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papayainsectorone · 17 days ago

Text

Look at You.

alternative title: objects in mirror may be hornier than they appear

summary: teasing turns into something intense, it’s the beginning of something more: exploration and a growing list of fantasies you’re both eager to check off

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, mirror sex, voyeuristic elements, power dynamics (soft), mutual teasing, consent & trust, some bondage, public play references, kink discovery, domestic intimacy, lando being a menace, horny but wholesome energy

word count: 5.3k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

It’s quiet,the kind of quiet that only settles a few days after chaos, when the dust has settled but the air still remembers the storm. The hotel room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn against a pale, lazy afternoon. The TV flickers in the corner, playing something neither of you are watching, some cooking show or maybe a nature doc, sound turned low, narration drifting in and out like a lullaby.

You’re stretched across the wide hotel couch, head tipped back over the armrest, spine curled in something between contentment and exhaustion. Your legs are draped across Lando’s lap, bare skin pressed against the soft cotton of his joggers. A half-eaten bowl of crisps rests on your stomach, crumbs dotting your shirt like little souvenirs from earlier laughter.

Lando’s hand moves slowly, absentmindedly, tracing lazy patterns across your shins. He doesn’t look at you—his gaze is trained on the ceiling like he expects it to blink back at him. There’s a stillness in his posture that feels rare, like he’s finally let himself land after being airborne too long.

And then—he shifts.

It’s subtle, but you feel it. The way his thighs tighten beneath you, the sudden pause in his fingers like a thought just took up too much space in his chest. You don’t move. Don’t even open your eyes.

“What?” you murmur, voice hoarse with rest.

There’s a beat. Then, light and unmistakably mischievous:

“You know the thing you told me…”

You sigh, already bracing. “Lando, I say like... a million things to you every day. Narrow it down.”

You can hear the smirk as he speaks, soft and self-satisfied. “The thing about mirrors.”

Your eyes fly open.

He doesn’t look down right away—just grins like he’s been waiting for your reaction. Like he’s been saving this for exactly when your defenses are lowest. Your legs twitch in his lap, but he grabs your ankle before you can pull away.

“Don’t,” you warn, voice already warm with embarrassed laughter.

“Oh, I will,” he says, finally glancing down at you. His curls fall toward your face, casting shadows across your cheeks. “You said—and I quote—‘I’ve always wondered what I’d look like fucked in front of a mirror.’”

You groan, dragging one hand over your face. “I was drunk.”

He hums like he’s considering it. His thumb circles the inside of your ankle now—barely there, but maddening. “You were honest,” he says, sing-song and smug.

Your hand stays over your eyes, but you peek at him through your fingers. His grin has grown just a little too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what kind of spiral he’s starting.

“I hate you,” you mutter, half-hearted.

“No you don’t.” His free hand moves to your thigh, thumb brushing lightly beneath the hem of your shorts, casual—but not. There’s intention behind the touch now. Something slower. More curious. “You trust me with your darkest, filthiest secrets.”

You snort. “That wasn’t a secret. It was a hypothetical.” Your voice is muffled against your palm, but your breath hitches all the same.

“Mmm,” he hums, not even trying to mask how much he’s enjoying this. “You said you’d never done it. That you wanted to watch.” He drags out the last word, slow and sticky with intent. “Wanted to see your own face when you came.”

You drop your hand from your face with an exaggerated sigh and give him a flat look. “You are literally insufferable.”

Lando just leans back, completely unbothered, his grin widening into something downright sinful. “But now I can’t stop thinking about it. You. Mirror. Me behind you…” He shifts slightly beneath you, his hands tightening on your thighs as he lets the images stack. “On your knees. On top. Bent over the edge of the bed, maybe. Fuck—bent against the mirror.”

He shrugs with an easy, almost innocent smile. “I’m not picky.”

You sigh again, a little less dramatic this time—more resigned. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you,” he says, eyes gleaming, voice dipping low, “love it.”

He lets that word sit for a second, warm and weighty.

“Maybe…” he adds, almost too casual, “you still want it?”

There’s a beat.

Then his gaze slides across the room—to the tall, sleek mirror propped elegantly near the corner, angled just enough that you can see the bed behind it. It’s glossy and unassuming, entirely unaware that it’s about to become the center of a very inappropriate conversation.

You follow his line of sight automatically, lifting your head from the couch. The mirror gleams back, pure and quiet.

He catches your hesitation. Sees the way your eyes linger just a second too long.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, voice delighted, “you do.”

“Lando,” you say, a warning, though your voice is already softer. Already shifting.

“Don’t Lando me.” He slides his hand lower, palm trailing along your ribs, your waist, slow and exploratory. “You’re the one who planted the idea. I’m just—” his thumb dips just beneath the waistband of your joggers “—cultivating it.”

You bark a laugh, caught off guard. “You sound like a pervy gardener.”

“Pervy, definitely,” he says, grinning. “But also curious.”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking deeply, but his fingers don’t stop moving. They hook just slightly into the elastic at your hip, not tugging—just there.

“Aren’t you?” he asks.

You don’t answer right away. Mostly because your mouth’s gone dry again. Because yeah, okay—maybe it wasn’t just a passing comment. Maybe you have thought about it since then. More than once. Maybe you’ve imagined watching the way your body moves, the way his hands look on your skin, the way your own expression changes when he’s deep inside you. Maybe that idea has stuck to you like syrup ever since it slipped out of your mouth.

He shifts beneath you, knees nudging until you’re forced to sit upright in his lap. Your breath stutters at the sudden shift in posture, in energy. He’s closer now. Focused. Serious in a way that feels heavy and intimate.

“You want to see how good you look,” he murmurs, voice nearly a whisper, “or do you want to see how good I make you look?”

Your throat is tight, pulse thudding behind your ears. When you speak, it’s smaller than you meant it to be.

“Both.”

His grin turns sharp, almost reverent. “Come on, then.”

He offers his hand—palm up, fingers open, like he’s inviting you to dance.

You arch a brow, resisting the tug in your chest. “What is this, prom night?”

“Don’t make me carry you,” he warns, already bracing.

“You wouldn’t—”

You don’t even get the word out.

He lunges, sudden and unreasonably fast for someone so full of crisps and cockiness. His hands slide under your thighs, then your waist, and before you can blink, you’re off the couch and slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Lando!” you yelp, legs kicking uselessly in the air as your view flips upside down. “Put me down, you absolute dickhead—!”

He just laughs, a rich, full sound that bounces off the hotel walls. One of his hands pats your ass, entirely too pleased with himself. “Told you not to test me.”

You slap weakly at his back, breathless from laughing. “I swear to god—”

He spins in a tight, dizzying circle just to make it worse, your hair whipping around your face, before finally, finally setting you down with surprising care.

Your feet hit the carpet. You’re standing in front of the mirror now.

It towers in front of you, clean and polished and waiting. You catch your reflection—a little wild-eyed, flushed from laughter, shirt rumpled and falling off one shoulder.

Lando steps up behind you, chest brushing your back, hands still on your waist. His face is close to your ear now, voice low and soft and too sincere.

“You wanna see what I see?”

