you can’t breathe. You want to wrap your arms around his neck, but your hands are covered in his cum so you pout until he pulls your wrists out from where you’ve begun to stroke him again slowly.

“Always so cockhungry,” he tuts, guiding your fingers to your face.

You smile dazedly and make a show of licking your fingers clean. Sylus groans and leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss, his hips jerking slightly when you push your tongue into his mouth, feeding him his cum.

Sylus squeezes at your waist and you press yourself closer, letting out a contented hum. He smooths his hand up and down your back, rubbing soothingly circles into your skin.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he murmurs.

You nod, arms looping around his neck as he picks you up and carries you into the bathroom. Sylus sets you down onto the countertop of the vanity, his fingers tracing over your jaw for a moment before he reaches for your toothbrush. You watch him, sated and sleepy, mouth opening for him as he presses your toothbrush against your lips.

The action in and of itself speaks volumes for friends that are just fucking, but neither of you feel the need to address it. Your eyes slip shut as he brushes your teeth for you, his hand cupping your jaw to hold you in place. Sylus kisses your cheek, his thumb smoothing over the line of your jaw gently.

“Rinse,” Sylus says, handing you a glass of water.

You do as he says, rinsing your mouth free of toothpaste and leaning forward to land a quick peck to his lips. Sylus grins, crimson eyes flashing with amusement as he watches you hop down onto the tiled floor with trembling thighs.

“Don’t laugh!” you protest, swatting his chest.

“It’s cute,” he drawls, helping hold you steady as you reach down to pull your panties off. “You’re always like this.”

An annoyed grumble leaves you as you step into the shower, eyes catching on the red welts running down his back, courtesy of your nails during the throes of pleasure last night.

You catch his eyes in the mirror, voice a little airy as you speak. “Red looks good on you.”

The shower door slides shut before he can respond, a small smile settling on your lips as you let your body loosen under the hot water. Sylus doesn’t join you, and secretly you’re grateful. You’d probably be tempted to have him take you under the spray of water, but your body is still sore from last night, thighs a little achy.

You finish up quickly, a yawn leaving you as your hands grab for the towel to wrap around your wet body. You step out of the shower, squeaking when you nearly collide with Sylus’ chest.

“Relax,” he mutters, gripping your chin and tilting your head up to kiss you.

You melt into it, lips working against his, feeling him back you up against the shower door.

“Stop doing that,” you mumble against his lips, hands landing on his chest.

“You like it when I kiss you,” Sylus replies, his forehead resting against yours.

You do. You really do. No one’s ever kissed you like he has and you’ve never had someone display such passion towards you. It makes you feel wanted, makes you feel cared for.

“Go shower,” you whisper, letting him kiss you one more time before you’re pushing at his chest gently, squirming out from under him.

Sylus grunts in dissatisfaction when you escape his grasp, running his hand through his hair as he watches you leave, that little towel wrapped around your body making him want to bend you over the vanity and fuck into you until you’re creaming on his cock again. He doesn’t though, lets you go instead and steps under the shower himself.

Another yawn leaves you, your arms stretching above your head after you get dressed, pulling on a pair of comfortable sleep shorts and an oversized shirt. Sylus has finished up in the shower by the time you’ve made coffee, his footfalls sounding through your apartment as he steps up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“I have another auction coming up,” Sylus says, his chin resting on the top of your head as you dump a spoonful of sugar into your hot beverage.

“What’s that got to do with me?” you ask, turning your head to peer up at him.

“Having a Hunter by my side would make things far easier,” he replies, squeezing at your sides, “besides, I’d have to go to all the trouble of finding a date.”

“So find one,” you retort, spinning his arms to hand him his cup of coffee, “I’m not in the mood for a repeat of what happened last time.”

“You wound me,” Sylus murmurs, his eyes boring into yours intently, “aren’t I being generous?”

You roll your eyes at his feigned hurt, although the slight furrow of his brows has you second-guessing whether he is actually hurt by your rejection. You brush the thought away, telling yourself that you're imagining things.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and taking a sip of your coffee.

“My black card,” Sylus counters, setting his mug of coffee down, “no limits.”

You scoff, raising your brows. “Are you trying to buy me out?”

“Hardly,” he replies, “I’m letting you buy whatever it is you desire.”

