#and circles are hard to cut nicely

[screampied]

#BONGOS!

☆ sum. pov: when his backshots are just so good, they sound like bongooos! toji, choso, geto, sukuna, ino, nanami, gojo.

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, dick drunk! reader, LETHAL BACKSHOTSSS, dom! choso sorta, ass obsessed men, size kink, brief cunnīlingus, doggystyle, prone boneee, hair pulling (nanami), slight dacryphīlia, runnin from it, pússy so good tears uppp (ino), spanks, dirty talk, sqúirting, bręeding, bed breaking, manhandling, cęrvix fucking.

an. HAPPY SQUIRTMAS *wet jingle noises*

CHOSO ★ KAMO.

“mhm- ah ah, get back here,” choso sharply prowls, each smoky pant turning raspier within the pitch.

choso was two words - feral and ruthless, and here he was having you all pretty and bent over on all fours..

his dark-rimmed eyes wandered everywhere at your body displayed underneath him. choso’s pointed ears couldn’t help but instinctively twitch upon hearing each sobbing mewl draaag its way out of your esophagus. it’s nothing but cute elongated syllables that made little to no sense, and each electrifying paps of fleshy stinging mounds clasping together has your head spinning in circles.

“ ‘m tired…of you, hah- always teasin’ me so much, baby. think you need a reminder of who’s in charge, huuuh?”

“c- chos—oooh!” your words get crudely cut off at the sloppy curve of his cock massaging through each part of your cunt.

like a maze - the upper part of his puffed tip clumsily gets lost, leisurely finding its way through before wetly marking every tender spot of your pussy with his curious tip. he’s beating up all spots, slowing his jagged hitting hips down purposely before picking his pace right back up. “mm- right f- fuckin’ thereee, fuck me then.”

with a sassy eye roll, choso deepens his angle, reaching an arm out to hold onto the grunting, wooden headboard. it’s undeniably loud, creaking non-stop each time both jolting bodies ounce against the bed frame.

“plan… on it,” and you whine, glossed lips breaking apart before your mouth spreads agape. he’s just so thick, and he loves more than anything to treat your pussy like it was just elastic. that effortless stretch- choso groans every time he feels you closing around him, cutely trying to squeeze around him before wheezing out those cute ‘oooh!’ ’s of whimpers.

“hah- gotta teach her some manners. can’t have you thinkin’ you can just walk all over me, princess—oh, fuuuck.”

every nth of choso’s staggering fat inches drills into you deeply, causing your eyes to goofily cross. he’s in you sooo good, using two grabby hands to raise your clumsy hips upright. “ugh- choso, mhm!” and your cunt’s just profusely dripping all around him, eagerly squelching at each springy thrust. he’s hard, maintaining a good alignment before his hips shimmy. his pace was literally inhuman. choso treats your convulsing nub like a target—repeatedly, striking your g-spot with precise hits as if it’s the perfect bullseye.

as you both each share laborious, breathy pants, he snatches your hips right back against his chiseled pelvis with an impish disapproving pout. “what did i say…no mngh- runnin’, pretty,” and you moan, feeling choso’s hand makes you dip all the way forward into his bare chest.

now, your back was just arched fully over with your ass perked up in the air. choso admires your slobbering pussy before leaning in, taking a moment to spit down between the exposed valley of your ass.

“f- fuuck, you’re so nasty, ‘cho,” you’d whine, holding back a bratty smile once your hand grips a jiggling fat of your rotating ass. through bleary peripherals and droopy hanging eyelids, choso’s swiping a thumb over his lips, another smearing his treacly saliva around your stuffed entrance to make sure you stay nice and wet for him.

it’s incredibly slimy, and his digit continues to sloppily trail further down the teary slot of cunt. it’s so raunchy, and choso licks his thin-pursed lips as if he’s preparing to feast….and right then, that’s when choso brings his freshly slick-coated fingers toward his rosy achy lips.

“she’s.. nastier,” choso grunts with his blushful broad tip aching from every ridged corner. your cunt wetly pops out an excited shriek of its own and your entire body starts to relax. he’s hissing through his teeth, fanning himself once he feels the cruel stiffening of his cock pound pound pound into your very core. “lemme hear her some more, princess. ‘s not enough hah- wet talk.”

and as choso’s rude hips continue to buck buck buck, he’s using every raging part of his hips to drill into you raw.

each twist, each turn—he’s deep, making sure your cunt remembers every narrow hit of his dick. a mixture of your sweetened moans and his feral grunts fill the air before he feels that cute clamping stick of your ass. “ ‘m gonna cum, ‘m cummin!” you’d gasp, poor knobbly thighs just slapping against each other. choso’s hips had the inside of your mouth watering, and you only wanted more. “fuck me- fuck me, f- ugh!”

your body inaudible screams with tremors and tremors of crazed shakes. once your lonely awaited finish comes, your mouth drops open but not a sound comes out. instead, a cute tiny squeak follows out of your husky larynx with your eyes carelessly rolllllling way back into the very back of your brain.

you’re seeing nothing but black as you’re riding out your orgasm, creaming down on choso’s cock with not a single thought in mind. “mhm- that’s it, ride it out baby, ride it out,” choso slows his hips to your defeated rhythm, feeling your body underneath him convulse rapidly. you saw stars, galaxies of them in fact, maybe even a few comets.

“c- choso,” you’d moan, hearing pitchy rough breaths from behind you. the wiiiiide stretch of his dick still makes itself known and you’re humming, batting your dampened lashes sporadically at the sudden overwhelming wave of elation. “fuuuckk- more,” and he ogles as you make him pull out, cutely flipping yourself over with a flushed look of sensual desire.

despite how you were just drenched in your sweat, you still craved more. choso stares at you sprawling your legs out fully, bringing two dry padded fingers towards your sensitive clit before pinching it. “l.. let’s try mating press, baby.”

“you’re impossible,” he sheepishly says, with a wry head shake, gingerly placing his weight on top of you. his onyx-colored ponytails were all scruffy, and he was sweating from all corners of his forehead. with a loud, wet ‘plap!’ noise, choso sloppily re-aligns his tip before it sloooowly starts to sink its way inside of your wet pussy, reuniting.

“hah- fine, but ‘m gonna have to…stretch you a bit, baby,” and you moan, feeling choso raise your leg, nearly hooking it over your head before positioning the other limb to mimic the same. sealing your trembling lips with an open-mouthed kiss, he grunts against your twisting tongue as he’s hungrily bottoming out inside of you.

“gotta get my baby all stretched,” he slips out a throaty whimper, hardened cock barreling further inside of you before he surprises random sticky kisses on your raised ankle.

“but, l- let’s…test out that flexibility while we’re at it, hm?”

SUGURU ★ GETO.

geto and backshots are a deadly combo within itself.

“take it. take it, taaake it,” he growls, his carnally encouraging words sounding more like a looping chant by the second. you’re moaning with his palm slapped against your mouth, shamefully drooling all over his hand in the process. of course, staring right in front of you too, was no one other than yourself. arched over, hunched over too, and lewdly crossed-eyed.

you probably looked a sight.

ruffled, shaggy strands of hair glued to your forehead. as your jaw was goofily hanging—just forever open with an agape ‘lil mouth that’s covered with geto’s hand, your wet tongue licks a path around his warm palm.

gasping for any ounces of air that you could get with his hand printed over your mouth, your cheek then prints against the cold, frigid mirror with how harder his thrusts were getting. “f- fuck, sugu mmph!” you coo out, feeling your thighs tense at each popping slam. remnants of whiteish, dried cum painted against your thighs. a licentious, dirty reminder of just how much he was claiming you from behind.

round after round and it turned from minutes to hours of just getting filled from every orifice with geto’s hot, creamy cum. geto’s cock wears you thin in every goopy crevice ‘n corner of your wet pussy, causing your poor larynx to sound hoarse from all the moaning within no time.

he’s pumping in all inches—grinding into your hips as you moved, cutely trying to jostle your waist to his rhythm but failing horribly.

“mngh- slutty girl, look at that ass tryna fuck me back. A for effort, i guess,” he grunts with a sneer, admiring the tears of sweat that started to gloss down your arched spine. so pretty..

almost looking akin to a necklace, a huge hand wraps around your throat before making sure you face yourself in the mirror. geto slides his other palm away from your mouth, scoffing at the webby sleek strings of spit following before he rubs it all over your mouth. “don’t look away, look at how your face gets when you…hah- slut yourself out on my dick, doll.”

“ugh- harderrrr,” your moans were starting to turn bouncy, and he was fucking you with every damn fiber of his being. geto’s buckled knees bury into the silk padded mattress and he’s dragging out hoarse gasp after gasp from your parched throat. his hits against your ass were loud, they sounded like bongos with how rough his pelvis creates music with each drumming hit.

“mmh- so good, so fuckin’ good,” your whines continue to drag out, and you’re tasting treacly salted saliva on your rosé buds.

through your peripherals, you spot geto working his hips into you. you couldn’t help but take a glance at his snatched waist that’s just so slim. he’s swerving into you at full speed, creating 360 donuts with his sloppy hips as he accelerates. geto sucks in a sharp, smoky break as he continued to plummet into your cunt over ‘n over again until you’re cutely clinging onto the mirror for leverage.

“cute,” he clicks his tongue, lowering his darkened irises down the curving arch of your bent-over back. from behind you, you heard him whistling at your watch before spanking your ass. the glossy sweat that remained on your backside shines bright, brighter than any sun—creating a creeping glow in the sunlight from the cracked open curtain in the distance. “good girl. lie back. all ya gotta do is.. hah- lie back ‘n let me have my way with this sloppy-fuckin’-cunt.”

each malleable thrust gets enunciated with each hard whack against your pussy that makes your teeth jitter. you’re moaning, barely able to keep up with his zealously, agile pace before the slit tip of his cock diagonally slithers its way near your clit. milliseconds pass before you then start to feel his crowned tap-tap tapping against your bumpy cervix. it’s a mean tap, and your eyes crossed even further together with your tongue abjectly lolling out. “s- shit, that spot. that.. mngh- suguru!”

a handful of nerves swim their way into the bottom parts of your stomach before you whine. you’re panting continuously, gently shoved face first against the now fogged mirror that was in directly front of you. it’s steaming up because of your harsh, wheezing breaths before you squeal. it’s quick, but your legs end up collapsing and so does your entire body.

“ ‘m cummin’, fuck!” you yawp, gasping breathlessly at that sliiiight turn of his pivoting hips. geto’s cock runs all through you, kneading your cunt with each brutal thwack.

sweetened whimpers pour from your lips once you end up meeting your euphoric maker. “ugh- s.. suguru,” low, pulled lids of your eyes start to feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open. you’re pussy’s wetly squalling, letting off squelches as you smothered geto’s thick cock from swollen top to bottom with your slick essence. “f- fuck, spank m-”

“quiet, baby,” geto shushes you, a hand wrapping back around the base of your throat. with a swift slap of his roughened palm, he spanks you again anyway, and you purr out a cute ‘ooooh’ right away.

your tongue still sticks out against the reflecting steamed mirror. you’re so close to it that you’re nearly suffocating from your tepid, pants of breath washing back into your face. he’s still inside, feeling you weakly try to arch your ass up but your face slumps further against the glass. “aw, relax, sweetheart. i gotcha,” and as you’re still whimpering, geto pulls out his vermillion-colored tip.

he silently hisses at your dewy, wet grip, gazing at your dripping cunt that’s covered with sparkling white strands of your mess. groaning, he rubs his angered tip over your pussy in a greedy circle.

“mhm- keep goin’ suguru,” you’d frantically toss your hips around in a circle - begging, aching for him to fuck you against the mirror again. it’s even cute with how your ass did a wordless cute shake against his leaky tip, rubbing your very entrance over his sweltering, dewy-coated tip.

“god- such a fuckin’ slutty girl, can never say no to that preeeetty-shakin’-ass,” geto huffs, pausing between each word as his hand swipes against your tender feeling rear. still aroused, he grunts as his bulky cock twitches each time your skin jiggles against the sharp greeting contact.

geto flips you over with one beefy arm, tying his hair into a hurried slothful ponytail before cocking his head. “legs, raise ‘em for me, high baby,” and once you comply, geto hums, closing the distance between you and him by sliiiiding his way in between your raised legs.

in a husky voice, he smacks his plump tip against your pussy before biting your bottom lip while maintaining direct eye contact. “hah- that’s it, stretch those fuckin’ legs for sugu, sweetheart. and while you do thaaat,” geto grumbles, stealing a low-pitched moan from you once he delves a thick finger inside of your swallowing cunt.

“i gotta make her cream on me at least an extra four more times, heh..”

NANAMI ★ KENTO.

“like this, sweetheart?” nanami murmurs, grabbing a secure amount of hair to wholly fit into the coarse palm of his hand.

he’s gentle nonetheless, hearing your cute shallow breaths once his hips fatally stop. as you’re arched over a side of the bed, your wobbly hands piercing into the fat mattress. nanami’s unpredictable movements have you speechless, blinking thrice because who knew such a man was so nasty in bed?

of course—the only exception was his pretty wife, you. and nanami didn’t mind getting kinky for his beloved precious, even if you wanted to try something as vulgar as backshots..

he’s all the way inside you, not even moving an inch and yet it felt like he was already obliterating every part of your goopy, clamping walls.

“mhm- yeah. fuck me ‘n then just start pullin’ on it if i try to crawl away, ‘ken.” you moan, feeling that all too familiar thumping sensation arises between your quaking, sore thighs. near the very undersides, you felt the brief pants of tenderness lingering against your skin.

nanami tilts his head, shrugging out a complying, “alriiight,” and you gasp once he softly tightens the grip against your hair just a bit. “this okay? ‘m gonna start movin’ for you.“ earnestly impatient, you nod, and the blond tries to suppress a smile. already, he felt your cute body trying to wriggle away but as you said, he gently tugged you back by the hair. “anything for the kinky wife i guess. brace yourself though, honey. work’s been.. hah- rough.”

and when nanami fucks, he Fucks - capital F.

you’re holding back pitiful muffled moans as he pulls off his tie, softly stuffing it in your mouth. it’s tasteless - and you’re whimpering, feeling every stinging whack from his hips slam into your ass every three seconds.

nanami’s sweat-drenched fingertips caress both sides of your curvaceous hips—feeling all down your loving physique as he’s ferociously fucking into you at such a disrespectful speed.

every thrust was insanely languid, barely giving you time to gather up a thought in your dull, empty brain. “kento, ohmygoddd,” your voice timidly cracks, already drenching the end part of his thigh with your bubbly drool. he’s churning your insides through and through like one would churn a fresh batch of hot butter. and god- nanami’s just rocking into the rear of your ass like a boat that’s forever rickety. “harder.. pull it, baby, pull my fuckin’ hair.”

“yes, ma’am,” he raspingly responds, having the same firm grip on your hair. dozens of seconds later, a nice amount of your hair yanks back and your eyes cutely widen. you fall back and so do your hips, continuously and sloppily landing back against his hips. it’s still gentle nonetheless, but his hips were so cruel. you’d never get used to that heavenly stretch of his cock.

it’s mouthwatering, and you’re just melting at the sheer sounds of each bouncy slap! of balmy skin. nanami hears the cute bundle of gargled whines struggle to leave your throat once he grabs your hair, and he purrs. “mhm, liked that, sweetheart? should i pull again? can’t leave my woman all horny ‘n unsatisfied, hm?”

“mmph- pull.. hah- harder, ‘ken,” you nod, your words still a bit hushed and gagged from his work tie. the bed’s so unsteady, you were just it was gonna snap into two at any second. as he keeps up a decent rhythm, your jaw ends up dropping once his peachy tip greets your clit with a knocking slam. he hears another gasp slip from your lips before your ass lifts.

with another solid yank, nanami pulls a bit harder, and this time, he’s faintly snickering at how cute your body was - just slamming back into him like it already knew its territory. riiiight as his fattened tip makes itself known to your pretty, pulsating clit, you squeal out a bellowing yelp.

there!

like a q-tip, his rounded cockhead swaaaabs its way around your tightening entrance before the deep thrusts continue. your eyes were just bulging out each of their sockets, and you were speechless for a while before squealing out a cute, “ohmygu- ‘ken something’s coming. s- something’s coming kento.”

“i know, sweetheart,” he whispers, slowing his sloppy hits down but making sure that his thrusts remain deep deep deep. he studies your gyrating ass and how it flawlessly ricocheted against his skin. with each barbaric smack of your ass clashing into his pelvis, he feels both sweaty pounds of skin arise with blistering temperature.

but the last thing you’d expect was to gush right onto his cock, legs cutely twitching with a squalling whimper ripping out of your strained chords. the release was so sudden, that your eyes widened dramatically as your lips parted into a pretty bewildered ‘oh!’

the feeling was just so erogenous, and your entire body underneath his fell into jerking spasms. “my, oh myyy,” nanami gruffly murmured, still maintaining a gentle yet tight grip on the back of your head. soft, massaging fingers glissade down your scalp at his grasping hold before he feels your ass weakly writhing back into him. “messy girl, that’s it. make a mess for me, sweetheart. ‘s okay, let go.”

“u- ugh!” your brows curl, and your cunt was just dripping like a faucet - profusely. his tip stopped all types of movement, brushing against your convulsing clit as you kept gushing and he grunts. right there - right fuckin’ there.. he felt your pulse, relishing in the faint sloshing sounds that occurred between the stickiness of both fleshy thighs meshing against the skin. “fuck, fuck, fuuuck ‘ken.”