Your laughter lingered in your throat as you caught your own reflection—wild hair, flushed cheeks, the hem of your shirt now askew from the ride. Behind you, Lando’s hands slid over your hips, steadying you. His eyes met yours in the mirror, playful but darkened by something deeper.

“Better,” he murmured, close to your ear.

“Now look,” he murmurs, catching your gaze in the glass. “Don’t look at me. Look at you.”

His hands move under your shirt, slow and deliberate, calloused fingertips grazing the curve of your waist like he’s rediscovering you. The brush of skin-on-skin sends goosebumps racing down your arms, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe. Shallow, shaky, anticipatory.

Then his hand rises—firm but gentle—tilting your chin with two fingers until your gaze lifts. He angles your head toward the mirror. Forces your eyes to meet your own reflection.

His mouth finds that sensitive spot just behind your ear, lips warm, tongue flicking out briefly, and your lashes flutter, instinct pulling you inward. But he taps your jaw, gentle but insistent.

“Nope,” he murmurs, voice low and curling with amusement, a grin pressed against your skin. “Keep watching.”

You swallow hard.

He peels your shirt off slowly, raising your arms over your head, the fabric brushing your flushed skin as it slides away. He lets it fall to the floor without ceremony. His own shirt follows seconds later, revealing the warmth of his chest against your back. You can feel his skin, hot and solid and there.

You glance at the mirror again—see yourself bare from the waist up, your body molded into his, and his arms winding around you. His hands travel the span of your torso, tracing the curve of your ribs, skimming under the band of your bra. The way your body arches into his touch is automatic. Craving.

And then his fingers slip below the waistband of your joggers, dragging slow over your hipbones, thumbs sliding inward toward the center of you.

“Still just a fantasy?” he asks, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice husky now, the heat rising between you undeniable.

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, blood rushing to all the wrong places, and his fingers are already dipping low—confident, familiar, but still unbearably teasing.

He chuckles, and the sound is low and dark and satisfied, vibrating down the line of your spine like thunder.

“That’s what I thought.”

Your knees wobble. You reach forward, planting one hand against the edge of the mirror to stay upright, palm flat against the glass as he presses himself flush against your back. The heat of him envelops you, chest to spine, hips snug. You can feel him hard against you, feel every line of tension in his body. But it’s his focus that undoes you—the way his gaze stays locked on yours in the reflection.

It’s the most exposed you’ve ever felt—not because of how little you’re wearing, but because of how seen you are.

He’s watching your face as he touches you—watching the way your mouth parts with each exhale, the way your eyes go half-lidded when his fingers dip just a little lower. You try to stay still. Try not to squirm or reach for more.

But your hips roll back, seeking pressure, seeking him.

He smirks, maddening. And then he pulls back—just enough to make you whimper.

“Patience,” he whispers, lips grazing your ear, hot and breathy. “You said you wanted to see, didn’t you?”

“Fuck,” you breathe, the word barely audible, your knuckles going white where you grip the edge of the dresser. “Then stop teasing.”

“Oh,” he says, amused and dark, his teeth grazing your neck, “now you want it quick?”

His fingers slip forward again, slow, purposeful, slick with anticipation.

“What happened to the fantasy?” he teases, circling your clit with such maddening gentleness you could scream. “Didn’t you want to watch yourself fall apart?”

You moan softly, forehead resting against the glass, your own eyes blinking back at you—flushed, parted lips, pupils wide with want. He doesn’t let you look away.

His hand at your jaw moves again, angling your face so you have to see. Have to witness yourself unraveling at the hands of someone who knows exactly how to pull you apart.

“Keep watching,” he says again, and this time there’s no grin—just heat. Reverence. Need.

You do.

And it’s devastating.

He pushes your joggers and underwear down in one smooth, unhurried motion—like he’s unwrapping something he’s been dying to get his hands on. The fabric pools around your ankles, and you step out without looking, body trembling with anticipation. The cool air kisses your calves, but it doesn’t register. Not when Lando’s already behind you again, all warm skin and want and steady hands.

You meet his eyes in the mirror.

He’s devouring you.

Shirtless, hair messy, lips parted just slightly, chest rising with slow, deliberate breaths. His gaze is heavy—dragging over every inch of you, lingering at the curve of your ass, the dip of your spine, the tension in your thighs. And then he finds your reflection, locking eyes with you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers, reverent. Like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

Your breath catches. “Please,” you manage, quiet, aching.

His hand moves then—slides slowly down your stomach, fingers splayed wide. You feel the way his palm presses heat into your skin, trailing lower, lower. You can’t look away. Not from him. Not from you. Your reflection shows everything—the way your mouth falls open, the way your legs shift restlessly, the way your chest rises with every staggered breath.

Then his fingers reach your center.

You jolt—just slightly—as he slides between your folds, already slick and ready for him. His touch is sure, practiced, unbearably slow at first. Just the pads of his fingers, circling, exploring, spreading you open like a secret. He watches it all. Watches you watching him. The way your hips twitch forward against his hand. The flush spreading down your chest. The desperation leaking out of every breath.

He moves with maddening control circling your clit with just the right pressure, dipping down to gather more slick, then back up again. A rhythm that’s measured, teasing, intimate. It’s not just about getting you off. It’s about watching what it does to you.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, voice rough against your ear. “Look how you fall apart for me.”

You can’t stop.

You don’t want to.

Every roll of his fingers makes your knees shake, your hand clutch the mirror for dear life. You gasp when he slips one finger inside, then another, curling them just right, his other hand bracing your hip, grounding you, anchoring you.

And in the mirror, you watch it all: the flushed wreckage of your face, the ripple of your stomach, the dark intensity in his eyes as he works you open, coaxing you closer with every slow thrust of his hand.

You’ve never looked so utterly undone.

And he’s never looked more obsessed.

“Fuck, you feel—” he chokes on the rest, breath catching in his throat as your body tightens around his fingers, heat pulsing through you like a live wire.

Your eyes flutter shut without meaning to, overwhelmed—but his hand tangles gently in your hair, tugging just enough to bring your gaze back to the mirror. Back to him. Back to you.

“Look,” he murmurs, voice low and fraying. “Don’t miss this.”

And so you do. You force your eyes open, breath trembling, and meet your reflection.

It nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Your lips are parted in something between a gasp and a moan, cheeks flushed deep, collarbone rising and falling with every hitched breath. Your skin is glowing with heat, the sheen of sweat already starting to gather where his chest brushes your back. You can see the exact moment his fingers curl just right—your body jerks, stomach twitching, another sound slipping free before you can swallow it.

It’s just his fingers. Just the slow, relentless rhythm of them moving inside you, pressing into that spot that makes your vision go white. But it feels like everything. It feels like he’s inside every part of you at once. Filling you. Reading you. Ruining you.

And still—he’s watching. Not even glancing at the mirror anymore. His gaze is fixed on you, the real you, the shaking, gasping version he’s holding up with one arm while the other works you to the edge with steady, intimate precision. Like he’s memorizing you in real time. Like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

His jaw is tight, flexing with restraint, his breath warm and ragged against your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans again, voice breaking into something raw. “So wet for me.”

You try to respond, but your throat closes around the sound. Your whole body is tensing, spiraling fast.

And in the mirror, you watch the moment your mouth falls open. The exact second your thighs shake. The tremor in your fingers as you brace yourself, barely upright, chasing the inevitable.