Your lips purse, eyes narrowing at the man suspiciously. You don’t why he’s being so insistent, when he most likely has access to an endless supply of women. He raises his brows and you shake your head again, refusing his offer.

Sylus’ jaw clenches, his fingers tightening into your shirt. “Why must you deny me?”

“I’m not denying you,” you say, setting your own cup of coffee down, “I just don’t want to go.”

“Is the thought of being with me that unappealing?”

“I didn’t say that!” you protest, irritation pricking at your skin.

Sylus stares down at you, his lips thinning. He’s never gotten angry at you before, and you don’t understand why he’s starting now. Another scoff leaves you when he pushes away from you suddenly, his fingers reaching for the keys to his bike.

“What is wrong with you?” you snap, stealing his keys before he gets them.

“You’ve been pushing me away,” Sylus hisses, glaring down at you.

“Pushing you away?” you echo, shaking your head, “we’ve been together since last night!”

“For a Hunter, you are infuriatingly dense,” he shoots back.

Your breath hitches when he suddenly cups your cheeks, his body drawing closer until you're trapped between him and the kitchen counter. His keys drop from your hand, landing on the floor with a clatter.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sylus whispers, his head lowering, “I want more.”

“M- more what?” you sputter, trying to lean away from him. Sylus doesn’t let you, his forehead pressing against yours.

“More of this,” he says firmly, “more of you, more of us.”

You blink up at him, words getting stuck in your throat. In hindsight, your intuition was right. Sylus cups the back of your head, drawing you into a kiss. It’s hungry and all-consuming, a soft mewl spilling from your mouth as he smooths his thumb over your cheek gently.

“Let me have you,” Sylus whispers.

“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” you mutter weakly.

Sylus rolls his eyes, hands finding the backs of your thighs as he scoops you up into his arms.

“My- my coffee!” you whine.

“Forget about the stupid coffee,” Sylus dismisses, dumping you onto your bed before crawling over you, his hips settling between your thighs.

Your eyes widen, his actions tugging at your heart uncomfortably as he smooths his hands over your hair, cradling your head as he lands soft kisses across the expanse of your face.

“Oh,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut, “you like me. You like me a lot.”

“Should’ve been obvious,” Sylus grumbles, his face pressing into the crook of your neck petulantly.

There’s no more teasing when he rolls his hips, an airy gasp escaping you as he grinds his hard cock into you. Sylus reaches for your hands, pinning them on either side of your head, his fingers lacing with yours.

“I need this,” he murmurs, “I need you.”

“You- ah- you have me.”

“Not yet,” Sylus whispers.

You watch with half-lidded eyes as he draws back and pulls your shorts down your legs. Sylus frees his cock from his sweatpants, shuffling forward until he places his cock snug between your folds.

“Watch,” he orders, squeezing your hip.

You do watch. You watch with your lower lip bitten, fighting the urge to let your head tip back as he rubs his cock along your folds, the flushed tip of it disappearing before appearing again. The head of his cock nudges against your clit, his pre-cum beginning to drip in fat globs already, coating the swollen bud.

His fingers find yours again, body moving atop yours as he continues to grind his fat cock against your pussy.

“Could have this cock everyday,” Sylus says, squeezing your hands. “Hm? Doesn’t that sound good? I’ll fuck you nice and slow then cuddle you after. All you have to do is be a good girl and ask.”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, hips bucking to try and get his cock to slip inside your achy hole, “Sylus, please.”

“Tell me, baby,” he coaxes, his lips brushing your jaw.

“I- I want you,” you gasp out, eyes wide and earnest, “so please, please stay with me.”

“Good girl,” Sylus praises, his hand gripping the base of his cock.

You whine when he presses the head of it into you, the rest of his fat length following as he sinks into you, inch after inch. It’s different than before, somehow you’re acutely aware of how his body feels on yours, how his cock is stuffing you full.

He kisses your forehead, his eyes never straying from yours as he holds your hands again. Your legs lock around him immediately, mouth falling open as he begins to fuck into you slowly.

“This cock is all yours,” Sylus groans, “I’m all yours, baby.”

“Then- hah- then don’t leave,” you manage out breathlessly, “o-okay, Sylus?”