“ ‘y did so good,” nanami breathes, his wet tie drenched with your saliva flopping out past your lips. he pulls out, and his dick exits your watery pussy with a cute plap. the sheets were all soaked with your wetness and nanami’s panting, smearing his flesh-colored crown around your shriveling entrance. pulse after pulse, you’re still eager for him to get back inside despite how your entire body was shivering from your recent mind-boggling finish. “always loved myself a wet wife,” nanami softly smacks his veiny cock against your teary slit.

“the wetter the better, haah- darlin.’ let’s try that again,” and you whine, feeling his dick slap against your crying, wet pussy. with a click of his tongue, nanami lets off a deep, heavy sigh. “think she needs a bit more.. ah- velocity training.”

SUKUNA ★ RYŌMEN.

“heh- your smart mouth’s almost as annoying as your weak arch, little girl,” sukuna snickers, keen-witted canines briefly poking out his lips.

you’re moaning, letting off occasional pitchy swear words whilst getting absolutely destroyed by the king of curses himself. he always treated your pussy like an enemy — using his favorite technique, absolutely annihilating your g-spot.

the fleecy, thin straps of sukuna’s kimono tickled against your skin as he’s driving his thick cock deep into you with such rigorous might. hit after hit after hit, sukuna’s dick was just as angry as he was.

as you were whining, your voice was steadily forming raw and strained as those cute little ‘oooh’s!’ sweetly cried out from your dried voice box.

his tip’s got such a curve that makes your insides tingle. “oh….f- fuuuck,” you heave in a single sharp breath, feeling your tummy cowardly tuck its way inward. sukuna’s cock’s greedy, and each stroke makes your eyes bulge wider ‘n wider out of their sockets. he’s bottomed balls deep, and you could hear his animalistic pants bellow huskily from behind you. playfully, sukuna trails a claw down your back, watching you writhe at something as simple as his touch.

“ ‘m not gonna last, ‘kuna, s- so big, stretchin’ me so fuckin’ go—ah!” you whine, getting a face full of a fluffed pillow. he’s got an angle that makes you feel it all, every single inch pumping inside of your cunt—introducing itself against your pearled nub each passing second.

his hips were viciously vicious, and you’re just drooling from the cracks of your mouth at each girthy centimeter prying your insides open. “ughhh- don’t stop, f- fuck me. fu—”

“ahh,” sukuna tuts, and you whimper once his palm wetly spanks against your stuffed pussy. pasty, teary droplets briskly coat his hand before he rubs circles against your tender clit. with his hips securely pressed right up against your jerking ass, sukuna licks your ear. “you’ll get your turn to speak. but right now, she’s the star right now, not you. have some class, wet girl.”

as popping wet sloshes cry from the opened arc of your legs, and you feel sukuna’s forked tongue flick against your neck. “mmh- she’s so nasty, talk talk taaaalk. jus’ like her dumb fuckin’ owner..” sukuna brings your hips up with two hardened palms, making sure your face stays shoved deep into the mattress.

with a cute wiggle, your ass rewinds into him and he grunts at the immediate jiggle. with a loud, briefly stinging whack, he spanks you—hearing those cute ‘lil clamors leave your cracking throat before seconds later and he’s back to thrusting.

sukuna’s cock was dangerous - you already felt yourself getting more ‘n more stupid the harder his hips snapped into you. vehemently, his strokes turn languidly sloppy within seconds, and you mouth out a cute silent ‘ohmyfuckin’godddd!’ blood-shot eyes rove down your bouncing frame and how you were bent over just for him and only him. “mng- m’lord, there- there pleaaaase!”

“don’t know who’s louder,” the demon snarls under his breath in a tone dripping with amused mockery. he stares as your ass extends upward and you’re arched right over, face pathetically buried into his velveteen-made sheets.

every clashing pap of ridden skin never failed to echo through his chambers, and the gluey feeling of sticky, crashing thighs makes his fangs sharply nip into his lip. “mngh-” his dick swirls a shape-like motion all arooound your pussy, easing a secret pathway way into your cervix and you short circuit instantaneously.

sukuna huffs lowly, clawing more of his black whetted fingernails into the skin of your plush ass. “you or this fuckin’…hah- talkative pussy. can’t even hear myself think.”

“suh- suku-” you squeak, dumbing down from each second he spends battering his fat cock inside of you. your walls were tight, desperately clinging to him, clamping vigorously before popping out a cacophony of wet plops. your eyes were already rolled back, and your blocked vision met with a dark void of darkness. “ah-” you end up drooling, a stream of saliva starting to bubble from the corners of your twitching lips. sukuna’s deeeeep, nearly creating an unforgettable bulge with how he easily pushes his entire weight against your ass.

your mind’s completely empty . . but, you’re transported right back to reality once you hear a splitting crack of wood. as sukuna’s still driving his thick cock into your slobbering pussy like a madman, he hears that eerie ‘creeeeak’ sound.

it’s the headboard—and, within seconds, the bed awkwardly flops, and you heard the boxspring weakly snap from underneath. “ngh-” sukuna grunts, the both of you briefly collapsing from the bed calling quits to support the ridiculous weight. your release pauses as you pant, wondering what happened, and the curse just slyly snickers at you. “ ‘s all good. just a little bed break,” and you felt his forked, slimy tongue lick down your sweat-covered back. he huskily ‘ah’s’ once he allows his tongue to savor your natural taste before groaning.

his cock’s aching.. and the top of his cock’s flushing a pearly, shimmery color of velvet red. a thumb of his pulls a bit of lingering foreskin before he brings his crowned cockhead toward your pretty puckering hole. sukuna notices you trying to crane your head to look at your ass but he tsks, making you face back in front.

“turn that head back the fuck around. just because the bed broke doesn’t mean ‘m not done breakin’ this pussy too, little girl. now open up for me. goood girl.”

SATORU ★ GOJO.

“oh, oh- wait a minute, angel,” satoru pauses mid-thrust, pressing his naturally sculpted pelvis against your ass. you’re moaning once he wraps a smooth hand around your throat, bringing pink glossed lips toward the lobe of your ear. “are you cryinnn’?” and indeed, you were.

he’s been hitting you from the back so deep ‘n so good that you’re fighting back fat, glittery tears. they stick to your lashes, nearly blinding you with each flapping blink and you moaned for him to not stop - not now, not ever.

snickering smokily, satoru then starts to use his other hand to maneuver sloppy, wet shapes around your slippery, stuffed cunt.

“sooooo tender for me, hm?” and satoru’s lanky dick stretched you thin - wearing you thin with every long inch, causing your brows to cutely twist in rapture. “tsssk. can’t help but be emotional and wet for me, cute..”

“s- satoru, don’t stop- please,” your sweet pleads and begs instantly making his cock twitch inside of you. you shuddered, feeling a vein of his prod on his foreskin, nipping against your insides as he moved. satoru was so long, but even longer inside..

it’s probably been round after round, but you’re already salivating for more. his slim body was pushed right up against yours, and you felt the snowy, wooly hairs that were taped to his base drag all across his skin. he’s such a tease though. you could merely feel that annoying smug grin boring right into the back of your skull, despite how you weren’t even facing him. “ngh- finish.. fucking me.”

“oh! sounds like a demand, and y’know how i don’t like being given orders,” he hoarsely whispers, two rough hands pulling up your ass to create a deeper slope.

he’s in deep, idly massaging your clit with his tip not shifting at all. your wetness perfectly coats the entire thick base of his cock, and satoru could hear your pleading little squelches trying to sweet talk him at the same time too. “aw, is that back talk ‘m hearing?” and you whimper, hearing a slap sound between your legs.

satoru spanks your cunt - feeling you wriggle, desperately trying to rut back against him but he makes you halt. “ah- patience,” and your sweet whines fueled his ego oh-so-good. satoru’s slim waist sensually rocks against your ass, and you’re smacked by his rearing hips time ‘n time again. you’re probably so stupefied. your dripping tongue hung all out of your mouth as languid, airy pants roughly seized away from your lungs. “ ‘m gonna cum, satoru. you’re hittin’ that spot s- sooo good, mmg-”

“yeah, tell me how ya really feel,” and you gasp, feeling him push your knee into your chest. you’re still laid flat on your back, and now—he’s got an even deeper angle. his cock explores every part of your pussy, and that sticky grip on your ass makes him groan against your earlobe.

“think you just might have the strongest pussy, baby. grippin’ all… on me,” and as his voice deepens, maybe even quavering a bit from how sensitive he felt, satoru sucks sloppy kisses against your neck. “mhm- don’t think i can beat her. nope.. not when she’s being so fuckin’ hah- sloppy, shit.”

slosh after wetted slosh could be heard from between the open space of your legs and you’re whimpering. his tip’s constant thrashing so merciless - filthily showering your pearled nub with a kiss after pounding kiss until your legs were on the verge of snapping shut.

satoru’s closet pressed up against your bare rotating ass, grinding his washboard abs into your body and it just feels so hot. he swats a hand against your ass, intently sucking his teeth at the three-second jiggle before moaning lowly into your ear. “heh.. there’s that cute g-spot- i mean weak spot,” and with a rude collision—satoru’s thrusts slam into you at full impact, causing your brain to nearly hotwire.

it’s so abrupt that you didn’t even recognize your voice when your shrieking squeal came out. “mmph!” your eyes hugely bulge, and his cock’s stuffed soso many inches inside—sneaking a hand underneath your tummy just to feel you cutely heaving around his size. as you’re creaming down his hardened shaft.

sublimely, it stands tall inside of you and he heartily chuckles at your body’s retreating response. you’re shaking, barely being able to move your hips and your head ends up falling into the cushioned pillow with a soft thud. “s- satoru, don’t.. don’t stop,” and as your tongue remains lies flat down your lips, you put out a needy sob. “oh my go- hah- ‘m still.. cummin’.

“hm, okay,” satoru whispers, skipping a few warm fingers down your spine. you tense at his touch, and your back slightly raises before his dick loudly pops! it's way out of your sensitive pussy. trails ‘n trails of glistening, perspiring sweat paints down his pale frame before he flips you over. satoru treats you like a doll - a rag doll, and before you know it, you’re straddling on top of him.

with blurred, faded vision, you could see a cunning grin stretching across his pinkened lips before he aligns you. “ah, jus’ lie back against my chest, good girl,” he praises you, feeling your back recline against his ripped abdomen. you’re moaning, still shattering all rows of your teeth at your recent eye-rolling orgasm before satoru slings two arms underneath your legs.

you gasp, letting off a soft ‘oof!’ once he suddenly lifts you, openly gawking in awe at your creamy hole hovering over his crimson-shaded tip. “new position baby. ‘m gonna try usin’ infinity on this pretty cunt,” and you moaned, hearing a looooong stretch of his dick from behind you and you gulped.

was he-

satoru was making his cock longer, you didn’t even know he could do that but the anxious flutter between your thighs was almost embarrassing. your tummy steadily caves in ‘n out as you feel him starting to gradually sink into you.

attacking the left part of your neck with a barrage of wet, starving kisses—satoru hoarse grunts. “y’know what they say. eighth orgasm’s the charm, angel. now biiiiig fuckin’ stretch, lemme teach her how strong i can really get with a few extra inches, heh..”

TOJI ★ FUSHIGURO.

“c’mooon, pretty thing. let’s see that ass show me what it’s fuckin’ made of,” toji grunts, slightly tilting his right thigh up. he’s rude - hips far ruder though, and he’s just straight up plunging deep into your cervix until your tongue’s just sloppily hanging out your mouth.

with your lips wholly coated with a natural gloss of saliva, you’re damn near hysterical. he’s hitting you so deep, biting his lower lip each time your ass does that cute sticking smack right against his sharpened pelvis. toji’s washboard abs flex ‘n tense through his dingy white tank before he swats against your ass. “mhm- atta girl. entertain this dick girl, entertain- fuckin’- me.”

“mngh!” you squealed, your incoherent babble turning into muffles against the pillows in front of you. toji’s whole right-hand fits over your head and he lightly shoves your face into the mattress.

you’re whimpering, each rough slam into your rear sending staticky ringing through your ears. he’s so nasty, plowing into you with such lively horsepower that it makes you start to pant like a literal greyhound. “ ‘m gonna fuck, gonna fuckin’ cum, t- toooji.”

with a scoff, toji spanks your ass. “yeah? that’s nice.” his tone’s fuckin’ sly, he couldn't care less. your cunt’s so slippery, slickly gluing against his hairy base that piercingly pap! pap! paps! right into both twirling globes of your ass.

the sounds of repeated smacking flesh pitched louder and louder as both bodies rutted into each other. the bedroom filled with harmonies of rough slaps and groans, as well as your added whimper and whines from how good toji was plowing you into the shared king-sized bed. toji’s a menace when it came to his hips though.

he does this thing where he stuffs you all the way full with one single thrust….then pulls out… then back in…then back fuckin’ out..

“mhm- good…good, goooood,” his voice lowers, and so did his angle. toji’s cock had a bit of lean, lazy hook and it’s just sexy. it’s noticeable curve forever made itself known by just doing a single shimmy with his wide hips. from top to bottom of his cock that’s prodding with lightening shaped veins all over, he’s insanely big. “hah- look at that cute ass jus’ bouncin’ all on me. goddamn, babygi- fuck.”

toji even arched his back too, combing a few thickset fingers through his murky dark strands before feeling his dick swell up from the creamed top. he’s close, and with how good you were gripping around him, it wasn’t helping things much at all.

your insides were so gluey, sticking against him like pasty adhesive, determined to wring around him like the lewdest vice imaginable. “goddamn-” he groans, thin nostrils immediately flaring.

your pussy’s grip was ruthless - you squeezed and squeezed and squeezed, hearing toji’s grumbles huff underneath his breath. “ ‘m gonna make this tummy so nice ‘n plump,” he grouses, ravened brows curling together. vein after vein throbbing through his cock as he’s deepening his hits, giving the back of your tank top a firm grasp. you fall back into his cock at the pull, moaning and sweetly ‘ooh!’ ing at each jackhammering hit of his cock.

“mmgh- cum in me, toji,” you whimper, rocking your body against the dingy sage sheets with no shame. your body’s all slumped, humping against the bed with the front of your body as your right cheek pressed into the mattress.

toji’s buried to the very hilt, and his burning-up crown alone even started french kissing your cervix, dozens of times too. it’s indisputably sloppy, and you let off a gasp once you feel him swirling his stout tip alllll around your gummy insides, tap tap tapping against that beloved spongey texture. “don’t miss, f- fuck.”

“hah- with an arch like that, y’er askin’ for at quadruplets,” and his hips brutally snap into you. for a second, toji’s cock leaves you brain dead with the cause before his heavy, life-altering shaft. that exact spot that feels a bit bumpy, his tip rams against it and it scratches the left lobe of your brain so good. toji snickers, hearing you left off a pornographic ‘aaaah!’ at the abrupt discovered pressure. “ngh- better take it all then, don’t waste a fuckin’ drop, girl.”

it happens with such quickness—toji’s lowly growls, his husky orgasm sounding more like a gruff pitching battle cry. he’s slowing his hips before holding your wobbly hips in place. right as he’s cumming in you, toji’s burly body presses against your backside. you could feel him still grinding, although it’s a bit more weak.

“ugh- fillin’ you so well gotta getcha niiiice ‘n round f’m again. can’t leave my pretty mama without a.. hah- fill,” and it starts to pour deep inside. it oozes inside of your cunt, and it flows out so quickly that some even start to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. pretty, sloppy squelches could be heard from the occurring mess and toji dryly swallows. “mhm- she’s as nasty as you, babygirl. look at her swallowin’ it all up. so good.”

“tooooji,” you’d whimper, gasping once you felt a big thumb snail its way down your sopping pussy. wads of cum race down your thighs, and with a sloshing wet pop, toji pulls out his cock that was frothing from the velvet-reddened tip. he grunts, admiring your ass that still had itself raised, and he then leans down. toji inches his face toward your backside, using two wide hands to spread your ass apart.

“haaaah,” he pants against your dripping cunt, rolling out his tongue. you whimpered, clicking your teeth together once he starts to lap up the globs cum that was spilling down your thighs. it’s a loud sluuuurp! from toji’s mouth that gives you butterflies, but he then gives your clit a sweet munch with both pairs of lips.

toji rubs his lip scar against your pulsating cunt before snickering against your entrance, cleaning up his cum that glistened down your poor, aching slit that’s just so overflooded. “mhm- keep this arch, pretty girl. ‘m fuckin’ starved,” toji spits against your slick-covered heat before allowing the sheeny strings to land flat on his rolled out tongue.

“…and this cute pussy’s just askin’ to be devoured, heh..”

INO ★ TAKUMA.

“back… shots?” ino lets out a tremulous short breath, nearly drooling at the prurient sight of you arching over the armrest of the couch.

you were so breathtaking, even in such an erotic hunched-over position—face up ‘n pretty ass down. just to top it all off though, your pulled-to-the-side-panties that exposed your flooded dripping pussy only made things ten times worse. you even dared to sprightly throw your hips around in a circle, hearing a cute needy whine pull leave from ino’s lap. “o- okay, i can- i can do backshots.”

“don’t be scared, ino,” you hush in a sweet coaxing tone, your voice as smooth as silk. all types of warmth lingered on your tone. he’d probably cum just from listening to you speak if he wasn’t too careful. reaching a thumb from behind you, you drag a plump thumb down your puffed slit. soaked right away, ino watches before bringing the flushed crownhead of his cock towards your wet fluttering slit. it’s so wet—just aptly pouring with syrupy slick from the sides, the corners, hell- even the inner wet crevices…

ino felt his heart pounding, and he was holding back a moan once his plump cockhead swirls a circle around your swallowing entrance. you moan, arching more before humming. “mhm- like that. now fuck me, baby. fuck m-”

and oh- he does.

ino was a very quick learner because, within no time, you found yourself arched right over with his capped tip being greedily swallowed by your famished entrance.

ino’s so frantic - and it’s almost cute how he had no literal rhythm. he’s getting lost in your pussy—but after a few sloppy starting thrusts, he surprisingly locates every tender spot like it's nothing. you shudder as your hips start to rise, feeling a few wet droplets splat against your arched backside and oh, he’s really drooling now..

his breaths turn from steady to heavy within seconds, and he’s just hypnotized at how pretty your cunt took in all the turgid inches of his shaft. “s- sorry, can’t help it,” he meekly apologizes, wiping a hairy arm over his spit-glossed lips. his hands awkwardly grip your ass before you feel him swipe a slender digit toward your neglected hole.