It’s not just his fingers—it’s his voice, his breath, the mirror, the way you’re both watching you fall apart like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

“Let go,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Your hand slips against the mirror, palm slick—every nerve drawn taut around the rhythm of his fingers.

He knows you’re close. You feel it in the way his movements grow more focused, more deliberate. No teasing now. No retreat. Just the steady pressure of his fingers stroking deep, the heel of his palm grinding against the swollen ache of your clit in perfect rhythm.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

“You gonna come for me?” he breathes into your neck, voice wrecked and reverent, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His eyes flick to the mirror. “Look how fucking gorgeous you are like this. Falling apart for me.”

You do.

Your reflection is a blur of parted lips and wide, glossy eyes—cheeks flushed, chest heaving, jaw slack. You’ve never seen yourself like this. Not just the way you look, but the way he watches you. Like he worships it. Like nothing else matters. His mouth is at your shoulder, open and hot, his hand at your front dragging you closer to the edge with every pass.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, and it’s the tenderness in his voice that tips you over. Not the pressure. Not the friction. Him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He’s fucking you deep, hard, but controlled, letting the pace build slow enough to make you desperate, fast enough to make your legs shake.

“Lan—” you gasp, but it falls apart when he moves his fingers just right.

“I know,” he groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re close. I can feel it.”

You nod frantically, one hand flying back to grip his hip, anchoring yourself.

“Eyes. On. Me.”

You obey, barely. And when you come, it’s blinding. Messy. His name torn from your lips as your body trembles and he doesn’t stop.

You stay like that, breathless, collapsed against jim, both of you shining with sweat, cheeks flushed, bodies humming.

The mirror shows it all: the wrecked hair, the red marks, the wild grins that creep in after the comedown.

He catches your eye in the glass again.

You’re still breathless, your palms pressed to the cool glass, forehead resting there for a moment as your lungs fight to steady. The air between you crackles—humid with sweat and heat, your bodies humming, flushed, open.

Behind you, Lando doesn’t move. But you feel it—that lingering pull just beneath the surface. His hands still at your waist, thumbs moving in slow, reverent strokes like he’s memorizing the afterglow.

And when you glance up, find his gaze in the mirror again, it’s still there. Hunger.

Low, molten, impossible to ignore.

You both look wrecked. Hair wild, skin marked, eyes glazed and grinning in a way that only happens when you’ve finally crossed a line you’ve been dancing around for too long.

You catch your breath. Blink once. Then smile lazy, knowing.

“Fuck,” you murmur, finally turning in his arms. “Like we’re stopping there.”

He laughs, surprised, still catching up but you’re already tugging him backward by the wrist, toward the bed, toward more.

He lets you, pliant and amused, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. You give him a gentle push and he goes easily, landing with a soft grunt, elbows braced behind him, curls sticking to his damp forehead.

“You’re serious?” he asks, grinning like he already knows the answer.

You don’t respond. You just drop to your knees between his legs, fingers finding the waistband of his joggers and tugging them down in one confident pull.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking to the space between you. But just as he looks down, your hand wraps around his thigh—firm. The other slides up, curling into the hair at the nape of your neck as you tilt your face up.

“No, no,” you say, smirking as his cock twitches. “You’re watching now.”

You jerk your chin toward the mirror.

His jaw slackens a bit—something in him tipping from smug to stunned as he realizes what you’re doing.

You lean in, breath warm over his skin but not touching, watching his reflection watch you.

“Don’t take your eyes off it,” you whisper.

You shift closer, knees spreading wide on the soft rug between his legs, hands gliding up the backs of his thighs—slow, deliberate. The muscles there twitch beneath your touch, and he exhales sharply, head tipping back for just a second before he remembers.

The mirror.

You watch his gaze drop to meet yours in the reflection, jaw tight, eyes dark with something deeper than lust. Anticipation. Awe.

Your fingers curl around the base of him, gentle at first. Testing. He’s already hard—hot and heavy in your palm and he twitches at the first light stroke of your thumb.

“Eyes up,” you murmur, just loud enough for the mirror to catch it.

He obeys.

And then you lean in.

Your lips brush the tip—barely there. Just a whisper of warmth, enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. You press a kiss to it like you would his mouth: slow, reverent, nothing rushed. His hips jerk slightly, but your hand steadies him, firm at his thigh.

You let your tongue follow, teasing around the head in lazy, wet circles—coaxing a groan from deep in his chest. It’s not needy yet. It’s slow. Intentional. A build.

His reflection is a portrait of tension: head tilted back slightly, eyes fighting to stay locked on himself, jaw clenched with restraint.

You slide down a little further, taking him just past your lips before pulling back again, spit-slick and grinning as his hips try to chase the heat.

“Patience,” you echo back to him, voice velvet-wrapped and wicked.

He groans—muttering your name like it’s a warning, like he’s hanging on by threads. One hand curls into the bedding, the other flexes at his side, but he still won’t break his stare in the mirror.

Your mouth closes over him again, slower this time, lips stretching around the weight of him. You sink down inch by inch, letting him feel every part of it, every stroke of tongue, every subtle suck until your eyes water slightly and his legs tense beneath your hands.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, voice rough and wrecked.

And still, you don’t rush.

You keep the rhythm smooth, teasing, rising and falling in slow, deliberate waves. Enough to make his toes curl. Enough to keep him right at the edge without falling.

“You’re killing me,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours like he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

And you smile around him, because that’s the point.

You ease off him with one last wet kiss, lips swollen and glistening, a thin string of saliva catching the light before it breaks. His thighs are tight under your palms, chest rising in jagged, shallow breaths, and in the mirror—God—the restraint written across his face is almost more than you can take.

His hands twitch at his sides like he’s fighting not to grab you.

“You’re too good at this,” he mutters, voice hoarse and reverent, like he’s confessing something sacred. “It’s fucking evil.”

You hum, tongue flicking lazily over your bottom lip. “Is it?”

And then you do it again. Slower. Just your tongue this time, licking a stripe up the underside of him, your eyes locked with his through the mirror like a challenge.

His whole body jolts.

“Jesus—” His voice breaks off into a groan, low and ragged, one hand gripping the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “You’re playing with fire.”

You take him into your mouth again—deeper now, just for a moment, just enough to make his legs shift, to drag another guttural sound out of his throat—then pull back with a pop. Your hand replaces your mouth, stroking him slowly, firmly, letting your thumb sweep across the head with maddening precision.

He bucks into it instinctively.

Then you stop.

Completely.

He growls, actually growls and sits up straighter, grabbing your arms and hauling you into his lap in one smooth, desperate motion. Your knees hit the mattress on either side of his hips, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“Okay,” he pants, eyes blazing. “We´re not playing games here.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

He kisses you hard. Open-mouthed, breathless, filthy. His hands are already moving—gripping your thighs, your hips, pulling you flush against him. You feel the heat of him trapped between you, thick and throbbing, and the way he grinds up just once is all promise.

“I let you play your game,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice a dangerous rumble. “But now we´ll stop the games.”

He flips both of you over. Your head hangs off the bed, hair brushing the floor, and the world spins upside-down for a heartbeat before he’s there, his body aligned with yours. You´re watching the mirror again, your reflection distorted by the angle, but you can still feel every inch of him moving above you.