“Not going anywhere,” the white-haired man affirms.

Sylus kisses you deeply and fucks you slowly, making sure you feel every ridge on his cock as he slides through your clenching walls. Soft moans fill the air, both of you unraveling under each other’s touch. You let go of his hands in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his forehead and letting him tuck his face back into the crook of your neck.

His thumb rubs at your puffy clit and you’re seizing up, back arching as your body draws taut.

“Ha- nngh! ‘m gonna- fuck- ‘m gonna cum!” you cry, fisting his hair in your hand and pulling hard.

Sylus hisses at the feeling, his mouth closing around your tit, sucking your nipple into his mouth. You can feel his thumb press against your clit a little harder, his balls slapping against your ass when he speeds up a bit more before his hips slow into deep, rolling thrusts.

“Cum, baby,” Sylus whispers, “cum on my cock, cream my fuckin’ cock like a good girl, sweetie.”

“Sylus!” you grit out, thighs twitching as you cum violently on his cock, body shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm hits you harder than anything you’ve had before.

“Baby, fuck-” he growls, his fingers grabbing at your thighs to hold you in place as he shoves his cock into you as deep as possible.

You squeal, eyes squeezing shut tightly as he unravels with you, hot cum spilling into you. A soft whimper leaves you as Sylus humps his hips into a few more times, his motions stuttery and uneven as more cum floods your pussy, your walls clenching around him greedily.

A noise of protest sounds when he slumps over you, his heavy body landing on yours. Light sweat covers both of you and you pout, knowing you’ll have to shower again. Sylus doesn’t get up for a few moments, mouthing at your tits lazily and landing little kisses to your nipples. The sensations make a shiver rack through and he grunts when you push at his chest firmly, softening cock slipping out of you as he rolls onto his side and tugs you back into the warmth of his chest.

True to his word, he does cuddle you, although you’re sure he would’ve done it regardless of his previous words.

“Asshole,” you mumble hoarsely, trying to crawl on top of him, “now I can’t walk anymore.”

Sylus laughs, his hands smoothing over your hips and waist as you settle on his lap, breasts flush against his chest and your face in the crook of his neck. You hum contentedly when he drops a kiss to your hair, squirming happily when he pets over your thighs and ass.

“I suppose I’ll just have to carry you, hm?” Sylus says, rubbing your back.

The warmth of his body has your eyes drooping shut as you nod. Sylus makes you feel safe, despite everything, his gentle touches making your mind hazy. You feel yourself falling asleep, lulled by the man beneath you.

You wake up again, mumbling softly. The weight of Sylus’ arm is noticeable, slung around your waist. Your brows furrow when you look down, realizing that he must’ve cleaned you up while you were asleep, a fresh pair of panties pulled up your legs and one of his shirts covering your upper-half.

Wriggling, you turn onto your side to find him already awake and staring at you. A sleepy smile spreads across your face, and you inch closer to land a sweet kiss to his lips. Your heart stutters in your chest when he traps your chin between his fingers, deepening the kiss for a brief moment before letting you go with a soft peck.

“Does this mean I get your card whenever I want?” you ask teasingly.

Sylus shakes his head, “that was a one time offer.”

You shoot him a sulky look, prodding your finger into his chest. “Jerk.”

He grabs your finger, lifting it to his lips and kissing the pad of it. You flush, heart fluttering at the action. Sylus smiles and you snuggle back into his chest, not before kissing his cheek quickly.

“I’m glad we met,” you say quietly.

“As am I,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers spreading across your scalp pleasantly.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” you add on after a few moments, tracing random shapes against his pec.

“Thought you’d crack first,” he replies, tucking your hair behind your ear, “all that clinginess. I was sure.”

You pinch his bicep in retaliation, squealing when he smacks your ass in return. A giggle breaks out of you when he peppers your face with kisses, a dopey smile spreading across your face as Sylus nuzzles into you affectionately.

It’s something you’ll remember for the years to come.

#sylus smut #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #love and deespace sylus #lnd sylus #lnd smut #sylus qin

3K notes · View notes

vtoxspas · 2 years ago

Text

Organic Cotton Pads: Gentle, Sustainable, and Chemical-Free Skincare

Organic cotton pads are made from organically grown cotton, which means they are cultivated without the use of synthetic fertilizers, pesticides, or genetically modified organisms (GMOs). By choosing organic cotton pads, you contribute to a more sustainable and eco-friendlier world by reducing the harmful impact of conventional cotton farming on the environment.