“oooh,” he whimpers to himself, plugging it with the entirety of his stubby thumb. with his buttoned nose cutely wrinkling at the sensations of being full from both orifices, you whine out his name thrice. sweet repeated chants of ‘ino!’ ‘inooo!’ or ‘iiii-noooo!’ and it’s so melodic to ino, in a salacious way at least.

your cunt dewily clenches at him toying with your slick hole, and he pulls out his thumb before groaning. “god- ‘s no fair, baby,” and he’s still clinging onto your bouncing hips, staring as your ass starts to fuck back into him. speaking of toys, he couldn’t help but moan at how you rewinded your hips back into him oh-so perfectly.

it was like your entire waist was controlled, and ino’s grabbing at the plump cheeks of your ass at every moment he could. the slaps of skin were so loud, and they echoed through every cornering wall in the dimly lit bedroom. “don’t even…hah- know what ‘ta do with all this ass. phew- think ‘m gonna… faint.”

“don’t be dramatic, ino,” you skewed your hips around his cock, swallowing in a deep breath at the overly thick tummy-tucking stretch that surprises your pussy. he’s just big - rummaging through every important part of your guts before slap! you’re met with a stony coarse wham that makes your tongue flop out on his own. “f- fuck, right there. keep hittin’ that spot, oh- fuck!”

ino’s already in love… and, your hips were a smooth talker, if anything.

the way you moved and perfectly corresponded to him, he’s getting teary. it feels so damn good, the familiar tightening of his balls makes him nearly choke on an incoming exhale as he watches you throw back against him.

it was almost comical—you wanted to try backshots, and ino could barely keep up with your pace because technically speaking, you were fucking him. “god- baby, ‘m gonna cum. can���t.. can’t hold it, lemme finish inside pleaseplease,” and as he’s babbling, you could hear him sniffling.

your pussy was so good that it had him choking on his own words, stammering clumsily over every whiny syllable. ino’s hands never leave your hips, and he swats a few palms at your doughy ass that jerks right into him before sighing. you’re so stuffed already, but the thought of him dumping such a hot, buttery batch of cum inside you had you humming in longing contempt. “mhm- tell me, baby. your pussy’s gonna f- fuckin’ kill me, hah-”

“insiiiide, do it,” you whine, slightly raising your hips. god- the view, your slick twitching cunt had ino hearing his whole heartbeat through his ears. he was damn near mesmerized, and his tip was just weeping at the constant tender rubbing it was creating against your clit. your entrance slicked against him like velcro, and ino’s jaw was already clenching at the clingy sensation.

with of few more pops of his weak hips, ino eventually does cum - and it’s a lot.

a knot of, gooey fresh cum shoots right into you, quickly traveling through your insides. ino whines way louder than you, and he falls flat against your back. “ugh- baby,” he grunts, his voice cracking as soon as he falls into your embrace. it’s hot, and you moan once he continues to spurt thin ribbons straight deep into your womb. timid, soppily hands suffered with insane amounts of sweat before you felt his palms all around your body. even with ino still rawly pumping into you, he’s running his hands up and down the curvature of your waist—stopping at your ass, his favorite.

squelches ‘n squelches galore..

his softened cock remained plugging you full with all of its might—feeling your dribbling cunt tighten around the entirety of his length. it takes him a good while before he’s finally emptied his entire load, giving himself a subtle shake to make sure it’s all deep inside of you. “good boy,” you quietly hum, rolling over, swiping a thumb down your flooded cunt. ino pants, flopping onto your chest and he looks so in love. his face was flushing the more he deeply stared at you, and your eyes widened once you realized ino’s slowly pushing the crowns of your knees up to your chest. “hah- ino?”

“ ‘m not done,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your quivering lips. he moans at the soft prod of your tongue brushing against his before his pearly-colored tip whacks against your pussy that’s still spitting out tiny clumps of his cum.

“one more round. need t- to claim these walls before i claim your heart first, baby.”

[holeforzenin]

Hiking with Kento <3

The air is crisp, practically biting at your cheeks and exposed skin as you brace yourself against the cool surface of the rock, its jagged edges digging into your delicate palms. The view stretches out in front of you—endless mountains, blue sky, birds cutting through the breeze—but all you can focus on is the way Kento’s cock is buried deep inside you, the loud plah! plah! plah! of his hips colliding with your rippling ass echoing loudly in the air, it’s almost embarrassing.

“Look at that beautiful view, Darling,” he murmurs behind you. His hands are heavy on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh in the greediest way possible as he fucks into you like he’s permanently trying to connect your bodies together. “Incredible right? But I’m guessing you’re enjoying what I’m doing to you waaay more”.

You try to focus on the view, you really do—but the way his cock drags against your walls, stretching you open and filling you up completely has your eyes fluttering shut instead. “K-Kento…” you breathe out, barely above a whisper. He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your back as he leans over you, his larger body pressing you further into the stone, and ending up lifting you off the ground so that you’re just standing on your tippy toes because of his sheer weight.

“Come on, eyes up,” he commands, one hand sliding up your spine to grab a fistful of your hair, gently yanking your head back just enough to make you gasp. “Told you to look, didn’t I?”

Your eyes snap open, catching the sweeping landscape—the distant peaks, the endless stretch of green, birds soaring above—but the only thing you can really process in your head is the lewd way your husband’s brutally pounding you in broad daylight, purposely rolling his hips deep, making you feel every fat inch of his girth. It’s so nasty, the way you’re bent over the rock in the middle of nowhere, your pants pooling around your ankles with his cock stuffing you full, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the quiet.

“Kentooo—” His name falls from your lips in a broken moan, and he just hums in that patient, attentive tone he always does, one hand slipping down to rub tight circles over your throbbing clit. Your back arches, eyes rolling back as he bullies that spot inside you, making you squirm and whimper against the rock.

“That’s it—Look at you. So pretty when you’re taking me like this, what a good girl,” he grunts, his pace quickening, hips smacking your poor ass hard enough to echo. “Bet those birds are getting a nice show, huh? Watching you get fucked stupid out here”.

His words make your cheeks burn, your walls fluttering around him so tight he has to bite back a groan. “Oh, you like that?” he coos with condescension. “Like knowing anyone could look out and see you spread out for me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

Your knees start to buckle, legs shaking as his thrusts grow rougher and more desperate. He’s practically slamming into you now as if you were just a Gloryhole stuck in the rock, his cock punching deep with every snap of his hips, pulling fucked-out moans from your throat. “Gonna cum, sweetheart?” he pants, his voice strained. “Gonna soak my cock while you stare at the mountains like a good girl?”

You can’t even respond, too lost in the way he’s tearing you apart, pleasure coiling hot and tight in your belly. Your fingers dig into the rock, nails scraping uselessly as you clench around him, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that makes you cry out.

“Theeeere it is” he moans, hands tightening on your hips as you spasm around him, milking him for everything he’s worth. His hips stutter, and then he’s burying himself to the hilt, grinding deep against your cervix as he fills you up, the warmth flooding your cunt and making you shiver.

You’re both panting, still bent over that rock with your legs shaking and his seed dribbling down your shaky thighs. He leans down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of your neck, voice husky and out of breath. “Told you hiking was good for the soul”.

[meowdei]

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

commentary. ❤︎ 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!

[er1nne]

rafe hates when you buy things without using his card

(do not copy or plagarize, original work) The Range Rover hummed quietly, its blacked-out interior wrapping you and Rafe in a cocoon of shadows and muted streetlights. It had been his idea to take you for a nail day—completely unprompted but not surprising. Rafe had a way of knowing when you needed a little spoiling, especially after the week you’d had. The air smelled like his cologne, something expensive and sharp, mixing with the faint scent of leather from the seats. You were reclined comfortably with both legs stretched out, your freshly painted white toes wiggling lazily as you scrolled through your phone.

Rafe sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh. His thumb stroked absentminded circles into your skin while his sharp blue eyes flicked toward the darkened street ahead. Traffic was crawling, a sea of red taillights stretching endlessly ahead. Rafe didn’t seem too bothered, one hand resting on the wheel while the other stayed on your thigh. His thumb moved in slow, hypnotic circles against your skin, his blue eyes flicking between the road and the glow of your phone screen. He was calm—you liked him this way.

“What’s got you so quiet, huh?” His voice broke the silence, smooth but with an edge that always demanded your attention.

“Just trying to check out before everything sells out,” you mumbled, barely glancing up. You were busy, furiously tapping away as you finalized your cart. The latest House of CB drop was a battlefield, and you weren’t about to lose.

“Lemme see.” He leaned closer, his sharp gaze cutting toward your screen. When he caught sight of the digits you were typing, his brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “Wait, is that your card?”

You paused, immediately bracing for what was coming. “Yeah? Why?”

Rafe let out a short, irritated laugh, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You have all of my cards saved to your phone, and you’re using your own card? What the hell for?”

“It’s not a big deal, Rafe.” You kept your voice calm, like you weren’t trying to spark an argument in the middle of what was such a nice day. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Afford it?” he repeated, voice tinged with a certain tone to it. “Sweetheart, I literally pay for your life. Why do you even have a card? For decoration?”

You glared at him, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed you. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, shaking his head as if the idea itself was absurd. “What are you holding onto that thing for? Just in case I drop dead tomorrow and you suddenly need it?”

You huffed an air of annoyance as a pout covered your slightly glossed lips and starred out the car window. The car filled with an almost unbearable silence. His hand, which had been rubbing your thigh, went still.

He turned to glance at you a few times before looking back at the road, the corner of his mouth twitching with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Afford-” he repeated again slightly scoffing, voice low and slow, like he was trying to decide if you were messing with him. “Do you even hear yourself?”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms leaning slightly closer to his natural warmth. “It’s not that much.”

“To you. To me, that’s pocket change.” His fingers drummed a little harder against the steering wheel now, a restless energy creeping into his movements more obvious than ever.

“Rafe,” you started to whine, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Nah. Don’t start.” He turned fully to face you now, his hand lifting to cup your jaw, gently but firmly enough that you couldn’t look away. “Why do you always make this a thing? Is it so hard to let me take care of you? That’s why I’m here. To take care of you. You’re supposed to let me.”

Your resolve faltered under his intense gaze. He wasn’t just irritated—he was hurt. His words were a reminder, the same ones he’d given you before. Rafe wasn’t just possessive for the sake of it—he hated seeing you stress over anything, especially when he had the means to give you whatever you needed, whenever you wanted it. He didn’t want you holding onto burdens you didn’t have to carry. He’d told you before how it made him feel when you refused to lean on him, how he hated the idea of you ever struggling when he had the means to make your life easier. Rafe always told you how much he loved taking care of you, he felt proud to. Anything you ever want, he would give you, plus more.

“I’m not helpless,” you said softly, and it sounded weak even to your own ears.

“Did I say that you were?” he shot back immediately, his sharp blue eyes flicking from the road to meet yours. There was no trace of anger in his voice, just a steady, unyielding determination. “I know what you’re capable of. But you don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his gaze softening, though his tone stayed firm. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. You’re mine, remember? So stop making it harder than it needs to be. Let me do my job.”

Even while navigating the slow-moving traffic, his focus on you didn’t waver. His eyes flicked back to yours, holding them for just a second longer than he should have, but long enough to make your heart skip a beat. You felt the weight of his words settle over you, the quiet conviction in his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Rafe…” you started. You stared at him for a long moment before finally relenting, handing over your phone with a quiet sigh. “Fine. Just this once.”

He smirked, already deleting your card details and replacing them with his own Amex Black information. The confirmation dinged almost immediately, and he handed the phone back to you, smug satisfaction written all over his face. “There. Easy. Now you’ve got your shit, and I’ve got my peace of mind.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, cheeks warming as you avoided his eyes.

Rafe tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. “Don’t thank me, baby. Just stop making this harder than it has to be. Just let me take care of you?” A small pout covered your slighly glossed lips as you responded to him in a small voice, "Okay."

“That’s my girl,” He smiled and leaned back in his seat, hand returning to your thigh as he glanced toward the street, his usual sharp focus slipping back into place.

You smiled slightly, your frustration melting away as you leaned into him. Because no matter how stubborn you could be, you both knew he’d always win in the end. And deep down, you didn’t mind.

[t6ji]

filthy 1am thoughts (04)

just your boyfriend(s)— aka jjk men being pussy drunk for their girlfriend. mdni! cw: pussydrunk!jjk men, filthy bull

your man’s shoulders spread your thighs like he has been deprived of getting his hand on you, cheek pressed into your inner thigh just to feel how hard you throb when he spits on your pussy like it’s nothing.

doesn’t even bother warming you up with fingers. doesn’t bother being nice. you’re already soaked—he made sure of that twenty minutes ago when he talked about what he was gonna do.

the way he leaned down and said it slow, in that low murmur like you weren’t gonna start dripping through your underwear just from hearing it: “gonna get my whole fuckin’ face in it. right here,” he said, thumb dragging through your folds like he was clearing a path.

sure it turned you on but you’re still shy with him being so bare for you and when you tried to make an excuse, your man hit you with: “you think i care how messy it gets? c’mon, y’know want it messy.” he breathes on your hot skin. “wanna ruin you with my mouth.”

and now here he is. kneeling like it is the only will he came here to fulfill. holding your cunt open with both thumbs, just watching— no, observing you naked. for a second you think he’s teasing you but your wrong thought is cut short when his tongue is dragging up the mess like it’s syrup off a spoon. slow, heavy, filthy.

then he goes mean.

mouth clamping down like he’s starving. lips sucking your clit in tight while his tongue swirls rough circles around it—sloppy and deep like he’s fucking it with the tip of his tongue. and then both thumbs dig in. spreading you further, holding your pussy taut and pretty and open like he’s putting it on display just for himself.

“you hear how wet you are?” he says right into your cunt, lips brushing your clit when he talks. “you did this. just from me putting my mouth on you, you nasty fuckin’ thing.”

you moan—loud. too loud. that kind of noise you don’t even mean to make. it’s just what comes out when he does that flutter thing with his tongue and your thighs lock up, toes curling like your whole body’s trying to grab onto something. anything.

he doesn’t let up. not even when you’re trembling. not even when your hips start to buck.

“baby, stay still.” he pinches your thigh softly. “let me eat.” he spits a globe of spit again. lets it dribble right down the middle and then licks it back up like a pervert. like he’s obsessed which he definitely is. jaw tight, lips shiny, nose pressed in while his tongue drags every single moan out of you. he wants you dripping down his chin, messy, sobbing, twitching from how good it is.

“gonna suck on this tight cunt ‘till you cry,” he groans into it. “then i’m gonna fuck your hole so deep you won’t remember your name, get it?” you’re almost wasted.

his tongue slows—not out of mercy, just to watch you squirm.

he leans back slightly, lips shiny from your juice, chin slick with spit and arousal and everything he’s worked out of you already. breath heavy. hungry eyes fixed on your twitching cunt like it just pissed him off.

“part your lips,” he demands, voice low but fierce like it’s a fucking order. “spread it open for me. i wanna see it.”

your shaky fingers move on instinct, reaching down to obey. you hook your fingers under your folds, pulling yourself wide, and he groans low in his chest like it hurts to see you like this. so wet. so raw. clit swollen and twitching from the attention he’s given it—and now, exposed like this, it’s almost too much. it should be too much.

but then he leans in again, and your whole spine arches like it’s bracing for impact. he doesn’t start with his tongue this time.

no. he starts with his nose.

just brushes it up the slit slow, deliberately letting it nudge your clit—bump, bump, bump—like he’s testing your reaction. like he’s marking time with the softest part of him while your legs flinch and your stomach pulls tight from the overstimulation.

“look at this greedy little thing,” he murmurs, voice warm and dark against your cunt. “swollen like she’s beggin’ me to hurt her.”

then he flicks his tongue out—sideways, not up. not gentle. your thighs clamp down again.

“don’t fuckin’ close up now,” he growls, annoyed slap getting delivered to the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting. “i said open.”

you do. because you have to and this shit feels so good.

your boyfriend sucks your clit back into his mouth again, lips plush and tight around it, and just holds it there. tongue flicking back and forth underneath like a motor, side to side, building that high-pitched pressure that makes your whole lower body feel electric. and just as you’re about to go—

he slides one finger in, “fuuuuck.” he mouths, watching you stretch then adds another.

then—fuck—a third.

all in one go. deep. curling them inside you like a ‘c’mere’ sign. he knows exactly where to press and he does. his fingers are thick, deliberate, merciless. your walls clamp down, a slippery squeeze that makes his groan vibrate through your clit.

“tight as fuck,” he growls into you, barely able to talk through the wet suction of his mouth. “look at you. all stretched open and still tryna suck me in like you’re starving.”

his wrist moves faster. three fingers fucking in and out of you with obscene speed, knuckles wet, palm slapping against your cunt. he’s feeding your pussy the sound of it—squelch, squelch, squelch—and every time he presses up into that spot, every time he sucks on your clit at the same time, you swear your vision whites out.

“you feel that?” he pants. “that’s me fucking you with my hand. stuffing you like you’re made to take it. this hole’s so good i’m about to lose my fucking mind.”

you moan something incoherent—can’t even tell if it’s his name or just sound—and your hips try to run from it, but he just growls low and hooks one arm under your thigh, dragging you right back down to the base of his wrist.