He pushes in, not slow, not hesitant but hard and sudden, like all restraint has shattered. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes watering from the sharp, beautiful stretch. He meets you in the mirror’s glass too, raw and raging, both of you locked in that watching moment.

For a second it's movie-perfect: your muscles clench, his curls obscure his features, sweat tracing down your skin, your breath mingling in the reflection of glass—every pulse, every flicker of mirrored light, everything raw and wild and real.

His hands grip your hips like they're never going to let go, steadying himself. His free hand moves up to curl around your throat—not choking, but connecting just enough pressure to tie you to the moment. You choke out a groan, voice echoing into the glass like a promise you didn't mean to make.

It’s violent and tender both—his tongue brushing over your collar bone, mouth stretched tight as he grunts and moves. You're balancing between pleasure and panic, eyes on your reflection as you feel him fully seated inside you, deep in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

The mirror explodes with movement: your hips rolling up, his thrusts driving forward, eyes still locked, wanting to see every reaction, every sound leaving your mouth. The world narrows to glass and flesh, sound drowned by the echo of your breathing and the creak of bed slats.

“Fuck,” he hisses into your ear, teeth grazing your lobe. “Look at you.”

You shiver, trembling, caught between the burn and the beauty of watching yourself want him.

He pushes inside you harder, faster. Mirror or not, there's no holding back. Hands move between you, fingers finding that spot behind your hipbone, knuckles brushing skin so perfectly, pleasure and want bleeding together.

You drop your head back, eyes flicking back to the mirror again. It’s too much and enough at once.

“Lando,” you moan. And in your reflection, he hears your name like a vow.

He huffs a laugh—raucous, desperate. “Say it again.”

Your voice shakes as you repeat it. He leans in, thrusts a final time, and everything shatters—clenches, breaks, crashes into the silence after.

The mirror registers your wild exhale, his head bowed low, both of you spent and shaking. In that reflection, you see the aftermath: sweat mottled curls, bruising hips, two silhouettes breathing hard, tangled and real.

He pulls you back up onto the bed fully, lips trailing kisses down your chest until he settles next to you. Everything’s loud now: your breathing, his heartbeat.

You stay there for a long moment, chests rising and falling in sync, the mirror still catching every aftershock in soft, glowy angles. Your skin is slick with sweat, your hair’s a wreck, and Lando’s got that dazed, cocky smile that always shows up right after he’s absolutely wrecked you.

Eventually, he exhales a laugh. “Well. That escalated.”

You snort into his shoulder, voice hoarse. “You literally flipped me like a pancake.”

He grins, lazy and smug. “Yeah, but like... a sexy pancake.”

You groan, covering your face. “You ruin everything.”

He props himself up on one elbow, hair wild, eyes still hazy. “Ruin? That was art.”

You squint at him through your fingers. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, brushing your hair off your face with exaggerated tenderness, “you keep giving me material.”

You pause, arching a brow. “Material?”

“For the next mirror session,” he says with a wink. “You think I’m forgetting that look on your face?”

You swat him with the nearest pillow, but you're laughing now—giddy and ruined and stupidly happy.

“Okay, Casanova.”

After the mirror, it didn’t stop. If anything, it unlocked something.

You started making lists—mental ones, whispered ones, ones jotted down in the Notes app under fake names.

Places. Positions. Kinks. Scenarios.

Sometimes it was mind-blowing. Sometimes it was hilarious.

Like the time you tried shower sex and both of you nearly slipped and died.

Lando caught you by the elbow mid-slide, shampoo burning your eyes, both of you wheezing with laughter.

“Sexy,” you gasped, bent over awkwardly with conditioner still in your hair.

Or the time he tried blindfolding you but tied the scarf too tight and you got a headache halfway through.

And then there were the wins—lazy morning sex with your wrists tied above your head and his mouth trailing kisses down your stomach.

A hotel balcony in Barcelona, warm night air against your skin while his fingers curled inside you and he murmured, “Keep your voice down.”

Or the time he dared you in a restaurant, completely drunk on red wine and adrenaline and you made him comeunder the table flushed and giggling while he tried to pretend he hadn’t just ruined his pants.

It became your thing.

Not just the sex.

The exploring.

Together. With complete trust and absolutely zero shame.

You laughed when it was awkward. You raved when it was good. You tried again when it flopped.

tag list:

@lifesass @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0 @graceln4 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mara1999

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris smut #lando norris #f1 smut #𓊆papayainone𓊇

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lovcrss · 5 days ago

Text

crawling into joel’s lap after a long day.

cw: light smut, needy joel, nicknames (baby), teasing flirty banter

he’s sitting on his chair on the porch, legs spread and head relaxed on the headrest, finally relieving tension built up from the day. the feeling is almost perfect, only one thing’s missing.

that thing steps out of the house, moving easily in light, short but comfy sleeping clothes. you set yourself down on his lap and drape your legs over his, your ankles on the armrest, looking at him with a cheeky expression.

joel can’t help but let his lips curve upwards, hand immediately running over your leg to your hip, placing it there. “what have we here, hm?”

with a smirk, you kiss his cheek, his beard scraping your face slightly. “a tired grump in need of a drink,” you joke with your head on his chest.

“i got what i need right in front o’me,” he mumbles into your ear, nuzzling his face into your hair, the thick sharp beard itching the side of your face again.

cold night air grazes your exposed skin, causing you to shift in his lap to which he reacts by holding you tighter against him, his hand on your hip firmer and his other hand supporting your back and a grunt.

you hum with a smile on your face, playing with the buttons of his flannel. “really? what, your cigarettes?” the ones that laid on the table next to you in their box.

“‘course,” he huffs sarcastically, trying his best to sound serious. “the hell else would I be talking about?”

“alright,” rolling your eyes, you push his face away from your hair to the other side while he laughs, only to return with his lips attacking your neck. “what’s the matter, baby?”

your fingers attach to his gray hair while he explores up from your neck to your chest. he caresses gently the soft skin of your thighs with his rough fingers, sending shivers over your body.

his gentleness makes you melt, the way his fingers skim over your inner thighs have you gasping his name.

“you’re adorable when you squirm,” he rasps, making sure there isn’t an inch of skin left unkissed.