#Steaming Kit #portable steaming sauna #yoni steam kit #yoni wash #kisses lip balm #Rubber Menstrual Cup #Natural Menstrual Cup #Organic Tampons #Organic Cotton Pads #portable steaming kit #best man herbal blend #menstrual cup #vaginal steaming kit #Vtox Vaginal Steaming

1 note · View note

thoughtssvt · 1 year ago

Text

first times with nanami kento

cw : hand holding, kissing, oral, blow jobs, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, aftercare, gender neutral reader with AFAB terminology in reference to genitals

formatted in a half headcanon half fic style

nanami kento is a gentleman.

nanami kento is the type to be direct with things he wants. he’d wait outside of your place of work so he could walk you home. asking you to wait a moment as you stepped on ahead of him just so he could ask you if it was alright to hold your hand.

nanami kento didn’t steal kisses. his eyes would linger on your face as his heart swelled and skipped a beat. his fingers would dance over your knuckles, “may i kiss you?” he’d ask just above a whisper, only moving to cup your face in his hands when you squeaked a yes. he’d always asked for kisses every time after that. “you don’t have to ask every time,” you giggled nonchalantly like you were teasing him with no real bite to it. his ashen brows would furrow. “of course i do.” he’d wave his hand in dismissal as you stuttered an explanation. “with me you will get used to it,” and you did.

nanami kento seemed to be playing by the rules of some unspoken book. he was a gentleman but after countless dates that always began with permission to hold your hand and ended with a gentle kiss you were beginning to wonder if he was even attracted to you.

you’d come up with a plan to take things to the next step. you’d invited him in, refusing to let the date end with a parting kiss in the frame of your front door. you’d kept the pleasantries before the two of you ended up on your living room couch. “is it alright if i kiss you?” he asked like you heard countless times before and like all the other times you said yes. this time you sat a little closer, this time you rested your hand on his thigh. “i want to… do something tonight,” you’d said with pink tinted cheeks to which kento had listened intently. “well, go on,” he said gently, the corner of his lips tugging into a smirk that sent fire flooding into your gut. he’d taken your hand in his, motioning you to stand, setting a pillow down in front of him before leading you between his legs.

nanami kento was big.

you’d just about cursed, screaming in your head how he should’ve warned you about how big he was before you got between his legs, but he was patient. he cupped your face in his palm as you kissed down his shaft, his breath hitching as you licked a steady stripe from the base of his cock right to the tip. he lent you a stable hand at the nape of your neck and for a moment you were worried that he would push you down further, make you take more of his length. it had you rubbing your thighs together, your core growing wet, but you couldn’t really decide if you were disappointed or not when he made no effort to stretch your mouth. as you bobbed your head up and down you’d realized that he was reminding you that he was there with you in the moment. you didn’t need to take more than you could handle if you didn’t want to. with your nerves at ease a newfound excitement grew in your chest. you reveled in the sounds he made. the soft huffs and “fucks” especially the, “you’re doing so good for me, taking me so good it’s driving me crazy.”

you’d looked up at him with half lidded eyes, both of you panting softly. it was his turn to please you.

nanami kento gave you one simple instruction. “lay back and feel good.”

he caged you between his body and the bed, lips intertwining with yours in a heated kiss. humming deep in his chest as he trailed them down your body. just for that moment while his tongue was busy circling your nipples he’d let you look away from him, throw your arm across your eyes because you don’t know if you’ve ever felt something this good.

“keep your eyes on me,” he whispered from where he laid between your bare legs. “watch me,” he rasped as he planted soft kisses along your inner thigh, each getting closer and closer to your heat. you couldn’t help the whine that escaped you as your eyes met and he leaned in to rest his tongue on the growing wet spot of your underwear. he paused for a second, his eyes fluttered closed, the softest moan buzzing through his lips as he savored his first taste of you.