“don’t fuckin’ run,” he says, licking a wide stripe up your pussy like a punishment. “take it.”

and like a good girlfriend, you will. you have to.

your legs are shaking.

trembling like you’re being exorcised, like something holy and terrifying is ripping through your core and trying to claw its way out. you’re babbling—words, moans, curses, all mangled into one long, wrecked sound while his mouth stays latched onto your clit like he’s feeding from it.

and his fingers— god, his fingers.

three thick digits fucking into you like he’s digging for something deeper, pumping in and curling like they’re sculpting you from the inside out. it’s fast. rough. deliberate. every drag of his palm over your soaked entrance sends another wave of heat crashing up your spine.

“you’re close,” he says into your cunt, voice tight and wet and vibrating directly into your clit. “tightening on me and shit, so proud of you.”

your thighs are twitching.

your belly’s clenching.

your whole body’s bucking off the bed like you’re being shocked. and he just laughs, this low, mean sound that makes your stomach drop—because he knows. knows what’s coming. knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“yeah, baby, that’s it,” he groans, sucking your clit hard while his fingers slam into you. “give it to me. i want it.”

your vision goes white.

your hips lift off the bed.

and then it happens.

your cunt grip down like a vice—and your whole body seizes up, thighs locking around his head as you squirt all over his face. gushes. hot and fast, soaking him down to the jaw, running in messy rivulets down his neck and chin.

he doesn’t flinch.

doesn’t pull away.

doesn’t even slow down.

“fuck, there it is,” he grunts, filthy and proud, lapping it up like he’s dying of thirst. “so sweet when you let go like that. look at this mess you made on my face. you fuckin’ animal.” you would’ve playfully slapped him if you were in the right state of mind.

“so good for me.” your thighs are still twitching when he finally looks up at you, lips slick, eyes dark and hooded—but soft. not hungry anymore, just… proud. reverent.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice all low and ruined. “still shaking.”

you try to speak, but nothing really comes out. your lips part, but all you can do is breathe, jaw slack, chest rising too fast.

he leans in anyway. kisses the inside of your knee. then your hip. then drags his hands up your sides, slow and grounding, like he’s trying to put you back together.

“you okay?” he asks, pressing his forehead to your stomach. “talk to me.”

you nod, but he doesn’t move just yet. just holds you, skin to skin, letting your body calm in his hands. his fingers trace lazy circles over your ribs, over your waist, like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.

“you were perfect,” he whispers. “every fuckin’ second.”

and even when your breath steadies, he stays right there. quiet. close. just making sure you’re still here with him.

t6ji | 2025 prod — do not copy, reuse, or translate anything written on this blog. — like and reblog if you enjoyed!! lmk your thoughts 💕

[jinwoosbabyboo]

In My Little Black Dress

The LADS Men have seen you in your long flowing dresses, but there was something about the way you looked in this particular dress that hugged your curves ; showing off those legs that they dream about being in-between. Artist @/osk_purinnumee on twitter

‼️MDNI MDNI MDNI‼️

Zayne ♡

Storyline: He couldn't help himself after seeing you in that dress.

"Can you zip me up?" Such an innocent question.

Zayne sat frozen starring at you; his expression giving away nothing. His intense stare caused you to start second guessing whether or not you should wear this dress. "I can change"

"No!" He cleared his throat after his sudden outburst. "No you look beautiful" He stood from his seat on the bed raking his gaze over your body continuously as he circled around behind you. "Just ... perfect" His breath ghosted over your neck as he planted a soft kiss while his hands slowly zipped your dress up.

He spun you around, taking your hand and stepping back to admire you. "I love this dress on you" His voice as soft as silk. Your stomach immediately erupted with butterflies. "Thank you" you whispered back looking away to avoid his piercing gaze.

Before you knew it Zayne was leaning down placing the softest kiss on your lips. His kiss quickly grew hungry as he moved lower, grazing his teeth along your jaw and planting wet kisses down your neck.

"Zayne..." your voice nothing more than a breathy moan. "Hmm?"

"We ... we have to go the award ceremony starts in thirty minutes" He continued his assault on your neck littering kisses as his hands roamed your body. "I need you now" He couldn't help himself seeing the way that dress perfectly hugged your curves while propping his girls up just right.

He backed you against the wall before dropping to his knees and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You shot a hand out pushing his head back. "Zayne we can't we have to go"

His breath was ragged as he rubbed his nose against your already wet panties before looking up at you through his lashes. "Please" He begged; his breath ghosting over your pussy sending shivers up your spine.

You couldn't help but give in giving a subtle nod and soon after he pulled your panties to the side and took his time with a long languid lick before devouring you like a man starved.

Rafayel ♡

Storyline: No self-control when it comes to you. He has to have you now in the middle of his Art Exhibit.

Rafayel swore you were teasing him with the dress you decided to wear tonight for his latest Art Exhibit. He couldn't take his eyes off you; watching your hips sway and the way you pulled the hem down when it rose almost giving him a nice view of your ass.

He refused to let you leave his side. He was either holding your hand or wrapping his arms around you from behind. "You look so beautiful baby" He whispered in your ear as he slid his hands up and down the front of your dress. "We should get out of here, go somewhere less noisy"

"This is for you Rafayel we can't just leave" He pouted at your answer as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. "I don't like that answer" A quiet gasp left you as you felt him grind his hardening length against your ass.

"Rafayel!" You whisper-shouted whipping around to glare at him. As soon as your eyes met his you were shocked at how red his cheeks and ears were. You rolled your eyes and exhaled hard; looking around to make sure there were no prying eyes you turned back to Rafayel as a smile stretched across your face. "There's a private room-"

"I know ... I'll be quick .... I don't want to be, but I will be" He cut you off and swiftly tugged you out of the packed venue making his way to the back stairs. Rafayel yanked the private door open pulling you in slamming it behind the two of you and claiming your lips in a heated kiss.

His kiss was breathtaking; you gasped as you felt his hands bunch up your dress and quickly slip into your panties. Rafayel was incredibly skilled with his fingers. He dipped two fingers into you making you tremble as he massaged that spot. "Right there" you moaned between kisses; he moved to you neck as you threw your head back against the door in bliss. It didn't take him long to coax an orgasm out of you.

He smiled against your neck as he pulled his fingers out making you whine. He fumbled with his belt and zipper quickly pulling out his dick that stood hard & red. You were always shocked at how big Raf was it almost seemed like it wouldn't fit.

Not giving you time to catch your breath he slides his hand down your thigh lifting it up and hooking your leg over his hip as he sunk into you with an audible whimper. He lifted your other leg as well; you instinctively locked your legs around his waist as he pounded into you at a ferocious pace.

"Raf- ah!" He slaps his hand over your mouth. "Shhh you have to keep quiet beloved"

Xavier ♡

Storyline: Made it all the way to the Annual Hunters Ball (Yes I made it up get off me) never even made it out of the car.

Xavier had top tier self-control unless it came to you. The minute he saw you in that tailored gown with a slit to show a little leg he was a goner.

"One more just one more" Xavier whimpered against your soaked cunt. He was currently buried between your legs in the backseat of his car. Thank goodness his windows were tinted otherwise everyone would see you splayed out for him with tears running down your face.

"Xav I can't" You whimpered trying to push his head which only caused him to hold your thighs tighter and flick his tongue faster on your overstimulated clit. "You can do it cum on my face"

Such a dirty mouth for someone with such an innocent looking face. Those deep blue eyes gazing up at you watching your every reaction to his tongue had him so hard he could cut diamonds. You arched into his mouth feeling another orgasm crest letting out the sluttiest moan that didn't even sound like something that would come from you.

Xavier continued to lick and suck catching every drop as you came down from your high. Flattening his tongue so you could grind out the last bit of your orgasm before slumping against the door.

Xavier sat up freeing his painful hard-on from his freshly pressed slacks that were now ruined with his pre-cum. "You can't go in with stained pants"

"That Hunters Ball is the last thing on my mind right now" He said as he lined himself up running his tip through your slick before sinking into you slowly. He shivered as he sheathed himself in you inch by inch "Fuck you have heaven between your thighs babe"

Sylus ♡

Storyline: He has to keep one hand on you or .... maybe two fingers in you.

Sylus was doing great. He held his composure from the house all the way to the auction. Which wasn't easy watching your hips sway, ass bounce, and tits jiggle as you ran around putting on your last touches of makeup, jewelry, and redoing your hair twice because you didn't like how your edges looked with the first style.

The dress you had on left just barely enough for the imagination while simultaneously being classy. Sylus couldn't help but at least keep one hand on you.

Long tablecloths were draped over every table giving Sylus the perfect idea. You two sat at a table towards the back of the venue and as soon as the lights dimmed to begin the auction you felt Sylus hand slide up your left thigh. "I'm right handed Sylus my knife is on the other side" You whispered to him.

"I wasn't looking for your weapon Princess" He whispered as his hand inched towards the apex of your thighs. You took a sharp inhale as his fingers brushed against the lining of your panties. "You're already wet sweetie ... in a place like this? How scandalous" Your breathing became ragged as he slid your panties to the side and dipped two fingers into you. He stroked your G spot causing you to cover your mouth with your fist to keep from making noise.

"Sy-Sylus" You moaned as you leaned forward pretending to be interested in what the auctioneer was saying. "I'm gonna cum if you don't stop"

He flattened his palm giving your clit more stimulation. "Then go ahead ... cum on my hand" He leaned over making it look as though he was just whispering in your ear when in reality he gave your ear lobe a soft nip before sucking it between his lips. That sent you right over the edge. Soft whimpers fell from your lips as you dripped all over his hand.

Sylus pulled his fingers out giving you a cheeky smirk before stirring his glass of whiskey with his fingers that you just came all over. "Now that's a one of a kind drink”

Where’s Caleb? Right here

[beloveds-embrace]

I miss designationless reader so here’s a throwaway thought that has indeed been talked about before:

John wasn’t expecting it.

You’d been curled up against him on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles along your back. It was nothing out of the ordinary- just another evening where he took care of you. He was warm, steady, protective. It was second nature.

And then, with a sleepy sigh, you murmured. “You’re such a good Alpha, John.”

His body locked up. His chest rumbled with a deep, involuntary purr, the praise settling over him like a heavy, addictive drug. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could absorb the words into his very being.

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, deeper than usual, tinged with something dark and so very pleased. “That right, love?”

You nodded drowsily, your own eyes closed and unaware of the way his pupils had dilated.

His jaw clenched. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a slow breath, to keep his instincts in check. But fuck, hearing that from you- from his scentless darling who didn’t even understand what it meant- was dangerous.

He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling the faintest traces of warmth and home and the nest that clung to your skin. His lips brushed against your temple, voice thick and quiet when he spoke quietly. “That’s right, sweetheart. I’m your Alpha. Always.”

It didn’t end at just John, of course. You had no idea what you were doing to Ghost, either.

He had you pinned against the training mats, his forearm braced beside your head, his weight hovering just enough to keep you trapped without crushing you. Your chest rose and fell in quick little breaths, your limbs trembling from exhaustion after he’d spent the last two hours running you through drills.

He was just about to push himself up, about to offer you a hand and call it a day-

But then you exhaled, all soft and warm beneath him now, and huffed. “You’re such a good Alpha, Simon. And a good sparring partner.”

He froze.

For a full five seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. A deep, wrecked sound rumbled from his chest, his pupils blown wide. His fingers twitched against the mat, and it took everything in him not to sink down, not to press himself into you and take what his instincts so desperately wanted.

His head dipped, nose brushing against your jaw, and his voice came out hoarse. “Say that again.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted in confusion. “Huh?”

His breath hitched. Fuck. You didn’t even realize.

His body was vibrating, his muscles locked in place as he forced himself to lift away from you, to put space between you before he did something stupid. He barely managed a rough, “Nothing,” before pulling you to your feet and all but shoving you out of the gym.

He needed to calm the fuck down.

And then for Soap, it happened in the middle of a mission.

You were perched on a rooftop with him, lying low as he set up the overwatch position. The others were moving in, and he watched their backs.

His focus was sharp, fingers steady as he adjusted his scope, tracking movement below. He was good at this- at spotting danger before it could reach his pack, at keeping them safe. It was instinct.

And then your voice, quiet, cut through the tense silence. Would his reaction be like Simon and John’s, you wondered?

“You’re such a good Beta, Johnny.”

His breath caught. His hands tightened around the rifle. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, spreading to the tips of his ears, and he had to blink rapidly to keep himself from losing focus.

A slow, giddy grin crept across his face. “Aye, lass? Y’think so?”

You hummed. “Mhm. You always watch out for everyone. It’s nice.”

His chest ached. His heart pounded so hard he was sure the others could hear it through comms. His fingers flexed against the rifle as a shiver ran down his spine.

“Fuck’s sake.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a helpless laugh.

He and his pack were never letting you go.

Lastly- Gaz.

It was late, and the two of you were alone. The others had already gone to bed, but you and Gaz had stayed up, quietly chatting as he helped you patch up a few scrapes from training.

He was careful, his touch gentle as he smoothed ointment over your skin and wrapped the bandages with practiced ease. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he focused.

You watched him for a moment, something warm blooming in your chest. Maybe…

“You’re such a good Omega, Kyle. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He stilled, much like Ghost had done.

His fingers faltered against your arm, breath hitching sharply. His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and dark, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to decipher whether you meant to say that.

And then, very slowly, a shaky exhale left his lips. His head dipped, his nose brushing against the side of your throat, and a low, satisfied purr rumbled from deep within his chest.

“God,” he groaned, thick and hoarse. “You can’t just say things like that, dove.”

You blinked, hiding your grin. “Why not?”

His grip on your wrist tightened, just a little. He took a slow breath, scenting you out of pure instinct, even though you had no scent to take in. “Because,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, “it makes me wanna keep you all to myself. Come on, up- we are going to the nest.”

Omegaverse masterlist

[castielthinkr]

THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER

older!dean x fem!reader cw age gap, nsfw below cut (mdni), size kink (+ implied choking kink?), bunker era (think s9-10, so dean is 34-36 ish and reader is early to mid 20s), a little angsty in one or two places

notes my final assignment of first year is due in 12 hours. i wrote this instead. also i don’t usually write smut so if it’s shit dhmu

older!dean was hesitant to do anything with you at first. there’s thirteen years between you, and he’d always said it was too much, that he was too old for you. eventually, after months of teasing and flirting and god knows how many repetitions of “i know what i want, dean,” he’d grabbed your face and kissed you hard.

older!dean treats you like glass that he could break at any second. he’s gentle — gentler than he ever was with any other girl. he kisses your forehead, always has a gentle hand on you, and generally takes care of you. he cooks for you, wraps blankets around you when you fall asleep researching, and acts like the definition of a gentleman (to sam’s utter delight — the new material he’s gained to tease his brother with is endless).

older!dean shares his music with you. you call him old for it, and he makes a suggestive comment about you benefitting from his experience. he makes you a tape of songs he loves and catches you playing it in your room on more than one occasion. the two of you bond massively over music, with him showing you the rock he grew up with and you showing him newer stuff, like paramore. he’ll never admit that he thinks hayley williams is awesome, but you know.

older!dean hates taking you out on hunts. you met through hunting, and you’re a damn good hunter yourself (his words), but that will never stop him worrying. he’s protective, almost overwhelmingly so, on hunts, and you’ve had more than one biting argument about how he needs to let up. he promises he will some day, but you still see his eyes on you constantly. he needs to make sure you’re there, to make sure you’re safe.

older!dean loves to tease you with pet names to see how flustered he can make you. there are some he uses that are nice, and make you feel nice and warm inside, like angel and sweetheart. (darlin’ with his texan twang, always gets you blushing.) he tries to call you baby, but you veto it, stating the age difference as a reason. he tries to tease you, occasionally calling you kid and kiddo until you stop calling him honey and start only referring to him as old man.

older!dean absolutely loses it when you get hurt. you go on a hunt with sam, despite your boyfriend’s protests at getting left behind, and when sam calls as a heads up that you’re injured, he’s an anxious mess until you reach the bunker. you walk through the door bruised and a little bloodied, and he’s all over you. he doesn’t leave you alone, even after you’ve been cleaned up and ordered to rest by sam. he’s constantly touching you, either holding your hand or rubbing comforting circles on your hip. even when you heal he’s hesitant to let you out of his sight again, stating in the middle of a dark night while he holds you close that he can’t lose you.

things with older!dean start out soft and pretty vanilla, as he doesn’t want to push you or hurt you. he’s so caring and gentle with you, making sure you enjoy yourself and holding you close and making sure you finish first.

when older!dean finds out you’re just as freaky as he is, it’s over for you. he’s relentless, testing new things with you almost every night. youre sure you’ve tried every position by now, but dean’s favourite is a tossup between missionary, where he can watch your face as he all but pounds into you, and cowgirl, where he can watch as you tire yourself out on top of him (being able to see your tits bounce is also a bonus).

older!dean loves it when you suck him off but let’s be honest: he’s a huge munch. he’s eaten you out in more places than you can count, including (probably) every surface in the bunker, the backseat and driver’s seat of the impala, countless motel rooms and even a few diner restrooms.

older!dean has trouble letting you take control sometimes. he feels a little strange, given the age gap between you, but when you do get chance? he loves it. being completely under your control, letting you do whatever you want? it’s like a dream come true for him. but, despite how many times you start on top, it always ends with him snapping his hips up into you or flipping you over and finishing what you started.

older!dean loves it when he gets to see just how much bigger he is than you. when he can hold your waist and his hand seems to just dwarf you, or when he has you in his lap and his hands cover your hips completely. he especially loves watching as he takes you, and when his large hand wraps around your throat with just enough pressure for you to feel it.

regardless of how vanilla or how insane the sex is, older!dean never misses a second of aftercare. he’s always right there, with either a warm bath or a damp cloth depending on how tired you are. he’ll massage your thighs after they’re spent from riding him or comb out the tangles he made in your hair, whispering sweet nothings to you and holding you like you’re fragile because, to him, you are. even when he’s let you take the reins, he holds you close as you drift off to sleep, pressing gentle kisses on your face and tracing his hand down your back.