“stop embarrassing me,” you chuckle, moving while his big hands stay steady over your body.

joel looks up at you with his dog-like eyes. “you want me to stop?” he asks, the hand on your hip snaking upwards, slowly dragging the tips of his fingers over your sides until they reach the curve of you breast.

the way he touches you has your head spinning, needing to compose yourself. changing position, you stand up and place your legs on the sides of his so you’re straddling him. “no,” you say with a hint of a whine in your tone, placing your palms on his chest. “not done with you.”

the sight of you on top of him like this had his jeans tightening around his crotch. one hand slipped under your top again while the other cradled your jaw. “look at you,” he mumbles before connecting your lips in a hungry but slow kiss, almost unconsciously rocking his hips into yours.

the action causes you to let out a whimper into the kiss, only leading him to hold you even passionately. he pulls away to catch his breath. “baby, if you keep making those sounds…”

surprising him, you grind your hips against his already hard cock and let out a small sound again to provoke him, kissing him as a distraction. “what then?”

he shakes his head, “then we’re not sleepin’ tonight.”

suddenly, joel picks you up with your legs around his hips and you squeal, his big hard-on under his jeans digging into your core. he carries you inside with his face in your neck and keeps his word.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou2

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bolshevik-rpf · 2 years ago

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#we had to put one of the cats down today #he was having bladder spasms and we were managing but he had a really bad one and the vet said it would just get worse so my mom decided #he was a stinker who would come up for cuddles and then bite you #he especially liked biting noses #but he also had the biggest fluffiest tail like i’m talking wingspan of four inches on his tail #and he liked to go outside on a lead and explore the garden and backyard #and he had partial heterochromia #his eyes were gold but one half of his left eye was this deep amber colour #he would stick his arms up to be picked up #when he was little he used to ride around draped over shoulders but he got too big but he still wanted to do he would just hold on and #snuggle there #he used to purr really loudly when he was a kitten. like you could hear him down the hall through closed doors #he was really special and i’ll really miss him #eve.txt

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strangererotica · 9 months ago

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EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Reader

* Includes primal, breeding, and scent kink • Logan’s dick is so big Reader struggles to take it 🫦 • oral sex (f receiving) • fingering • vaginal sex • Logan’s in beast mode but the fluff is definitely fluffing 💗 *

Tears bubbled in the corners of your eyes, your lips pressed into a frustrated pout. “It won’t fit,” you whimpered, your voice trembling in defeat. Logan’s broad shoulders curved over you like a shield, every muscle in his body tensed as he demanded restraint of himself.

In spite of how tightly your cunt was sucking at his tip, Logan knew he had to be gentle with you. If he forced himself any deeper, he’d absolutely cause you pain. And that was the last thing he wanted, especially since this was your first time with him…

It was something Logan had anticipated already. He knew he was big, with a thick girth that matched his length. Despite playing with your pussy through your clothes for the last ten minutes and getting you sopping wet, he was still met with resistance the moment he pushed his tip inside you.

“Shh, it’s okay honey,” Logan soothed you. “S’not your fault, alright?” He eased his hips back slowly, carefully removing his tip from your entrance. Logan swiped the pad of his thumb across your cheek, drying a frustrated tear before it could fall. “A tight little pussy’s nothing to cry about, angel,” he grinned reassuringly down at you, pulling you into his arms. “Just means we need to help her relax a little.”

Logan gently guided your back against the couch, sliding down to his knees beside you. One of his hands slid under your ass and down your left thigh, lifting your leg till it was draped over his broad shoulder. The smell of your cunt was intoxicating, stirring every animal instinct inside Logan that he knew he must keep in check. If he lost control, even for a moment, he might hurt you, or worse.

Logan’s self control was immaculate, a skill he’d been forced to acquire through generations of fucking women who didn’t share his strength, and certainly not his ability to heal from whatever consequences a rough fuck could cause.

“You smell like honey,” Logan murmured, nuzzling his nose into the soft warmth of your inner thigh. He used his fingers to delicately spread your lips apart, watching the slick collected there spread between them. Your scent grew stronger as Logan opened you up for himself, his primal need to claim you testing his sense of control. His eyes honed in on the wet cunt just inches from his mouth, dripping with copious, slippery cum. Logan could smell your fertility, the pheromones emitting from your body sending his animal instinct to breed into overdrive.

Logan nestled his head deeper between your thighs, his nose pressed against your bush. He breathed deeply the delicious cocktail of your sweat and cum gathered inside the coarse hair framing your pussy. Logan’s hands were now at his sides in fists, clenching so hard that his fingernails punctured the skin of his palms. He nuzzled into your bush, drawing another breath of your scent inside his nose. Parting his lips, Logan let his tongue dip between your labia, spreading them apart just as his fingers had before. Your thighs trembled around his head, breathy moans leaving your lips as Logan’s mouth explored you. Your fingers went to his hair, lacing in the thick brown strands and holding him in place.

Logan was in absolute bliss, delving his tongue between your folds, slurping loudly as he ate your cum. The animal inside him was finally being sated, fed well at the meal between your thighs, his teeth sinking ever-so-lightly into the plump pout of your lips, wide tongue padding soft against your clit.

Logan’s fingers joined his tongue, entering you easily as he continued to lap at your clit. Watching him work between your thighs, you felt your climax building. Logan pumped his fingers inside you at a brutal pace, the force of his hand meeting your cunt each time his fingers disappeared inside you making you wince. It hurt so good, too good, a feeling of absolute overwhelm that had fresh tears springing to your eyes. As the pressure inside you gave way to climax, tears cascaded down your burning cheeks, your features contorted in ecstasy. A carnal groan of relief poured from your lips as hot slick gushed over Logan’s tongue. He lapped and sucked your juices like a thirsty animal as they dripped down your thighs, chasing every drop as your cum soaked into the cushion beneath you.

His cock was leaking precum onto the floor, his tip red and aching, every instinct in Logan’s body silently screaming at him to fuck a baby into the nearest fertile womb. He slid your thigh off his shoulder but remained between your legs, rising to kneel on one knee as he tugged your hips forward to meet his. Logan’s face and chest were glistening with cum and sweat. He reached for the back of your neck, holding your head in place so your eyes would be on his when he entered you. You felt Logan’s tip press just inside your entrance, his forehead creasing as he willed himself not to selfishly take you as roughly as he wanted. “Alright, baby?” he asked, his voice a choked groan. You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip as Logan sank three inches inside you.

Your cunt accepted him with minimal resistance, till a slight sting caused you to wince and brought Logan to a pause. “Too much?” he panted down at you, and you quickly replied with a forceful “NO. Keep going Logan, please…”

He was trembling all over, the fight between his care for you and his animal need raging. With extreme effort to be gentle, Logan sank another three inches deeper inside you. The breath in your lungs burst out of you as Logan filled you, his hips stilling as he felt the smooth mound of your cervix against his tip. “Look at you, baby,” he murmured proudly. “Takin’ me so deep…I knew you could.”

Your heart skipped at his praise. Knowing Logan was pleased with you was addictive; you needed more. “I want to make you happy,” you uttered softly, your voice timid and small, needy tears gathering on your lashes. Logan grinned down at you, his voice a heady drug as he assured you “sweetheart, you already have…”

He drew his hips backward slowly, then carefully thrust just once inside you. Your whole body jerked at the impact, your eyes squeezed shut, a breathy gasp punched out of you. Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, growling through his teeth. Your pillowy walls were milking him, his heavy balls aching to be drained, eager to breed the fertile womb his tip was wedged against.

Logan exhaled deeply, the scent of your cunt washing over you on his breath. “Can I get you pregnant?” he asked, his eyes boring deep into yours as his cock rested thick and throbbing inside you. Maybe his question would have been too much from anyone else. It was a request that held massive implications…the consequences unavoidable. But coming from Logan, a request to claim your womb as his was…deliciously tempting.