“can you lift your hips for me?” he asked when he was done teasing and you could no longer discern your wetness from his saliva. your hips snapped up almost embarrassingly quick. it was then that you realized what little he’d done had already turned your legs to jelly, your thighs shaking as he pulled the fabric off you so painstakingly slow, though not without a word of praise for how good you did.

nanami kento liked to take his time, you’d realized. he pressed his tongue firmly against your sex, leisurely mapping out each fold, softly hushing you as you bucked your hips when he’d gotten just close enough to your clit but not quite there. he’ll get there, he reassured you. licks then became open mouthed kisses, contented hums soon following as he sunk lower to your weeping hole. he tasted it on his hips first before dipping a relaxed muscle against your entrance. he moaned. much louder than any of his previous sounds.

nanami kento liked to take his time, but that didn’t mean that he could always hold himself back. one taste of you from the source had him in a daze. he couldn’t help himself from moving up to lave at your clit, coaxing more of your sweetness out and onto the sheets below you. you were suspended in a deliciously torturous rhythm of gentle sucks against your bud and his tongue fucking into your slick entrance. he intertwined your hand with his as your shot down toward him when the pleasure became too much, resting your clasped hands on your hips as he continued to eat.

nanami kento was greedy, but that would come some other time. one of these days he’ll spend a whole work day between your legs, a thumb rubbing circles onto your clit so he’d have an endless supply of your nectar. for now he had something else in mind. he opened you up on his fingers, tongue swirling spirals around your sensitive button. when you came he refused to slow his movements until your legs twitched uncontrollably and your moans just about turned into whimpers of pain. he pulled away slowly, licking his lips clean before slipping his fingers out of you, taking his time to lick each digit clean wanting to get as much of you as he could get.

“i’d like to do that again, but i’m assuming you only have one more in you,” he whispered in your ear with a smug grin and he was right. all you wanted now was to be filled with him.

he propped himself up on his left forearm, placing it in the space between your head and your shoulder as he gathered your slick onto his cock, sliding between your folds, letting your body prepare for his intrusion. he’d kept a close eye on you as he pushed in, letting out a shaky breath as the head of his cock popped in. his free hand found its place on the other side of your head as he slipped in inch by inch, immediately stopping at the slightest sign of discomfort.

he forced himself to stop the growl that rumbled within him when he reached the hilt, stopping to wait for your comfort. you were milking him as your body adjusted to his size. he was torn, unable to decide whether he should look away from you to calm his instincts or keep his eyes on you because he didn’t want to miss a single second of this moment. he chose the latter.

his movements were gentle when you assured him that you were okay and that he could move. he’d started with minute rolls of his hips, then short shifts of his hips out and in until all the discomfort dissipated from your face and your whimpers turned into enticing moans. he’d rested his weight onto his forearms, clasping his hands under your head as he craned his neck down to press his lips against yours, his hips moving in sync with your body, thrusts picking up the pace when he knew your moans yearned for more.

nanami kento trusted you when you stuttered for him to cum inside. he’d give you anything you wanted, especially this. he licked the pad of his thumb, bringing it down to toy with your clit as he kept the pace of his thrusts. he fucked you through your orgasm, slowing when his own hit and he began filling you with warm spurts. he snapped his hips with every upstroke making sure to fill you like you wanted. he only pulled out when he began to feel his erection flagging, cooing a shush as you gasped softly, overstimulation uncaring of the fact that he was pulling out and had no further plans of continuing.

you barely noticed his momentary absence until he was between your legs again with a warm wash cloth gently cleaning you up. he massaged your sore hips, letting your legs naturally straighten as the muscles relaxed. he wiped down the rest of your body with another cloth, draping a soft blanket over both of your bodies when he was done. he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into him. he slowly introduced the conversation of what you liked and what you didn’t like– one list dramatically shorter than the other. the air around you comfortable, soft giggles making your shoulders bounce as your legs tangled together.

you’d confessed that you were beginning to think that he wasn’t attracted to you, which he vehemently denied despite your assurance that you now knew that wasn’t the case. you’d figured out that nanami kento was a gentleman. he wouldn’t dare do anything that would make you uncomfortable, but once he was given the opportunity he would show you just how much he desired you.

A/N : ooo this is the first nsfw piece i'm posting on here how exciting. I hope you enjoyed!

nanami hc pt. 1 | nanami x reader masterlist

MDNI banners by saradika

3K notes · View notes