[sixeyesonathiel]

call it first aid

pairing — underground boxer satoru x nurse reader

satoru gojo wins every fight under the lights—but somehow, he only ever shows up bruised and smirking at your door when he wants to lose. between your fussing fingers and his maddening grin, ointment turns into foreplay, tension coils tight, and soon enough, it’s the mattress doing all the talking while you forget who was supposed to be in control. wc — 2.3k

it starts with you threatening to break his nose.

not because of the bruises sprawled across his ribs or the split above his brow—but because he’s done it again. shown up unannounced, all bloodied and beaming, like a living, breathing disaster movie premiering in your damn hallway. your floor’s probably stained with his blood at this point, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

"you have got to be the dumbest man alive," you snap, looming over him with a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic, knuckles tight with irritation. your fingers are steady, precise—years of nursing instinct—but your tone drips venom. "are you trying to die, or do you just like making my life a waking nightmare?"

satoru, infuriatingly unfazed, just grins. there’s a glint in his eyes—mischievous and stupidly fond—and the bruises blooming along his cheekbone only seem to accentuate it. he looks like he lost a bar brawl and liked it. silver hair damp, curling at the tips, streaked with red from the cut at his temple. his chest rises with slow, deliberate breaths, still flushed from exertion. the corner of his mouth twitches with every inhale, like he’s holding back another wisecrack.

“third option,” he says, fingers drumming along the mattress edge. his hand twitches between taps—restless, like he’s got something to say but would rather tease. “maybe i just like seeing you like this. bossy, scowling. real cute when you’re mad.”

“bite me,” you snap.

“maybe after i’m done being a good patient.”

“you are two seconds away from a lobotomy,” you grit out, brushing a thumb beneath the fresh gash. he winces, but the grin doesn’t budge.

“ooh. medical threats. my favorite.”

his grin stretches wider when you swat at his arm. not that hard, but enough to show you’re done playing nice. he lets out an exaggerated gasp and collapses back against the bed like you’ve just shot him point-blank. his legs flop dramatically over the edge, socks half-on and mismatched.

"abuse," he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes. “unbelievable. and after everything i’ve suffered.”

“what you’ve suffered,” you mutter, leaning in to clean the gash on his forehead. “you mean the injuries you got for fun?”

his voice is muffled by his arm. “for glory.”

“for attention.”

he peeks at you from under his lashes, pout dramatic. “maybe i just missed you.”

your hands pause. just a beat. then, you're back to dabbing, more aggressive than before. he hisses.

“good,” you say, clearly unapologetic. “serves you right.”

his fingers brush against your knee absentmindedly, tracing lazy circles against the fabric of your scrub pants. when you glance down, he’s watching you. less teasing now. a little softer. it makes your throat tighten.

"you’re staring," you murmur without looking up.

“yeah,” he breathes. “you’re hot when you’re mad.”

“i’m always mad when you’re around.”

“lucky me, then.”

you roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder, but he catches your wrist halfway. the movement is fluid, instinctual—like muscle memory. your breath stutters just as he tugs, and you’re off-balance, toppling with a startled yelp.

“satoru, don’t you—!”

but you’re already falling, dragged into the mess of rumpled sheets and warm skin. he flips you with ease, laughing low in his chest, pinning you underneath him. your wrists are caught above your head in one of his large hands, his body caging yours like he’s done this a hundred times—and he has.

his grin is boyish, smug, the corners of his lips twitching, but there’s a flicker of focus in his eyes. the kind that knows every inch of you—every twitch of your lip, every breath you draw in before you mouth off. strands of white-silver hair fall into his eyes, glinting under the yellow bedroom light. his lashes flutter slightly as he leans in, nose nearly brushing yours.

“you done playing rough?”

“not even close,” you growl, twisting beneath him.

your thighs lock around his hips and you try to throw him off with a sharp jerk of your body—but he moves with you, shifting his weight, pressing down harder. he’s annoyingly strong, and way too comfortable like this. his breath fans across your cheek, warm and uneven. there’s a bead of sweat that trails from his temple down the curve of his jaw.

“fuck you,” you snarl.

“mmm,” he hums, eyes dropping to your lips, “later.”

his grip tightens slightly when you squirm again, testing his hold. your glare falters when his voice drops, low and teasing, with something hotter simmering just beneath it. “careful,” he warns, mock-gentle. “keep moving like that and i’m gonna think you like being under me.”

you flush, jaw tightening. “let go.”

he tilts his head. “say please.”

“drop dead.”

“already did. in love with you.”

that shuts you up. your scowl weakens, but your eyes are still fierce. your breathing is shallow now, and his is starting to match it, both of you caught somewhere between playful and perilous.

he leans in, nose brushing against your cheek, and whispers against your jaw, “you gonna take responsibility for roughing me up, pretty girl?”

his voice is low and rough around the edges, but his hand—resting beside your head—trembles just slightly. he’s holding back. always does with you. you can feel it in the way he’s hovering, not quite pressing down all the way, in the tension coiled in his back and the unspoken question in his eyes.

you want to snark something back. tell him off. but your words crumble, dissolve somewhere between the brush of his lips against your pulse and the way he’s looking at you like he’d bleed all over your floors a thousand times if it meant ending up right here.

his hips shift subtly, slotting neatly between your thighs. his cock presses against your core, hot and insistent through the layers of your clothes. he breathes through his nose sharply, jaw flexing as if trying to focus on anything else.

you squirm, expression twitching between indignation and something more vulnerable. your glare falters, lips parting. “satoru—!”

“what?” he murmurs, lashes fluttering, lower lip jutting in mock hurt. his eyes flicker to your mouth, and he swallows thickly. “you started it.”

you want to argue, really, but your retort fizzles when his mouth skims along your jaw. his breath ghosts hot against your cheek, uneven, and when his teeth scrape your neck, your lashes flutter, breath hitching as he whispers, “you gonna take responsibility for roughing me up, pretty girl?”

you’re about to say something smart—really—but his free hand’s already pushing up your nightdress, fingers grazing the damp lace of your panties before tugging them aside. suddenly your thoughts are gone, completely, as he drags the tip of his cock along your slick slit, teasing, lazy, grinning, smearing your arousal over his swollen head.

“still mad at me, nurse?” he murmurs, voice hoarse from the fight. “’cause i think i deserve a little reward for winning.”

“winning?” you snap, trying to sound angry, but your thighs are already trembling around his hips. “you came back with your eyebrow split open.”

“and you’re here,” he says, pinning your wrists again above your head like it’s nothing. “patching me up. touching me so sweet. kinda seems like i won, baby.”

you open your mouth to argue—but his cock’s already pressing between your folds, fat and heavy and searingly warm against your dripping cunt. it drags up your slit slow, deliberate, reverent—like he’s savoring every millimeter, like he knows exactly what he’s about to do to you. the head of him nudges your clit on the way up, sending a jolt through your hips, slick coating his shaft. your breath stutters. your back arches, toes curling. your eyes flutter shut, lashes trembling on your cheeks—

until his hand snaps around your jaw.

“uh-uh,” he murmurs, low and hot against your lips, thumb pressing into your cheek, pinky grazing your pulse. his breath brushes your skin like heat rising off pavement. “eyes on me. want you to watch when i split your tight pussy open.”

your lashes flicker. your pupils bloom wide. you open your eyes, dazed, heart hammering. he’s right there—so close you can count each pale lash stuck to his damp cheekbone. his gaze is locked on yours—ice blue turned pitch at the edges, pupils blown wide with hunger, reverence, need. you nod, slow, shaky.

then he pushes in.

you choke on a gasp. your entire body goes taut, back snapping into a high arch, thighs tensing around his waist. the stretch burns—hot and overwhelming, his thick cock forcing your walls to yield with a wet squelch. your cunt flutters, straining to take him. he’s thick. too thick. your heels dig into the mattress. his groan rumbles through his chest, lips parted, sweat beading at his temples. he bows his head, snow-white hair clinging to his forehead in damp, messy strands.

“shit,” he breathes, voice strained. his hips roll forward in small, careful thrusts, giving you time. his hands tighten around your wrists, knuckles pale. his lashes flutter, eyes half-lidded and glassy. your body squirms involuntarily under him, searching for relief, unable to speak—only soft, helpless whimpers fall from your lips.

“you feel that, baby?” he whispers, voice gone rough, as his forehead tips to yours. “feel how fuckin’ deep i am in your soaked little cunt?”

his thumb strokes over your temple, soothing, gentle. his lips brush the corner of your mouth, soft and warm, completely at odds with the way he’s stretching your pulsing pussy. he watches every twitch in your expression, every breath caught between your teeth.

“so pretty like this,” he murmurs, hoarse and reverent. “all folded up. all mine.”

“n-no—” you gasp, though your legs lock around him like chains. “i’m—still mad at you—”

the corner of his mouth ticks up, smug and wicked.

“yeah?” he says—then slams into you. your cry is strangled. the bed rocks beneath you. your spine bows off the mattress, fingers spasming in his grip. he pulls back, and does it again. harder.

“you sure?” he pants, voice thick with amusement. sweat glistens down his chest. his grin is feral now, wild and flashing. his hips snap forward, sharp and deep, punching the air from your lungs.

he finds a rhythm—brutal, perfect. each thrust hits deep, rocking through your core, dragging moans and hiccups from your lips. the headboard slams against the wall in time with his pace, and the room fills with the obscene sound of slick skin on skin, your wet pussy smacking around his cock.

you try to speak—really, you do—but each attempt shatters into whimpers. your back arches. your arms tremble in his hold. he watches you like he’s starving, like each flicker of your lashes feeds something primal inside him.

his hand leaves your wrist to grab your thigh, folding it tight against your chest. the new angle punches a cry from your throat—high, breathless. he groans, jaw flexing, as he slams in harder, his cockhead kissing your cervix.

“such a fuckin’ mess down here,” he growls, gaze devouring your face. “and we’re just getting started.”

it builds too fast. the tension in your belly coils tight, electricity crawling up your spine. you clamp down, thighs locking around him, whole body curling into the sensation—

and then it crashes. your orgasm hits like a riptide. your body convulses, thighs shaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream. your cunt milks him, spasming, wetness gushing around his cock in hot, sticky spurts. your toes curl. your vision goes white.

“fuck, there she is,” he moans, forehead pressing into yours, breath catching. “knew you were close. knew you’d break so sweet.”

but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even slow. he wraps an arm under your back, hauling you closer. your cheek brushes his shoulder, nose buried against the salty curve of his neck. the other hand slips between you—his fingers find your clit, cruel and skilled, circling hard and fast over your swollen bud.

“one more,” he growls, panting. “gimme one more, baby. i know you can.”

you sob, shaking your head—your body says otherwise. your hips buck. your back bows again. tears spill down your temples, pooling into your hair. you’re babbling now, incoherent and trembling.

he drives into you harder. your body rocks with every thrust, pushed to the edge. every nerve screams. you can’t breathe. can’t think.

then the second orgasm hits—sharper, meaner. your thighs quake. your mouth drops open with a strangled wail as your body clenches around him. wetness splashes between you, drenching your thighs, his stomach, the sheets. you’re squirting—legs spasming, muscles seizing. your hands claw uselessly at the air.

he stills, stunned. “ohhh fuck,” he breathes, staring down at the slick mess between you. “you—baby—look at you. ruined. holy shit.”

your chest heaves, throat raw. your eyes are unfocused, lashes wet. every inch of you trembles, spent—but he’s not done.

he dips his head, tongue dragging up your throat. then he bites—a soft, possessive nip over your pulse point. his hands drag down your body, mapping every inch, claiming every curve. he thrusts through your aftershocks, slow but relentless, cock still hard in your pulsing cunt.

“gonna cum inside,” he groans, nearly slurring. “gonna fill your tight pussy up. fuck, baby, you want that, huh? want me to breed you? make you mine?”

you nod—no, sob, a desperate sound wrenched from deep in your chest. your nails scrape his shoulders weakly. he thrusts again, deep, punishing—

he cums with a broken groan. his hips stutter. his body locks above you, trembling. he buries himself to the hilt, twitching inside you as he spills hot, thick ropes deep into your womb.

his body slumps. his head drops to your shoulder. his breath fans over your damp skin in hot, uneven waves. his hair clings to your collarbone, soaked. inside you, he’s still pulsing, still impossibly thick.

he kisses your cheek—once, twice. barely there. “...still mad at me?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your mouth opens, lips trembling, but no sound comes out. your thighs twitch, stomach muscles fluttering.

his hand drifts between your legs, fingers brushing over your soaked, cum-slick slit. your hips jolt, breath catching. he laughs quietly against your skin.

“thought so,” he whispers, voice still rough. “good thing i’ve got stamina to spare.”

a/n: i wrote this with my legs crossed and my dignity hanging on by a thread. satoru gojo if you're out there, pls. i am but a humble citizen with a high pain tolerance and a very available schedule. take me to poundtown and leave no survivors 😭🙏🏻

[faithsmadhouse]

Hostile Environment||John Walker (U.S. Agent) x fem!Reader

Word count: 939

Summary—you and John hate each other but when one messes up on the mission and gets separated from the rest of the team you distract yourself from the only way you can…by hate fucking.

Content Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers, raw unprotected sex, rough handling, wall sex, degradation/praise mix, name-calling, biting, possessiveness, after-mission injuries, light blood, unresolved sexual tension, post-sex denial of feelings.

The reinforced steel door slammed shut behind you, the magnetic lock hissing into place.

“Shit,” you hissed, pressing your back to the cold wall. Your shoulder burned—shrapnel, maybe—but you weren’t bleeding out. Just trapped. With him.

“Well done, sweetheart,” John muttered, pacing the length of the ruined corridor. “Next time, maybe don’t blow the goddamn exit before we’ve both cleared it.”

You scoffed. “Next time, maybe keep your head down instead of playing hero. I was busy not getting shot.”

His eyes cut toward you, jaw clenched. “I am the hero.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “You’re a jackboot with a broken moral compass.”

John stopped in front of you, chest heaving, sweat streaking grime across his face. “You’ve got a real mouth on you.”

“Yeah? You’ve got a real stick up your ass.”

The silence between you snapped tight, strung up on static and heat and bruised adrenaline. You’d been at each other’s throats since the Thunderbolts first formed—barking, biting, circling like dogs with nowhere to run. Now it was just the two of you. Trapped underground. Hours until extraction. Armed to the teeth with tension.

His gaze dipped—just for a second. Over your chest. The torn fabric. The bloodstain. And then back up.

“You’re hurt,” he said roughly.

“No shit, genius.”

“I should look at it.”

“I’d rather bleed out.”

That made him grin—sharp and humorless. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Good. Because you’re a fucking headache.”

He was in front of you before you could blink, grabbing your wrist, pushing you back into the wall not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to say I’m done playing nice. You didn’t flinch. You never flinched.

“You gonna swing at me, soldier boy?” you taunted, lips curling.

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Not unless you want me to.”

That was the last thing either of you said before it happened.

You surged forward. He met you halfway. Teeth, tongue, bruising lips and the taste of blood and dust. Your hands shoved his chestplate off, uncaring where it clattered. His hands ripped your vest open, fingers greedy over skin, tugging until fabric tore.

“God, you’re such a bitch,” he snarled against your mouth, grabbing your ass and hauling you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, nails scraping over the buzzed edge of his hair.

“And you’re a cocky, overcompensating prick,” you gasped, biting his lip so hard he groaned.

He slammed you against the wall. Concrete bit into your back. His fingers were already undoing his belt, fumbling with your pants. Too fast, too frantic to be careful.

“You want this?” he growled.

You grabbed his jaw, forcing his face close. “If you stop now, I’ll kill you.”

That was all he needed.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw spit-slick, pants shoved halfway down, bodies bruised from battle and still aching for more. John thrust into you like he had something to prove, like every grunt and growl and curse was another point scored.

You clawed at his back, dug your heels into his flak jacket, rode the pain like a wave. “Harder, you asshole,” you panted, forehead pressed to his.

He laughed darkly. “Bossy little thing. Bet you get off on barking orders.”

“Bet you cry after sex.”

He fucked you harder.

Your breath hitched as he bottomed out, thick and burning, scraping your walls raw. “Fuck—”

“That’s right,” he hissed. “Take it. Just like that. Loudmouth bitch can’t shut up unless she’s full of cock, huh?”

You moaned, biting down on his shoulder so hard he cursed again. He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. Just gripped your hips tighter and rutted up into you like he hated the way you felt too good.

You met him thrust for thrust, eyes rolling back when his pelvis ground against your clit. “Fucking—God, John—”

His name on your tongue nearly undid him.

“Say it again,” he demanded, hand wrapping around your throat—not choking, just holding. Possessive. Wild.

You hissed through your teeth, hips rolling. “John. Walker. You fuck like you fight—messy.”

That made him growl.

“I’m gonna cum in you,” he said, low and filthy. “You’ll feel it for days.”

You didn’t stop him.

Didn’t want to.

You clenched around him, thighs shaking. “Do it,” you whispered. “Fucking do it.”

He kissed you hard when he came—snarling into your mouth, hips twitching, warmth flooding you in thick, pulsing waves.