You nodded, watching the tension in Logan’s face soften as he confirmed your consent. It was all so much, so beautiful, his body over yours and inside you, the security you felt wrapped up in his warmth. Your lips quivered into a confident smile, fresh tears of submission and love trickling down your cheeks. “Fill me up,” you gently begged. “Make me yours, Logan. I already am…”

He closed his eyes a moment, the gnawing hunger inside him ready to tear both of you in half if he gave himself over to it. With his hands firmly clutching your shoulders, Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. A low growl left his lips as he surrendered to his need to breed you. Logan buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent as his hips propelled forward. He took you as gently as he could, big hands pressing your shoulders back as you arched against the couch. Your legs wrapped around Logan’s waist, ankles crossing behind his back. He rut his hips into yours, smearing the sweat along his happy trail against your belly. Logan’s cock disappeared inside you, his bush matted with your juices, squelching as your crotches met with each punch of his hips. He stroked you as deeply as you could take him, dragging his heavy cock back and forth within the snug grip of your cunt.

Logan growled your name against your ear as his hips stilled against you, the words on his lips fading into a breathy moan as he emptied his sperm between your walls. A metallic sound issued beside your shoulders where Logan held you. Tilting your head, you saw Logan’s claws extended, burrowed into the couch cushions beneath you. His breath punched from his lungs in bursts, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your tits.

Logan collapsed forward, taking care not to crush you beneath him. He held you close, swallowing you up in the curve of his chest, refusing to let go till he was certain the last of his seed had drained from his tip. Logan carefully removed his softening cock from inside you, a thick stream of semen leaking creamy and white from between your lips. He lifted you into his arms, letting you rest and recover, your ear pressed to his heartbeat. As your breathing slowed, Logan looked down to see you peacefully asleep. He placed a soft kiss in your hair, smiling contentedly, grateful to hold you as long as you rested, allowing Nature to take its course as his sperm made its way to your womb…

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majestyeverlasting · 3 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader (18+) summary it wasn’t uncommon for you to seek each other’s presence after the sun was tucked away—for company, for comfort. but there’s something more consuming about tonight [post-outbreak, fluff, soft smut, 3.3k] a/n they're in love.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

There always had been something about the night. Something singular about its ability to take the most tightly wound days and coax them undone. Like the silken ribbon of a worn bow that had grown weary of holding its shape.

For quite some time now, your nights have belonged to each other. After years of going to bed alone, even Joel realized how good it felt to end the day next to someone who reminded him just how sweet life could be.

Everyone's deserving of good company—you’d spoken those words to him in the face of his independence. Thankfully, with time, they’d worked their way into his spirit. Like vines, like air itself. He no longer feels wrong for craving care as tender as yours, even though his hands have made ghosts out of many men.

Earlier tonight, it was you who came to him.

Three muffled knocks had roused him from the beginning of a light sleep. Given he didn’t have to entertain Ellie tonight, he figured he’d turn in a little earlier than usual. He’d answered the door with fluffy hair and squinted eyes. There was an undeniable softness about his rumpled pajamas and the sight of his bare feet against the hardwood. Few words were needed between you as he helped you out of your coat and led you upstairs to his bedroom.

It’s quiet where you lay now, tucked beneath sheets that smell faintly of earthen pine. You’ve draped one arm over Joel’s waist while your nose remains tucked between his shoulder blades like it belongs there.

During the day, while out in the commune, you remained cordial and unassuming around each other. You weren’t exactly hiding from the attention of others but were protecting the bond forming between you.

In due time, you’d allow the familiarity and intimacy of the night to bleed over into the day, but for now, this nighttime ritual is sacred in its newness. It had been a couple of months since your patrol partner didn’t show, and Joel stepped up to take his place.

As it turns out, spending six hours with the right person in the cold can change your life.

Joel holds his breath on an inhale when he feels your fingers begin to toy with the hem of his shirt. They slip beneath it a moment later, almost shy as they trail along his waistline and brush through the thin hair beneath his navel. Joel’s hips tilt just so.

He swallows around a low sound as your hand ventures up his chest with featherlight curiosity. Exploring, cataloging. Past his ribs and to his chest to graze the pads of your fingers over his nipples, making something stir low in his gut.

Your hand then drifts back down to splay over the small pudge of his stomach as if to center him again.

“You’re so warm,” you murmur.

If he were braver, he’d say it was by virtue of your touch alone. Your hands had wandered over each other's bodies, but never quite like this. This time, your touch doesn’t seek to soothe or ground but to evoke.

Joel rests his hand over yours with a hum. It covers yours whole.

“Your hands are so big.” Your voice dips into a purr. “And strong. Capable.”

Joel chuckles a low, flustered sound. He’s not sure what to do with these compliments or if that’s what they’re meant to be.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you then say. “Fix my mailbox.”

Of everything you could’ve mentioned, he wasn’t expecting that. It was an easy task he’d knocked out earlier this afternoon. It took him no more than fifteen minutes.

“Nothing to it,” he assures in a low drawl.

Except, there was something to it. The fix meant Joel had been listening when you mentioned it broke. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something for you without asking for permission. Joel Miller is a man of action. If he sees a problem or a need, he doesn't hesitate. That strong sense of initiative had yet to steer him wrong.

It’s lovely to be seen and heard by someone like him, especially in a commune where it wasn’t hard to slip through the cracks at times.

A half-restrained shiver rolls down Joel’s spine when you press a kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair curled there tickles the tip of your nose.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Welcome—” His voice catches when you pepper more kisses to his nape. His hand stills yours when he feels your attempt to trail your touch downward from his stomach.

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes, a little wary.

“Yes?” you lilt.

The sheets rustle as Joel turns over to face you. He can only make out a few of your features in the glow of the moonlight slipping into the room. The rest, his mind fills in. You cup his stubbled cheek with a gentle hand.

“Makin’ me hot.” His voice is soft and honest, a little frayed around the edges. A pleasant buzz has settled beneath his skin.

Maybe you wanted him to burn.

You scoot that much closer to press your lips to his. When the initial surprise dissipates, they move, slow and easy, against your own. Almost tired if you didn’t know any better. But even in the shroud of the night, he’s wide awake. For this. For you.

A low sound rises in his throat when you take his lower lip between your teeth and gently tug until you’ve fully pulled away.

Joel hadn’t realized his hand had drifted to settle on your waist, but suddenly, it’s not enough. He needs to feel you entirely. A need rooted so deep he aches with it. There’s no more denying the swell in his pants, where the brunt of his desire has made itself known.

Restraint looks good on Joel, but there always has been an air of allure around the notion of him surrendering. Of what it looked like for him to partake and be partaken of. It’d been some years since he’d allowed himself to open up in this way, and anyone he shared himself with in the past was long gone. You wanted to demystify it all and come to know that side of him for yourself.

This time, when your hand begins to drift lower, he doesn’t stop you. Not when your fingers slip beneath both his waistbands. Or as you wrap them around the base of his warm, rigid length. A pleasured shudder courses through him as you pull upwards in a reverent tug. At the top, your thumb encircles the velveteen head to spread the small, wet bead of eagerness.

Joel starts to move upright but trembles back into place when your loose grasp descends, mapping back down each snaking vein before gently massaging the rounded fullness that hangs beneath.

“Love the feel of you already,” you murmur. Joel’s face warms as his arousal kicks up under your ministrations.

In an unexpected display of agility, he repositions to hover above you, pushes down his pants and boxers, and braces himself as he kicks them away. His movements are so seamless that your touch isn’t disrupted for long.