You followed seconds later, stars bursting behind your eyes, body tensed and boneless all at once. It left you breathless, panting, still clinging to him like you might fall if you let go.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just breathing. Skin slick. Minds racing.

Then—

“Get off,” you mumbled.

He stepped back reluctantly, slipping out of you with a grunt. You winced. Your legs nearly gave out. He caught you before you hit the ground, muttering, “Don’t flatter yourself—I just don’t want to explain your corpse to Ross.”

You shoved his chest. “Still a prick.”

He grinned. “Still wet for me.”

You huffed, turning away, yanking your pants back up. “This meant nothing.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I still can’t stand you.”

But when you turned your back, he looked at you like he already missed the weight of you around him. Like he didn’t hate the way you said his name.

You both ignored it.

[peascribbles]

sylus x gn!reader, menstruating reader, domestic fluff, sfw

Operation: defend your ice cream stash from Sylus begins today.

You've had enough of finding a barren desert in the freezer, devoid of sweet treats. He always leaves the evidence of his crimes for you to uncover. Bowl and spoon in the sink, slick with the melting remnants. Discarded tub peeking out the trash bin. The occasional note with a devilish winky face on the countertop. Each a cruel twist of the knife.

Your grief is doubly felt when he deprives you of life's one joy during your period. No, it doesn't matter that he always restocks the freezer til it struggles to close right after. It's the principle of the robbery in the first place that incenses you.

Luke and Kieran sneak in a clandestine package under the cover of morning, while he's still asleep. Inside is a world class, custom built, state-of-the-art safe you've commissioned for this express purpose; constructed using antimatter coated steel to dissuade him from blasting it open with his Evol.

You have no doubts about his ability to break into things the normal way, so you've designed the safe to have multiple doors which protect its contents.

For appearances only, the outer door is a mundane dial lock. He'll crack it in maybe two seconds flat. What it should do is ping your phone and alert you to the imminent break in attempt. Behind it are a series of increasingly difficult cryptographic puzzles that must be solved within a minute to proceed.

The safe's final bulwark is a stroke of genius, if you say so yourself; a singing test with an inbuilt microphone where he must stay reasonably in pitch. An assuredly insurmountable trial for him, and therefore, an impenetrable defense for your precious desserts from his bottomless gluttony.

With the twins' help, you manoeuvre the safe into the freezer. You place your last tub of ice cream into it and perform the necessary double- and triple checks. Bolts are secured. Puzzles are set and ready to go. Microphone tested to ensure it's functional.

You leave for work daring to hope for the best.

—

Hours teetering on the edge of your seat. Paranoia mounting with the radio silence. You should be happy. It could be he's decided to leave your treat alone, but it can't be that easy. You're well aware of just how tenacious and greedy he can be.

Your phone pings during your lunch break.

Determined to catch Sylus red handed, you leap into action, pulling it out of your pocket. Your finger is a millimetre away from pressing the speed dial when you notice that the notification isn't from the safe's alarm system.

It's a message from him.

The food you just ate lurches in your stomach. That can't be good. You tap to view it, the stirrings of trepidation and resignation joining your barely-digested meal.

He's sent an image of the safe. The dial lock is busted open, all the cryptographic puzzles solved. Both outcomes within the realm of possibilities you considered. Your piece de resistance, the singing challenge, is still intact, so why..?

Ah. A perfect circle has been cut into the side of the safe. Its contents empty. You spot the tub in the foreground, also empty.

Cut off in the corner of the picture is a perplexing device you don't quite recognise. From what you can tell, it looks like a gun without a barrel or a trigger.

His accompanying voice message plays.

Nice try, sweetie. He sounds breathless, as if he's been laughing too hard. The mirth that brightens his voice is infectious, and though you want to be mad right now, a pleasant warmth and the beginnings of a smile tugs at your cheeks. I do wonder where you found a manufacturer willing to do antimatter coating for a... personal project such as this. Flipping through his business contacts while he was away, of course. That thing is a gold mine.

Ringing sharp through your speaker, two solid objects clink together. Teeth against a spoon. However, the microphone you installed must not be working. No matter how well I performed, it never let me in. A pleased noise from the back of his throat. This flavour's delicious, by the way.

How shameless of him to eat your ice cream while he recorded this—this declaration of victory, you realise. He's gloating. Feasting on his bounty. Oh, when you get home, you're going to—

Before you plan your revenge, let me propose a moratorium, his voice message continues, reading your mind. Why does he always do that? I've seen your sincere efforts to protect what's valuable to you. So, I won't touch your ice cream for a month. Use it to refine your defenses.

I'll give you a few hints to start: find better quality antimatter next time. And you did forget about the extensive tools in the workshop.

You finally recognise the object on the counter.

The freezer's already been refilled. See you at home, sweetie. The message ends with an indulgent chuckle.

His words don't register for a solid minute. You're reeling from this latest revelation. Just to steal your ice cream—

He used a fucking laser gun to cut a hole in the safe?

If a puny laser was able to penetrate the coating, then his Evol would have torn it like paper. Which means he went out of his way to go to the basement workshop, retrieve the laser gun, and cut a hole in it, because he could.

You're doing two things when you get home.

One, send a complaint to the manufacturer for a shoddy product.

And two, have some of that ice cream when he's not looking.

This operation has been a failure of unimaginable proportion, but no matter; you have a month to plot and plan. You'll come back stronger than ever.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠

summary: Logan fucks you with one of his cigars.

pairing: Logan Howlett x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. smut. object insertion -> unlit cigar. don't try this at home. wc: 509

an: welp, here i am, writing about object insertion once again. first time writing Logan despite pining for him since 2000. thanks to @missredherring for having no qualms about being fucked with a cigar. you're a real one.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬

Logan lands a heavy thumb on your clit and swirls the tiny button producing an excess of slick from your glistening sex. "Want 'er nice n' wet." He brazenly informs while puffing on a lit cigar nestled between his lips.

Earlier, he tempted you into his bedroom with a grin; you didn't notice the new box of cigars tucked under his arm. He softly commanded you to lie on his bed and to hold your legs apart.

"I wanna try somethin'."

You should've known how this would turn out when he stood between your thighs and brought one of the fresh cigars to his nose, smelling it like a predator catching whiff of wounded prey.

He teases the head of an uncapped cigar along your puffy, slick opening and slowly drags the blunt end up and down, making sure to gather as much sticky arousal as he can before pushing into your warmth. "There ya go, you can take it."

The pressure is noticeable as it glides across your velvet walls. The cigar is as thick as one of Logan's fingers and grazes all the right spots as he languidly fucks you with it. "Wanna taste ya all day long."

Your stomach cramps at the thought of how inappropriate it was to be fucked with such an object, not to mention the fact that Logan would be puffing away on your pussy soaked cigar in front of people.

"Come on, kid. Drench it." Logan commands, making your cunt clench hard as he rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and forces you to come with no chance of denial.

He husks immoral praise while he continues to thrust the cigar deeper, staining it with your arousal until you try to clamp your thighs together and push at his forearms, overwrought with mind-numbing bliss. "Logan, please," you whimper pitifully as your cunt beats in time with your heart.

He smirks before sliding the cigar from your heat, eliciting a soft, relieved groan from your chest. You watch in awe as he raises and inspects the cigar. It's effectively soaked, dripping with your creamy arousal, and the thought makes you lightheaded.

Logan plucks the old cigar he was puffing on from his mouth and eagerly replaces it with the one just inside you. He cuts the cigar cap with a butterfly blade he keeps stowed in his pocket before flicking his lighter; the foot sizzles, burning like the sun before he takes a few cautious drags and tongues the freshly sodded head. Earthy smoke swirls from his mouth as he leers down at you like a dragon fresh after a kill.

"Fuckin' delicious," he mutters. The words are garbled, barely coherent, over the cigar before he rolls it to the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

A weak laugh breezes out of your throat, and you shake your head with bewilderment before two brute hands catch you by surprise and wedge your knees apart. Logan splays your thighs wide open with a wicked smile.

"Got 9 more to go, bub."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[levigarden999]

nice shot 𝜗ৎ gamer!nagi x reader

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ theme : you distract nagi ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ warnings : smut , oralsex!male receiving , choking , sloppy , blowjob , +18

nagi was sitting at his computer, a controller in his hands and a blue headset on. his white hair was a little more disheveled than normally, which obviously indicated that he had played the whole damn day. again.

his half-lidded eyes lazily scanned the screen as the fortnite characters ran around the fields, nagi’s facial expressions not changing one bit even if he shot someone or was about to be shot himself. he just stayed there, slumped, like a damn sloth. an attractive sloth, at that.

”seiii-” you whined. desperately needing nagi’s attention, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck from the back.

”what, doll?” he asked with that soft and caring, yet so nonchalant tone.

you could here reo cursing distantly from his headphones.

”what can i do to end your session? you’ve been at that for hours” you continued whining as your eyes scanned the screen where his character currently flew to another battle from the bus. you placed your nose against the skin of his neck, softly smelling the sweet yet musky scent that lingered on his pale skin.

”i’ll quit soon. just one more game” nagi answered lazily, his eyes never leaving the screen. you wondered how was it even possible he was so damn ripped when all he did was sit at his computer all day? not to mention how skilled he was at soccer, he barely even practiced.

”sei, where are you? there’s nothing here” you heard reo speaking again from the other side of the line. he always played fortnite with nagi, even though reo apparently hated the game.

”at the lowest floor. i found a chest” nagi answered with a casual tone as he currently picked the whatever stuff the chest gave him.

suddenly, you got an idea.

you moved away from behind him, crouched down and crawled underneath the desk in front of him.

without even glancing at you, nagi began to speak ”doll, what are  you-” but he was quickly interrupted by the sound of his pants being unzipped.

”sei? is your girlfriend there?” you heard reo ask, with small disdain in his voice. he never learnt to like you, because you practically stole nagi from him. or that’s how he felt, at least.

”i- um, yeah, she’s- uh, studying” nagi quickly said and for the first time today, you heard his voice waver a little. bingo.

you smirked as he shifted to allow you to pull his pants down, and you did so. you could already see the semi-hard outline of his thick cock from under the fabric of his boxers.

you began to slowly and teasingly palm his cock through the warm fabric and you felt him twitch. you knew you had to remain quiet and careful, nagi would absolutely die from embarrassment if reo realized what was going on.

”look out, reo, someone’s in the building” nagi said and as you looked at him, you noticed a slight clench of his normally relaxed jaw. even his voice sounded a little more urgent than normally.

you slowly lowered his boxers as well, his freed cock immediately slapping against his stomach. his tip was already flushed pink, the delicious pale shaft slightly throbbing as the blood rushed through the thick veins.

it seemed like he had a slight kink for dangerous play like this.

you wrapped your fingers around the flushed tip, teasingly rubbing circles on the most sensitive part of his body. nagi shifted his hips, obviously telling you to go on.

you looked up at him as you kissed his tip, sucking the small leak of salty precum from his cock which made his muscular thighs tighten under your elbows. fuck, it was so hot.

you heard the way his fingers moved fast on the controller as you slowly stroked his shaft now while suckling on his tip.

”reo, take that one-” nagi spoke but his voice was cut off with you suddenly taking his whole damn lenght down your throat. he inhaled sharply and for once you saw those damn lazy eyes widening and glancing down at you. his pale cheeks were slightly flushed, that pretty mouth agape with lust.

”what?” reo asked with mild confusion.

”um-, the one, in the backyard” nagi quickly continued, his voice a little shaky now. you pumped your mouth on his cock, your lips tightly wrapped around the skin there as you enjoyed the feeling of a fat cock making your jaw ache. your tongue licked the underside while you effectively drooled all over him, allowing less friction and more sloppiness.

”there’s no one there, idiot. are you okay?” reo huffed, with genuine concern.

your eyes shut closed now as you barely managed to take him down your throat, his tip pressing annoyingly against the back of your mouth. even your lips were aching at this point as you sucked him with all the possible force and skill you had, and you felt his hips and thighs beginning to tremble under your arms.

”y-yes, just, i thought someone was there” nagi answered with obviously through gritted teeth. he was holding back a moan – no – a whimper. his voice was softer and whinier than usually, obviously doing his all to prevent a desperate whine escaping him.

nagi shifted again and he slightly began to pump his hips, obviously looking for more pleasure. his cock hit the back of your throat now, a few tears glistening in your eyes at this point as you pulled back with a wet plop.

nagi let out a small shaky breath and once you opened your eyes, the man was literally sweating. a couple drops of sweat was falling down his forehead, his mouth still agape and eyes hazed with lust. he glanced down at you again and his eyebrows furrowed desperately – he was silently pleading for more.

you only smirked and did a long, teasing lick from the bottom to the top, while never breaking the eye contact with him. he bit his lips together, and desperately shifted his hips once more.

you then sucked him all the way in again, your lips tightly wrapped around his throbbing shaft while your hand groped his balls. you couldn't help but let out a small moan yourself as your lips were coated with your own saliva which dripped down his cock so tantalizingly.

suddenly, you felt a shaky hand grabbing your hair and pushing you all the way down on his length - making you gag from the sudden pressure. nagi's hand guided your head up and down now, the sting on your scalp and the feeling of his cock down your throat making your eyes fill with tears again. you managed to glance up at him, and the way he was staring at you intently with half-lidded eyes and blushed cheeks told you everything you needed to know - he was fucking close.

”watch out, sei!” you suddenly heard reo’s louder tone, which snapped nagi back to the game. he quickly pulled his hand back and focused on the screen, but you didn't stop.

you choked on his cock and kneaded his balls with one firm hand, making his jaw clench and cock pulse. it didn't take more than two seconds until you felt warm ropes of cum spilling down your throat and the inside of cheeks, successfully filling your mouth.

with a shaky, needy exhale and a few faster clicks on his controller, he apparently killed someone while filling your mouth with hot seed.

”nice shot” reo chuckled.

yes. a nice shot indeed.

[papayainsectorone]

Emotional Support Stranger

summary: stranded in a late-night airport hellscape with a dying phone and a delayed flight, you are one sarcastic comment away from a breakdown—until an unexpected laugh from the guy in front of her sparks an unlikely connection.

content: no real warnings

airport purgatory vibes™, emotional damage via sleep deprivation, crying in public (but make it sexy?), strangers-to-deliriously-flirty-to-???, phone battery anxiety, surprise first class reveal??, “wait... are you famous?” energy, terminal-based emotional intimacy, light angst, one shared headphone

word count: 3.3k

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!reader

You're standing in line at the rebooking desk, the strap of your carry-on digging into your shoulder like it’s punishing you for booking with this airline in the first place. Your phone's at 7%. Your charger is buried under everything you packed for what was supposed to be a nice trip, now turned emotional survival exercise. 

The clerk ahead of you looks like she'd rather be anywhere else on Earth. 

You're trying not to cry. 

Really, you are. 

You keep chewing the inside of your cheek, eyes burning as the guy in front of you hands back your passport and ticket with the words: 

“Thanks. Have a nice flight.” 

It breaks you. Not all the way, not loudly—but enough that the sarcasm slips out before you can stop it. 

“Yeah, hope it crashes.” 

Silence for a second. Then a laugh—quick and startled. 

You glance up, tense, expecting judgment. 

Instead, he’s smiling. 

And not in a mocking way. It’s this crooked little grin like he wasn’t expecting to laugh today, but you just made him. 

He’s... hot. You notice that, but not first. First, you notice how real he seems in a sea of people who are all pretending not to lose it. His hoodie’s a little wrinkled. His curls are a mess. He has dark circles under his eyes like you do. He’s leaning on the handle of his suitcase like he’s been here a while too. 

“Bit dark,” he says, voice light but low. 

You exhale—half a laugh, half frustration. “I’ve been in this line for hours, my flight’s delayed indefinitely, and the dude behind the other counter just told the guy two people ahead that the next flight out might be tomorrow.” 

You tilt your head toward the heavens—well, toward the buzzing lights—and add, “So, yeah. I'm in a bit of a mood.” 

“Fair.” He nudges your arm gently with his elbow. “You looked like you were about to leap over the desk. I was rooting for you.” 

Your laugh this time is more genuine, and your posture shifts just a little relieved not to feel entirely alone in your disaster. 

“Where are you headed?” he asks. 

You sigh. “San Fernando International. Supposed to be working.” 

He raises an eyebrow, then deadpans, “Maybe this is fate.” 

You scoff. “Or just hell with extra layovers.” 

That earns a grin. “That too.” 

You’re finally done with the rebooking desk. 

They couldn’t get you on another flight. Couldn’t even guarantee the one you’re already booked on will go at some point. They handed you a sorry-looking meal voucher like it was a prize for surviving airport purgatory. 

You spot him a few rows down—hood up now, slouched in one of those hard plastic seats by the gate, his suitcase serving as a footrest.

Without thinking much about it, you walk over and drop yourself into the seat beside him. 

It’s not graceful. More like a slow collapse. 

You lean your head back against the metal wall behind you, closing your eyes. 

“Bad news?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. “Worse. No news.” 

He exhales a laugh, not because it’s funny but because everything feels like a cosmic joke now. 

You crack your eyes open and glance at him sideways. “What time is it?” 

He checks his watch. “2:57.” 

“AM,” you clarify. 

“Yep.” 

You groan and rub your face. Your phone’s been dead for an hour, and the outlet near your seat refuses to cooperate, blinking out the second you plug in your charger. 

You try it again anyway, just in case the universe suddenly decided to cut you some slack. 

Nope. Still dead. 

He chuckles. 

You look at him. “Are you at least entertained? Or is your Spotify saving your life?” 

He holds up one earbud. “A bit of both.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

He hesitates... and then offers the other bud. 

You blink. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Better than both of us being miserable.” 

You take it. 

The bud is warm from his ear and weirdly, you don’t mind. There’s something oddly intimate about it, like sharing a hoodie or a private joke. 

The music is something soft. Guitar, a little lo-fi beat under it. 

“Okay,” you say, settling back, letting your arm rest between you, not quite touching his. “I expected, like... EDM.” 

He huffs. “And you seem like the type to listen to... what? Heartbreak ballads in a coffee shop?” 

You smile. “Only sometimes.” 

The next track fades in. You don’t know it, but it fits. Everything slows a little. 

You're both still for a while, music filling the space between you. 

Then, he clears his throat, quiet. “You know... I can deal with it if you need to rant. About the flight. Or the apocalypse-level service desk. Or life in general.” 

You laugh softly, your head turning toward him. “Are you offering yourself up as an emotional support stranger?” 

He grins. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

You let out a breath. “Okay. Here goes.” 

And once you start, you don’t stop. 

About the mess at the gate. The rude lady who snapped at you like your very presence was an inconvenience. About your power bank dying. About the overpriced water bottle. About how the vending machine ate your last coin and gave you nothing. 

You don’t think he’d laugh so hard at that, but he does genuinely, hand-over-mouth, eyes-creasing laugh. 

When you finally sigh again and slump further into your seat, he says, “Feel better?” 

You nod. “Weirdly, yeah.” 

He glances over, soft smile still lingering. “So… what work got you flying at ungodly hours?” 

You huff, eyes flicking up to the departure board like it might remind you where you’re even going. “Conference. I’m in engineering.” 

His brows raise. “Oh, cool. What kind?” 

That’s all it takes. 

You don’t even realize how fast your words come, about structures and materials and that one project you’re working on that somehow turned into your entire personality for the past three months. You don’t even register how animated you are, hands gesturing slightly, voice picking up momentum like a train rounding a bend. 

You don’t notice, because he never interrupts. Never glances away. Just watches you with this sort of quiet focus that makes it feel like everything you're saying matters. 

You only pause when your throat goes dry and you realize you're smiling a little too hard. 

“Oh my god. I’ve been talking for, like—what? Ten minutes straight?” 

He laughs softly. “More like fifteen.” 

Your face flushes. “Why didn’t you stop me?” 

He leans his head against the metal wall, smiling crookedly. “Didn’t want to. You look happy when you talk about it.” 

That stops you. In a gentle way. 

He shrugs like he didn’t just knock the breath out of you a little. “I like people who light up.” 

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just smile and nudge his shoulder with yours. 

And then—quietly—you say, “What about you? Why’re you flying?” 

His mouth quirks a bit. “Work too.” 

“What kind?” 

He hesitates, eyes flicking away for the first time. “It’s a bit... niche.” 

You nod, not pressing. There’s a flicker of something behind his expression—not embarrassment exactly, just a desire to stay in this moment where things feel easy, where no names or titles are needed. 

So you don’t push. You just smile gently and shift the topic. 

The conversation meanders from there. One of you asks something small, and the other answers. Then it flips. Back and forth, for what feels like hours—but the good kind, the fast kind. You talk about favorite snacks, worst travel experiences, weirdest dreams. The kind of things only a half-lit terminal at 5 a.m. makes feel profound. 

Then it drifts again into music, and eventually, quiet. 

His playlist becomes the soundtrack to your shared waiting. 

You hadn’t noticed when your eyes slipped closed, but you must have drifted. The warmth from his side, the quiet static of airport announcements, the fading adrenaline of frustration—it all lulled you under. 

You don’t notice when he gets up. 

You don’t stir when he approaches the gate desk with a soft-voiced question and a charm that’s more polite than pushy. You don’t catch the way he angles your boarding pass across the counter with just enough casual confidence to make it all seem easy. 

When he comes back, there’s something in his step—a quiet buzz of victory. But he says nothing. 

He just sits again. 

And the subtle motion—the shift of weight next to you—is enough to nudge your head, gently, down onto his shoulder. 

His breath catches a little. 

Not enough to wake you. 

Then, gently, he tips his head—just enough for his cheek to graze your hair. 

He lets it stay there, barely touching, like any more might wake you. And maybe he wants to let you sleep a little longer. Maybe he wants to stay like this a little longer too. 

But the intercom crackles overhead, sharp and abrupt in the hush of the terminal. 

Flight 227 to San Fernando International now boarding. 

You shift beside him, blinking awake, your hand rubbing over your face as you sit up a little too fast. “Shit,” you mumble. “Did I—was I drooling on you?” 

He smiles, still a little sleep-warm. “Just a little. Adds to the charm.” 

You groan softly, dragging your hoodie sleeve over your mouth, cheeks burning. “God, kill me.” 

But he just chuckles and stands, brushing the wrinkles from his jeans. “Come on. Looks like our ride’s here.” 

Your boarding pass is wrinkled in your hand, thumb dragging over your seat number again and again, a nervous tic you don’t even realize you're doing. The gate agent takes it with a pleasant smile, scanning it with a soft beep. Then her eyes flicker to the screen, and she pauses. 

“Oh, Miss,” she says, reaching for a pen. “Looks like you’ve been upgraded.” She scribbles something quickly over your seat number before handing it back, like it’s routine. 

You blink. “I’ve been what?” 

But she’s already turning to the next passenger, smiling as if it’s nothing. And maybe it is. But your brain—still fogged from sleep and that strange, dreamy layover haze—doesn’t quite catch up. 

You go with it. What else is there to do? 

The jet bridge feels colder than you expected, your hoodie not quite enough against the sting of early morning air. You wrap your arms around yourself as the line creeps forward, every step oddly slow and too quiet. You rub the sleep from your eyes, phone clutched in your other hand, still dead. Everything feels like a dream—like you’re watching your own life through a half-fogged window. 

Then, as you step into the cabin, the flight attendant greets you with that practiced, polished smile. “Welcome aboard,” she says, checking your pass once more. “You’re to the left.” 

Left. 

You hesitate at the threshold, feet sticking to the floor like you missed a cue. “Sorry,” you ask, brow furrowed. “This is… first class?” 

The attendant nods without blinking. “Yes. Welcome aboard. You’re in 1A.” 

She gestures with an open palm like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and somehow your body moves before your brain can catch up. 

You walk in slow steps, the plush carpet soft beneath your feet, the lighting warm, impossibly golden. It smells like leather and something faintly floral. You pass other passengers already settled in—pressed shirts, neat hair, a man sipping champagne at 7 a.m. like it’s juice. 

And then you see it. Your seat. Spacious. Sleek. With a blanket folded neatly across it and a glass already waiting on a tray beside it, bubbles rising in perfect spirals. 

You’re still staring at it when he appears beside you. 

“Would you look at that?” he says, voice low and amused as he slides into the seat right next to yours. 

You stare at him. “This is first class.” 

He shrugs like he doesn’t quite know what you’re talking about, dropping into the seat beside you with casual ease. “Huh. That’s wild.” 

You scoff, sipping the champagne that’s already making your head feel a little floaty. You study him from the corner of your eye. “You didn’t… do something, did you?” 

He raises a brow, feigning offense. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Pull some secret-string or bribe someone with your—” You gesture vaguely at his whole face. “—unfair cheekbones or something.” 

He lets out a quiet laugh, reclines his seat just a bit, and fastens his belt like he’s done this a thousand times. “I think you might be overestimating the power of my cheekbones.” 

You turn more fully toward him, champagne resting lightly in your lap. “So this is just a cosmic coincidence? We both got upgraded to first class?” 

His mouth twitches. “Maybe the universe owed us something after a seven-hour gate delay.” 

You exhale a soft laugh, but there’s still something curling suspiciously warm in your chest. Gratitude. Disbelief. And something quieter. Something that makes you want to lean into the seat beside him and pretend you’ve always flown like this. 

As the cabin doors close and the safety video begins, you find yourself watching him instead of the screen. His eyes track the window lazily, fingers idly brushing the armrest, his whole posture relaxed in that way people are only when they’re somewhere familiar. You’re starting to realize he fits here. 

You don’t. But next to him, maybe it doesn’t matter. 

And when the plane begins to taxi, the low rumble beneath your feet swelling with momentum, you grip the armrest hard—knuckles whitening, body stiffening without meaning to. Your breath stalls somewhere in your throat, chest locked tight like the air’s already thinning. 

He notices. He doesn’t say anything at first—just watches the way your fingers curl against the leather, the way your shoulders tense like they’re bracing for impact. Then, quietly, without turning his head fully, he murmurs, “I don´t know if i have to ask… but are you nervous flying?” 

You glance at him, surprised by the gentleness in his voice. It’s not pitying or amused—just there, open and real. 

You nod, small and sheepish, biting the inside of your cheek. “I think even more so being in first class,” you admit, the words slipping out with a faint, breathy laugh. “Feels too high up. Like I don’t belong here. Like if we fall, it’s further to the ground.” 

That makes him chuckle, quiet and low in his chest, the sound warm and steadying. “That’s a first,” he says, and then—without even looking down—he reaches over and takes your hand. 

It’s not a showy gesture. It’s easy. Effortless. Like he’s done it a thousand times. Like it just makes sense. His fingers curl over yours, firm but not tight, thumb brushing softly against your knuckles. 

His eyes stay on the cabin wall ahead of him, but his voice drops just a bit more, close and sure. “It’ll be alright.” 

And for some strange reason, you believe him. 

The plane lifts from the runway with a low, drawn-out hum that vibrates through the cabin. Your fingers tighten instinctively in his, but he doesn’t flinch or tease—just holds steady, anchoring you through the ascent. His thumb keeps moving in slow, absent circles against your skin. It’s quiet up here—strangely soft, like the world below has muffled itself entirely. 

After a few minutes, your grip relaxes, breath coming easier. He shifts slightly in his seat, his body angled toward yours, and for a while you both just sit there in the low hum of first class silence, warm hand in warm hand. 

“You alright now?” he murmurs eventually, voice dipped low with fatigue. 

You nod, turning your face toward him on the plush headrest. “Yeah. You’re—really good at that, actually. The whole handholding thing.” 

A crooked grin tugs at his lips. “Thanks. I charge per flight.” 

You smile sleepily, eyes heavy. “Put it on my tab.” 

A pause drapes between you. Not awkward—just easy. Shared. You both sink deeper into it, exhaustion softening your edges. Your legs stretch out a bit under the blanket the flight attendant tucked over you earlier. He shifts too, letting his head lean lightly against the headrest. 

You both speak again at the same time. 

“What do you do—” 

“Do you always fly nervous—” 

You both laugh, just a soft puff of air and amusement in the dim light. 

“Go ahead,” he says. 

You shake your head. “No, you.” 

He lets his eyes drift toward the window, a soft shrug rolling through his shoulder. “I was just gonna say… you look like you don’t sleep much.” 

That catches you off guard. Your brow creases slightly, but there’s no sting to his words. Just observation. Care, even. 

“Yeah,” you admit. “I guess I haven’t. Not really. Not in a while.” 

His gaze returns to you—warm, thoughtful. “You should.” 

You smile faintly. “So should you.” 

He smirks. “I will. Right here. Got everything I need.” 

The flight levels out and the lights dim further. One by one, the cabin falls into a hush of flickering screens and quiet breathing. His grip on your hand never slackens—not tight, just present, like a tether. 

Eventually, your eyes fall closed. 

His follow not long after. 

When the attendant comes by to check on passengers, she pauses—smiling faintly at the two of you, slouched toward each other, hands still clasped between the seats, asleep above the clouds. 

The plane’s descent is gentle, the soft hum of engines lowering as the city lights begin to twinkle beneath the clouds. Your hand still rests in his, fingers intertwined, and though you’re tired, the closeness keeps a quiet energy alive between you. You glance around the cabin, noticing how the few other passengers steal brief looks your way. Is it just the dim light, or do they seem to recognize him? You blink, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, but the feeling lingers—whispers, soft murmurs, and the faint clicking of a phone camera. 

When the wheels touch down with a smooth thud, he squeezes your hand lightly, a silent reassurance. As the plane taxis to the gate, you both stir, stretching out the sleep from your limbs. You gather your things slowly, the haze of tiredness still wrapped around you like a blanket. 

The moment you step into the terminal, the sensation of attention intensifies. People glance your way, some whispering just loud enough to catch your ear, others sneaking pictures when they think you’re not looking. You’re half-tempted to ask him if they know him, but he just smiles softly, not drawing attention. 

He steps in front of you, lifting your carry-on with an easy grace. “Let me,” he says, his voice low but steady. You nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and intrigue. 

By the baggage claim, the noise picks up. A young boy, no older than ten, approaches, tugging at his mother’s sleeve before gathering courage to step forward. “Can I have a picture?” His wide eyes shine with admiration. 

He chuckles, nodding. “Of course, mate.” He crouches down, smiling warmly as the boy’s parents snap a quick photo. 

You watch, puzzled but smiling at the easy way he handles it, the humility that doesn’t demand attention but quietly commands it. 

As you head toward the exit, the crowd grows thicker, flashes bursting like fireflies from outside. You spot several cameras aimed your way before you even reach the doors. He notices your widening eyes and murmurs, “Sorry.” 

Then, without breaking stride, he grabs your hand again, shoving a small, crumpled piece of paper into your palm. “Text me sometime, stranger.” 

You blink, heart skipping. “Wait—what’s your name?” 

He grins when looking back. “Franco.” 

With that, he steps outside, and the air bursts with a chorus of screams and the relentless staccato of cameras. 

You stand frozen, the crumpled paper warm in your hand, a small smile tugging at your lips as the noise fades behind you. 

[beaureveries]

ONE SHOT : BRAT TAMER

paige x azzi

trigger : mature content, degradation, brat Az

nasty nasty car smut y’all 🫣

- 6k words

——————————————————————————

Paige should’ve known better than to bring Azzi here.

She was already testing her patience before they’d even sat down, leaning against her at the bar like she didn’t have a care in the world, fingers tracing slow, innocent little circles on Paige’s thigh like it wasn’t deliberate. Like she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.

Paige had been good. Patient. A hand steady on Azzi’s hip, the occasional warning glance, a soft squeeze here and there.

But Azzi was tipsy now. Loose, flushed, leaning in close every time she spoke like Paige was the only person in the room. And maybe she was. But that didn’t mean Paige was gonna tolerate this shit here.

Not when Azzi’s hand had slipped just a little too high on her thigh.

Not when Azzi’s lips were brushing her ear, hot breath curling around every word like a promise.

“P,” Azzi whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of conversation around them, “Can we go home yet? I’m getting needy.”

Paige clenched her jaw, staring hard at her drink. “Behave.”

Azzi just smiled, sweet and devilish. “I am behaving.”

That hand drifted higher. Paige caught her wrist under the bar, fingers curling tightly around it, just hard enough to make Azzi whimper under her breath.

“You are this close to regretting that.”

Azzi’s grin only grew. “That a threat or a promise?”

God, she was gonna kill her.

Across the table, Ice and KK were pretending not to watch, but Paige caught the smirk on KK’s face, the quick nudge to Ice’s ribs. They knew. Everyone knew exactly what Azzi was doing. And the worst part was-

Paige loved it.

Loved how bratty Azzi got when she was tipsy. Loved how much she needed Paige’s attention. Loved how she could pretend to be bold, even though Paige knew the second she got her alone, Azzi would fall apart for her like she always did.

Azzi’s hand slipped dangerously high, fingertips brushing against Paige’s waistband now.

“Azzi,” Paige said low, voice sharp, eyes cutting toward her with a glare that could’ve frozen the entire place over. “Don’t.”

But Azzi leaned in closer, lips right by Paige’s jaw, eyelashes fluttering like she was innocent.

“Can’t help it,” she murmured. “You’re so hot when you’re mad at me.”

Paige saw red. Her hand dropped to Azzi’s thigh, squeezing so tight Azzi let out a soft gasp, almost more needy than startled.

“That’s it,” Paige muttered darkly. “We’re leaving.”

Azzi blinked up at her, faux innocent. “But—”

“No.” Paige stood abruptly, dragging Azzi up by the wrist, ignoring the way KK was openly laughing now, Ice shaking her head in amusement.

“Handle your girl, Bueckers,” KK called after them, biting back a grin.

“Oh, I will,” Paige shot back over her shoulder, her tone making Ice cough into her drink.

Azzi stumbled after her, giggling, dress riding up a little as she struggled to keep up in her heels.

And Paige didn’t even care anymore who was watching.

Azzi wanted to act like a brat?

She was about to find out exactly what happened when Paige stopped being nice.

—

The second they hit the parking lot, Paige was already regretting not dragging Azzi to the car sooner.

Azzi stumbled a little in her heels, but Paige kept her steady with a hand on her waist, guiding her through the dark like she didn’t want anyone else even looking at her. Her jaw was tight, lips pressed into a firm line, eyes locked ahead.

Azzi, meanwhile, looked absolutely pleased with herself. Like this was her plan the whole damn time.

By the time they got in the car, Paige was gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles had gone white.

Silence for the first two blocks. Paige focusing on the road. On her breathing. On not turning this whole thing around and dragging Azzi to the backseat right then and there.

But Azzi wasn’t done.

She shifted in the passenger seat, slow and deliberate, letting her dress ride up her thighs inch by inch. Paige could see it happening in her periphery, pretending she didn’t notice. But Azzi was making sure she did.

“Baby…”

“Don’t.”

Azzi pouted, fingers toying with the hem of her dress. “It’s not my fault you looked hot as hell tonight.”

Paige didn’t take her eyes off the road. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to act in public.”

That made Azzi smirk.

And then — the real problem — her hand slid under the dress. Slowly. Teasingly. Paige didn’t need to look to know what she was doing, but when her eyes flicked over for just a second, she caught the glimpse of damp fabric between Azzi’s thighs, and that was it.

Paige’s patience snapped like a frayed wire.

“Azzi.”