You spit into your hand as best you can and reach out for him in the dark, knowing exactly where to find him as he bobs towards his stomach.

Joel’s more interested in gripping your pants, and you place your feet flat on the mattress to lift your hips for him to shuck them off. The cool air of the room registers against the slickness between your legs as you clench. Joel lowers a finger to trace along your entrance, spreading the moisture upwards as he circles your budded nerves.

He continues paying careful attention to the spot, even as your hand distractedly falls from him to curl into the sheets. Your exhale is shaky when he stops.

“Just a second,” Joel rasps.

He braces himself further up your body, one large palm splayed near your head. As the mattress shifts, you realize he’s reaching toward the nightstand. You move your hand to play between your legs to ease the throbbing ache lazily.

A faint click sounds, and a flame sparks to life, balanced on the crooked wick of a candle. The light casts a dim, golden radius in the room.

“Can’t miss this,” he explains as he returns to his original position.

“Need to see you.” In a testament to his words, his arousal kicks up on its own accord yet again.

You selfishly take him in. His intense gaze. Broad shoulders. Thick thighs. The straining, desirous region of him that your hands had come to know before your eyes ever did. A thatch of unruly dark curls rests at the base of him.

Joel pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his last covered portion. His arms are toned and firm. A thin dusting of hair spans over his impressive chest. New and old scars pepper the expanse of his torso. The faint indents of a v-line remain even with the pudge of his stomach from age and finally eating good meals again.

Now it’s your turn. Joel helps you out of your shirt and tosses it aside with renewed urgency. As you finally lay bare, his dark eyes admire your chest as if this first chance is the last chance he’ll get. He extends a careful hand to cup one of your breasts, gaze flicking to your face to watch the way your brows furrow in approval.

“Christ,” he grouses in an air of disbelief.

You suck in a quick breath when he leans down to kiss along the side of your neck. Goosebumps arise in the wake of his lips as he continues downward like it’s a path he’s traveled before. Over your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, straying to gently peck a pebbled nipple before returning to the centerline of your torso.

In the process, he shifts himself further down the mattress, your legs propped like two mountains along either side of him.

His kisses turn into toothless nips when he reaches the lower portion of your stomach. That sensation, paired with the scratch of his beard, makes your abdomen twitch and flex. It isn’t until he makes it beneath your belly button and strays toward your hip bones that your chest finally shakes with a laugh as you squirm.

Joel stills you with a steady hand and peeks up at you with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. He’s cataloging every shift and sweet sound.

As his shoulders force your thighs to splay a little wider, you bite your lip both out of anticipation and to keep your lingering smile at bay. In seconds, he’s made a live wire out of you.

Every other breath you take catches. You find yourself swallowing more than you had all night. But suddenly, there’s no urgency about him at all. You’ve slipped into an unspoken purgatory where your release looms on hold.

He’s drawing things out, taking his time, ignoring the throb of his own need as he tries to pick you apart.

Joel bypasses where you’re spread open and pulsing and delivers a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mere inches from where you crave him. You shift, hoping he’ll reroute, but he pretends not to notice.

You try again, attempting to twist and present your core as an alternative to the fluff of your thighs.

An exasperated huff escapes you. “Just…”

You let your sentence trail off as you attempt to give him your best pleading look. It almost works. They’re the eyes he’d steal the moon for, but he wants to relish this moment a little longer. Wants to hold out on you while you’re both safe to be these needy versions of yourselves.

“Just what, sweetheart?” he coaxes.

Your mouth opens a couple of times. “Do something. Touch me,” you murmur, cheeks warm.

“I am touchin’ you.” He smooths a calloused palm along your leg to prove it.

“Like you were before,” you specify, voice smaller now.

Your stomach flips when he starts to move back towards your hips, and flustered, premature giggles bubble up your throat because he’s got you so on edge, and you just know he’s about to do those maddening little kisses again.

“Not that,” you whine. “C’mon Joel, I need you.” The earnestness of those words sends a jolt toward the apex of his thighs.

You’ve got him now, so you press further. “Please? Wanna feel you.” You make your voice softer. “Been wanting to feel you all night.”

Joel caves and runs a heavy finger through your folds, then gently spreads you open to press a kiss to that small, swollen part of you. His lips are so delicate you’d think he was kissing a rose bud. A helpless mewl escapes as he replaces his lips with the firm press of his middle finger and begins drawing tight circles.

The touch stirs faint, premature flutters that make you tilt your hips into his hand. “I gotcha,” he assures.

He did have you, not just in this way, but in every sense of the word. He’d proven that from the day he met you, ready to be the supply to your demand when it came to all manners of your needs. Even the ones you didn’t realize you had. The thought alone makes pleasure knot in your stomach all the more. You clench around nothing but the idea of taking him.

“Joel,” you breathe.

His eyes lift from your core to your gaze. Your eyes sparkle with candlelit desperation. Still taking his time, he runs his finger back down and just barely breaches your entrance with a curious probe. He’s wet with your slick and knows he’d slip right in.

“Need you,” you murmur again. It’s different this time.

Joel withdraws his touch and crawls back up your body, muscles shadowing as they shift. You open your legs wider so he can slot himself between you, bracing a forearm near your head. He’s close enough that your chests brush. That your breaths mingle.

He takes himself in his hand and guides the tip to the warmth of your center. The gentle touch soon turns into a glide that bumps your clit with every upward pass. You place your hands on his shoulders because your fingers are shaking, and you don’t know what else to do.

Like a locksmith with a key, he notches at your entrance with delicate intentionality. Both of you shudder, and he briefly touches his forehead to yours. The world stills as he slowly begins to push inside of you. You welcome each new inch with the same steady, heated snugness. Not once does your body flinch or hesitate. You welcome him in even through the dullest ache until he’s burrowed.

Your joint groans just barely register on the outskirts of your consciousness as the blinding haze of pleasure becomes one with reality.

Joel grants you a quiet moment of acclimation before he pulls out a little and eases himself back in. A hum vibrates through your chest. This time, he pulls back a little further, then finds his way back inside the encompassing warmth of you.

“You’re the warm one,” he counters your earlier statement. “Taking me so well,” he praises.

He withdraws a little more each time until his thrusts become fuller, and he finds an easy rhythm. You encourage his movements with the dig of your heels at the back of his thighs.

He tucks his head down to place open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and graze down his back.

“You feel so good,” you admit in a frantic sigh. “So so good.”

Joel nearly comes from hearing that alone.

There is no reprieve from the pleasure, no moment that allows you two to fully gather your bearings or muster up a semblance of composure. Every sound that slips past your lips is helpless, a little gone. They join the tiny squeaks of the mattress and the sticky, rhythmic contact of skin meeting dewy skin.

“Faster,” you breathe. Joel listens in a heartbeat, continuing to meet that dense, tender place within you that has your toes curling. “Oh god—” you choke out, a mix between a moan and a whimper.

Before you can find your breath again, Joel cups your breasts, switching from one to the other and running his thumb along your nipples. The sound that escapes you almost sounds pained, but your face scrunches in the prettiest, rawest way. Joel’s hips drive forward in an involuntary thrust of force.

One of his hands slips between your bodies to rub over that still-pulsing part of you. A dreamy sound falls past your lips as you writhe and arch. The tightness builds. The sea swells. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep it all at bay and prolong the moment.