“Mhm?” Azzi’s voice was sweet, breathy, pretending innocence like she wasn’t already circling her hips into her own hand.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Azzi’s head fell back against the seat, lips parting, a soft whimper escaping when her fingers pressed down harder against herself.

Paige’s jaw locked.

Two more blocks.

Azzi let out another soft gasp, hips shifting again.

One block.

“Jesus Christ, Azzi—”

Azzi turned her head, breathless, eyes glassy and dark, voice low. “Can’t help it. You’re driving me crazy.”

And Paige felt it, sharp and low in her gut, the way that sentence hit her harder than it should’ve.

She flicked the turn signal, pulling hard into a side street, parking fast, hands already unclipping her seatbelt.

“Get in the back.”

Azzi blinked at her, flushed, excited. “Now?”

“Now.”

Paige’s voice left no room for argument.

Azzi scrambled over the center console, giggling like she’d won — like this whole thing was just one big game she was about to get rewarded for.

But she was wrong.

This wasn’t going to be gentle.

This was going to be payback.

Paige didn’t waste time. The moment she was in the back with Azzi, she grabbed her by the thighs and yanked her closer dragging her into her lap making Azzi squeak in surprise. Thighs spread over Paige’s jeans, that tiny dress bunched around her waist now. Paige didn’t even let her get comfortable — rough hands gripping Azzi’s hips, forcing her down to straddle her properly.

“You don’t get to act like that in public,” Paige hissed, dragging Azzi’s ruined panties down her thighs. “What, you wanted me to take you right there on the fucking table?”

Azzi whimpered, cheeks burning, eyes glassy. “Maybe.”

“Brat.” Paige growled. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for, such a slut for me.”

Azzi whined, breath hitching, the alcohol making her warm and desperate, head falling into the crook of Paige’s neck.

“I told you to wait,” Paige murmured against her ear, voice dark, dangerous. “You just don’t listen, do you?”

Azzi shook her head weakly, eyelashes fluttering, lips brushing against Paige’s throat.

“No,” she whispered, completely shameless.

Paige smirked.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Her hands dragged up Azzi’s thighs, thumbs stroking deliberately slow, not going anywhere Azzi wanted them to go. Teasing her on purpose. Watching her squirm.

Azzi was already falling apart, hips rocking subtly against Paige’s lap like she couldn’t help herself, like her whole body was betraying her.

“Look at you,” Paige murmured. “Can’t even sit still. Such a mess already, huh?”

Azzi nodded, desperate, breathless, practically shaking in Paige’s lap, her hips still rocking subtly even though Paige still hadn’t given her anything. Just touches — light, infuriating, deliberate. Nowhere near enough.

But Paige wasn’t interested in being nice yet.

“Go ahead,” Paige murmured against her ear, voice like honey over gravel. “Say it.”

Azzi blinked up at her, dazed, not quite following.

“Say what?”

Paige’s fingers tightened around Azzi’s hips, keeping her perfectly still.

“That you’re sorry. And that you’re never pulling that shit in public again.”

Azzi whimpered, cheeks burning, breath coming in short little gasps.

“P, I—I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean to grind all over me at the bar like a little brat? Didn’t mean to get everyone staring?” Paige’s tone dropped lower, eyes flashing. “You think I didn’t notice KK laughing? Ice shaking her head?”

Azzi squirmed, embarrassment curling in her stomach now, making her even needier, if that was possible.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, voice cracking, pressing her forehead to Paige’s shoulder. “I swear I won’t— I won’t ever do that again.”

Paige tilted her chin up sharply with two fingers, making Azzi look at her. Making her mean it.

“Say it better.”

Azzi swallowed, thighs trembling, wide eyes locked on Paige’s.

“I’m sorry for teasing you in public,” she whispered, cheeks flushed, breathing uneven. “I won’t do it again. Promise. I’ll be good.”

Paige stared her down for a long, tense beat — then finally, finally, the barest hint of approval in her smirk.

“There she is.”

But the reward wasn’t immediate. Oh no. Not yet.

Because Paige didn’t move her hand yet. Didn’t slide her fingers where Azzi was throbbing for her. Just kept circling those slow, feather-light touches along the inside of Azzi’s thighs, barely brushing over skin that was already hypersensitive, already ruined.

Azzi was desperate now. Tears pricked at her eyes from frustration, from the overwhelming ache between her legs, from the humiliation of having to beg and promise just to get what she needed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, softer now, burying her face in Paige’s neck, completely pliant, like she’d broken herself down just to fit into Paige’s hands.

“Sorry to who?”

“You P—

“Not that”

“You— daddy”

“Uh-huh I know you are.” Paige hummed, leaning back against the seat like she had all the time in the world. “And you’re gonna remember this next time you get ideas at a bar, aren’t you?”

Azzi nodded frantically. “Yes. I swear.”

“And you’re gonna ask nicely next time you want something?”

Another desperate nod. “Please— daddy. I’ll be so good for you. I swear.”

That finally earned her a real touch — Paige’s fingertips pressing just barely over the soaked fabric covering Azzi, dragging a soft, broken sob from her throat.

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, voice smug now, curling slow, devastating circles right where Azzi was aching. “That’s more like it.”

And she didn’t rush it. Not at all. She dragged the buildup out, deliberately not giving Azzi exactly what she wanted, keeping the pressure light, teasing, just enough to have her rocking her hips helplessly into Paige’s palm, desperate for more friction.

“I’m not gonna be nice yet,” Paige warned her darkly, watching the way Azzi broke over nothing, tears slipping down her cheeks purely from need. “I’m gonna make you earn it first.”

Azzi nodded, breath catching on another sharp inhale. “I will, I will— I’ll do anything—”

Paige smirked, finally letting her thumb press down in that devastating, slow rhythm Azzi loved, just starting to give her enough friction to climb toward release — but still just out of reach, just slow enough to drag her to the edge without letting her fall over.

Tears slipping down Azzi’s cheeks, breathy little sobs building, thighs trembling around Paige’s lap, hands clutching Paige’s shoulders like she was drowning.

Paige leaned close, lips brushing her ear, voice steady, cruel in its softness.

“Now you can thank me.”

And Azzi did — broken, breathless, desperate — “Thank you, thank you— daddy”

The second Paige finally pressed her fingers properly against Azzi’s center, she felt it — that sharp, electric jolt shooting through Azzi’s whole body, her thighs tensing, her breath catching like she’d been sucker-punched.

And still… Paige didn’t give her everything. Not yet.

She started slow. Agonizingly slow. Dragging her fingers up and down through the wetness, deliberately lazy, barely pressing in at all. Like she knew exactly how to drive Azzi crazy, exactly how to make her beg harder, how to own her in this backseat like it was the only place that mattered.

Azzi whimpered helplessly, forehead pressed to Paige’s shoulder now, fists gripping Paige’s t-shirt like it was the only thing keeping her together.

“P… please…”

Paige smirked, curling two fingers around the edge of Azzi’s panties and pulling them to the side, exposing how ruined she already was.

“Messy already. You’re pathetic.”

Azzi whined, hips lifting slightly, chasing Paige’s hand, her whole body working against her because her brain was just— gone. She wasn’t thinking anymore. Just feeling. Needing.

Paige leaned in, lips brushing Azzi’s ear. “And you like that, don’t you? You like when I call you that.”

Azzi nodded frantically, cheeks flushed, lips parted, panting like she’d just run a mile.

“I do,” she gasped. “I— I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I swear. Just— please—”

Paige’s hand slipped just barely lower, the pads of her fingers finally sliding over Azzi’s bare folds, warm and slick and perfect.

She stroked once.

Azzi’s entire body jerked, her nails digging into Paige’s shoulders.

“F-Fuck— daddy—”

“Yeah,” Paige breathed, curling her fingers again, deeper this time, pressing inside so slow it felt like it took forever. “You’re gonna give it to me. All of it. Right here.”

The tension in Azzi’s thighs was unbearable — every muscle trembling, her hips fighting Paige’s grip to move faster, needing more. But Paige wouldn’t let her.

Every thrust of Paige’s fingers was purposefully slow, drawing back almost completely before pressing in again, dragging over that perfect spot inside, curling deliberately.

Azzi was falling apart in real time, head falling back, lips parted on gasping little sobs, body rocking involuntarily even though Paige was holding her hips down, keeping her in place.

“You’re not getting away,” Paige murmured, biting Azzi’s jaw, not hard, just enough to make her cry out. “You’re gonna sit here like a good girl and take everything I give you.”

Azzi was already crying — soft, overwhelmed tears rolling down her flushed cheeks, mixing with the sweat sticking her hair to her face.

“I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Paige shot back immediately, ruthless but soft, stroking that spot inside her slow, deliberate, brutal in how controlled it was. “You can and you will, because that’s what good girls do for me.”

Azzi let out a soft, broken moan, trembling all over.

“Good girls give it to me when I tell them to. And you wanna be my good girl, don’t you baby?”

“Yes!”

Paige finally sped up, not by much, but enough. Her palm brushing right over Azzi’s clit each time she curled her fingers deep, pressing there just long enough to make Azzi’s entire body tense like a live wire.

Azzi’s hands were clawing at Paige now, nails digging into her arms, like she needed something to hold onto while her entire world shattered around her.

“P— fuck—”

“Let go,” Paige ordered, voice rough against her ear. “You can fall apart for me. Go ahead. I want you to.”

That was it.

The sob that broke from Azzi’s throat was beautiful, raw and desperate, and her whole body snapped, her back arching sharply, thighs shaking uncontrollably as Paige fucked her through it, holding her steady, making her ride it all the way out.

“Good girl,” Paige whispered, nipping at her earlobe, her free hand stroking Azzi’s waist gently now, tender against the brutal rhythm of her other hand. “That’s it. Give it to me. All of it.”

And Azzi did.

Completely gone. Obliterated. Melting into Paige’s arms like she’d never be able to move again, soft little hiccupping breaths catching in her throat as Paige finally slowed down, easing her through the aftershocks like she owned every inch of her.

Which she did.

Azzi’s forehead pressed into Paige’s neck, breath shaky, heart pounding.

“Fuck…” Azzi whispered, voice broken and hoarse. “I’m yours. I’m so yours.”

Paige grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, proud, smug, possessive.

“I know.”

The inside of the car was still thick with heat, Azzi’s breathing shaky, her face buried in Paige’s neck as she slowly tried to come back to earth. Her thighs still trembled every so often, little aftershocks rolling through her body as Paige rubbed her hand slowly up and down her back.

“Shh,” Paige murmured softly, lips brushing over Azzi’s hairline. “You did so good for me. My good girl.”

Azzi let out a soft whimper, nuzzling into Paige’s skin like she could disappear there, her body limp, spent, wrecked in the best way possible.

Paige smiled, curling her arms around Azzi’s waist and keeping her pressed close, just holding her now, all the roughness from earlier gone, replaced by soft, protective touches.

“Look at you,” Paige teased gently, voice low. “Could barely take it, huh?”

Azzi nodded, cheeks flushed, tears still drying on her skin, but smiling now, dazed and a little proud of herself for it.

Paige kissed her forehead again, lingering there, whispering, “You’re so pretty like this.”

Azzi hummed softly, eyes fluttering shut.

But then Paige leaned back a little, hand tilting Azzi’s chin up, making her meet her eyes.

“Not gonna pull that shit again in public, are you?” she asked, grinning now, teasing but sharp, eyes glinting with playful threat.

Azzi bit her lip, her voice barely above a whisper. “No.”

“No what?”

Azzi’s cheeks burned. “No, daddy.”

Paige smirked. “That’s my girl.”

And just like that, her hand came up to gently brush the sweaty strands of hair off Azzi’s forehead, the softness returning full force, her thumb stroking slow circles on Azzi’s hip.

“I got you,” she whispered, her voice warm now, all that sharpness melted into affection. “Always got you.”

Azzi just nodded, curling up in Paige’s lap, utterly content, safe, hers.

And Paige just held her there, letting the cool air from the cracked window roll over them both, the weight of it — the love, the want, the everything — filling every inch of that tiny backseat.

Just the two of them. No one else. Always.

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon riley x f!reader’s relationship, through the eyes of the fans // sort of smau

i was listening to 5sos’ slsp while writing this so!!! sorry i went bonkers 😔 i just love this au sm

simon riley is obsessed with his girl, and it is maddeningly endearing.

of course he’s in love with you, everyone could see even from a continent away, but there is something clingy, possessive, in the way simon hovers around you. like you’d disappear right before his eyes if he wasn’t pressed close; if his tattooed arm wasn’t looped around your waist or his thick fingers were not twined with yours.

it is new, unheard of, even riley’s loyal fans says so, but it’s just so—

nice.

(the word is inadequate, they know, but there’s nothing close that could describe how heart-fluttering his devotion to you is.)

riley has always been a private person, sharing only sparse details of his life. one can even easily locate his earliest instagram post because there’s just about twenty uploads in his account since its creation—from 2017, and it’s a broken hockey stick. even that throw-away picture continues to amass likes as new fans come scouring whatever of him they can find.

his latest post was during last season’s finals’ celebrations—a series of pictures of the boys carrying the stanley cup. the first few pictures were all professionally taken, but the rest splinters into blurred shots of mactavish and garrick, particularly, drinking from the cup from inside of the locker room.

it said: thank you all.

curt, direct, but not any less meaningful.

cut to this year, mid-regular season (january), and after five months of drought, the simon riley posted a picture. and it wasn’t just any picture, but it was a hard launch of his new partner.

it was a selfie, taken by you, the camera angled just slightly. your back was pressed to his chest, and his chin was hooked to your shoulder, and, cheek-to-cheek, the two of you grin up at the camera. the background was distinctly new york, central park, so it must have been taken after the specgru’s game against the rangers (0-4 for the specgru).

for the caption, he wrote: she’s never been here before.

in an instant, all of the speculations were confirmed—the most eligible bachelor of the franchise is, finally, in an official relationship.

news articles popped up after that, speculations bloating at the shocking news. some people have even said that they’re sure they’ve seen you prior to the announcement—weren’t you that one fan simon riley was flirting with while he was on ice, mid-game?

(you were.

you were even one of the people that was tagged in johnny’s story before it got preemptively taken down; and the same person seen with the other WAGs, sprinkles of your silhouette seen on pictures like the ones that are taken on the days when the franchise flies them for game nights or the countless ones during the unveiling of the season’s WAGs jackets.

you have been a part of their circle even before the world knew who you were and, somehow, that was comforting; how simon riley had not thrown you to the wolves—or vultures, as mactavish snarled when they’ve hounded him about his fiancee’s abrupt end of her season in the FIVB, like her health wasn’t the priority over her career—and instead made sure you were surrounded by people who knew how to survive amidst the scrutiny.)

and, just like that, the dam called simon-riley’s-secret-album-of-you broke.

what had been a sporadic activity in his account exploded into series of posts, one update every week. it was a whirlwind of excitement because no one from the hockey world has ever seen this much of simon riley’s life.

he was always unapproachable, distant, like there’s always a wall between him and the rest of the world. like in exchange of being called the living legend, the guiding star, simon riley gets to shirk away from the public whenever he chooses. and who can fault him for that? riley’s career has always been heavily documented—people knew him even before he was drafted into the league, they had betted on his rookie year, and then had put him in a lonely pedestal. so of course he is fiercely protective of his privacy.

only a select few get to truly know him, only a select few have stories of simon that isn’t about the ice or hockey or his in-the-works legacy. only a select few see him beyond his crown, and now he’s giving a piece of his true self to the world because of you.

because you are worth showing off.

because life with you is worth celebrating.

.

riley41

[it’s a candid image of you standing on the balcony, wearing a too-big of a shirt that is getting ruffled by the wind and pyjama pants, and leaning over the railing as you stare at the scenery. you’re all silhouette because your body is devoured by the orange rays of the sunrise, its tendrils spilling into the wooden floors of the hotel room.]

liked by jmactavish.91, reyenzo14, and others

riley41 ibiza

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riley41

[it’s a series. the first image is of the two of you on his motorcycle, the picture taken from simon’s bike’s camera. you’re both wearing tinted helmets and leather gears, the background a blur of colours which indicates that this was taken mid-ride. you’re gripping him tightly and your body is almost fully-covered by his bulk, leaving only the top half of your helmet to be seen peering from his shoulders.

the second image is of the beach. it’s dusk, and the sky is an explosion of pinks and purples and blues.

the third image is a selfie with your visors up. you’re looking at the camera with a shy smile, your eyes squinted because of how bright it still is, while simon only has his eyes on you.]

liked by pricejhn2, alexkeller_, and others

riley41 vroom

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riley41

[it’s a mirror selfie of the two of you, with simon taking the photo. the background is notably his house. your back is facing the mirror, your head tilted to rest on his shoulder, while his arm is curled around your waist. you’re wearing this season’s WAG jacket—it’s black and green, their colours. the pose now makes sense because you’re showing off the back of the jacket that spells out RILEY 41 in white. simon’s wearing their away-jersey.]

liked by kylegarrick, konig_76, and others

riley41 game six let’s go

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riley41

[it’s a video; the angle shows that it is taken by someone else. you and simon are hugging, and are swaying lightly as the two of you dance to the faint sound of music booming from somewhere behind the camera. simon’s mouthing the lyrics to your ear, his cheeks flushed like he’s buzzed from drinking, while you giggle and softly rub your palm at his back.]

liked by jmactavish.91, kylegarrick, and others

riley41 my favourite person

.

.

yourname

[it’s a candid picture you’ve taken of simon sleeping while he uses your lap as pillow. the angle captures the way your fingers are playing with his hair and scratching his scalp gently. the picture is a little blurry because there’s not enough light to properly focus the lens.]

liked by riley41, jjoanne.spam, and others

yourname im the happiest when im with him