“Open your eyes, angel,” Joel encourages in a rasp.

You don’t listen and silently pray that he gives up.

“Lemme see those pretty eyes,” he tries again.

You whimper as his finger rubs faster circles, his thrusts remaining intense.

Joel’s voice takes on a waver, cracking around the edges with something fragile and desperate. “C’mon, baby, please?”

You realize then that he needs it.

When your eyes flutter open, a few rogue tears run down the apples of your cheeks towards your ears. Joel catches them. It’s too much. The newness of it all, the warm weight of his body moving above yours, making you his. There’s a glisten on his forehead, in the divot of his sternum. The way his muscles flex with his thrusts is living art. You’ve never met a more gorgeous man or had the pleasure of knowing and becoming one with someone who made you feel this whole.

“There she is,” Joel hums.

In an instant, your body jolts against the mattress as you come undone beneath his frame. Your walls flutter around him in strong pulses of pleasure that radiate outward and leave you floating. If it were light instead, you’d be a shining star illuminating the room.

Joel’s seen fewer sights that have struck him at his core.

It takes every ounce of decency and strength within him to override the recklessness of pleasure, and pull out of you in a swift drag. Away from your swollen, pulsing warmth. Away from one of the few places he could confidently say he belonged in this fallen world.

Through dazed eyes, you watch as Joel wraps a hand around himself and begins stroking. He’s slick with you, and the veins in his forearms pop.

He spills onto your stomach in seconds with an earnest, shuddered groan. Each pulse of his release grows duller, resulting in shorter spurts until there’s nothing more than a pearly dribble running down the sides of him.

You reach out with a weak hand to take over and coax him through the last few waves. Joel twitches in your grasp but lets you continue. Another shudder courses through him as he grows sensitive and begins to soften.

“That’s all of me, baby,” he says, voice low and soft just for you.

You hum in a daze as you withdraw your touch. The last thing you remember is the kiss Joel presses to your forehead, the dip of the mattress as he gets out of bed, the gentleness of his hands, and the warm towel as he cleanses you.

There’s something special about the following morning. Something soft, aglow, and singular as pale sun rays slip into Joel’s room. They coat the cozy space like a seal. It’s as if the events of last night had carried over and been made manifest into something warm, and lovely, and beautiful.

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

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l0vergirlwrites · 3 months ago

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the science of kisses ; spencer reid

synopsis: during a make out session, you & spencer explore the concept of erogenous zones.

warnings: established relationship with fem!reader, mentions of kissing & slight sexual suggestive content, spencer being smug af because he’s confident in your relationship, reader matching spencer’s vibe!!!

note: i just had to write this after having a psych lecture about it, so this is hella indulgent but i hope y’all enjoy 💋

minors dni with this post!

“did you like that?”.

nodding your head, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, but it sounded more like a mewl as it escaped your lips.

it was late.

both you & spencer were well aware of the how the time had dipped from the late night to absurdly early morning, but neither of you cared. at least, not when his body was draped over yours like this, lips moving across your neck in languid strokes like a painter.

“feels nice” you said real breathy & cute, causing spencer to press another kiss to the same spot just at the side of your neck below your ear, smiling into your skin when your hands gripped his sides a little tighter.

he couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought of him being the reason why you were falling into bliss like this.

“do you know why it feels nice there?” he asked in a hushed tone due to the close proximity of his mouth to your ear.

you almost groaned in response because surely spencer knows what effect his words have on you, right?

“because it’s an erogenous zone?” you asked, shutting your eyes when his teeth lightly grazed your pulse point as if he was giving you a reward, feeling his thumb press harder into your hip on top of the mattress.

“good answer” he pulled back to get a good look at you, lips slightly swollen with pride as he looked down at you.

the way your chest rose up & down a little quicker, the hazy gaze in your eyes—you were enjoying every minute of it.

“erogenous zones feel so nice because the stimulation in those areas increase feelings of pleasure” your eyes stayed focused on the way his lips moved as he spoke, how they curled into a knowing smile when he realized your attention was locked in on them.

humming in response, you lifted a hand to cup spencer’s cheek, dipping your thumb to smooth over his bottom lip after a moment, relishing in its softness. “you’re real cute when you talk like that”.

latching a hand to yours, spencer pulled your hand back before pressing a few kisses to the inner part of your wrist, inching his way to your palm & back all innocently.

your jaw went slack as he maintained eye contact.

“everyone has multiple erogenous zones on their body, some are more heightened than others,” he spoke slowly as his lips touched the heel of your palm, noting how tightly you continued to grip his shirt.

that’s another one, he noted in his mind.

“why do you think that’s the case?” spencer pulled your hand away, gently placing it back onto the mattress before leaning closer to your face again, humming when your hand run through his hair, scraping his scalp in just the right way to make him preen.

you smirked with satisfaction.

“because the skin is the body’s largest organ, so it makes sense why there’d be multiple spots with—oh—uhm, heightened sensitivity” you tried keeping your composure as he made his way to the right side of your neck, continuing his kisses across you skin before sucking on a few spots, humming when you finished your sentence.

“i should give you a gold star for that one”.

“you basically already are”.

“you’re right”.

“i kno—shit, spence” you exhaled sharply when his lips sucked just above your right collarbone, aiming to leave a sweet mark as a memory.

you were sure you’d feel the slight bruise in the morning, but you didn’t mind.

not when it felt so good.

“you were saying?” he lifted his head up, ignoring the way you rolled your eyes & how your eyebrows were pinched together in relief.

“shut up” you let a smile slip loose, shoving him away weakly before reeling him back in, letting his nose nudge yours. “you’ve got a mouth on you, reid”.

“so i’ve been told. but i don’t think you mind it much, sweetheart” he said all suave, drifting a hand down to the crevice of your right knee to let him pull your thigh taut to his hip, caging him into your form without any protest.

spencer was turning you on with science, & you were falling for it. but what else were you supposed to do?

“if i say i like it, will you kiss me?” you asked, lips ghosting his own, his eyes trained on the way you bit your lip in anticipation for whatever is to come.

spencer shrugged his shoulders playfully, “i wouldn’t be against that”.

“okay, i like it. kiss me—“ he stole your breath away eagerly, chests pressed against the other as you sucked his top lip between yours, moaning at the feeling of his tongue swiping your mouth like he’s done so many times before, but the feeling never failed to send shivers down your spine.

“baby—“ you breathed, hands gripping his hair like a vice the longer he kissed you back, tummy flipping when his hips pressed firmly into yours in response to the pet name.

“yeah?” spencer licked his lips once he pulled away, pupils blown wide as his heart raced, staring at you like you were the woman only alive.

“show me where your erogenous zones are, please?”.

you’ve never seen his head nod so fast.

#l0vergirlwrites💌#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid short #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubbler x reader #mgg #mgg fanfiction

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pir8 · 2 years ago

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so sick of having to be a real person..... i wish i could be invisible and not have to interact with anybody but Also all my friends know who i am and love me. i just dont have to ever express who i am or anything about myself while still getting to know people and experiencing all the benefits of mutual human connection. i think this is a fair thing to want

#anyways im buying clothes #its so cringe that other people have to see what i want to drape over my mortal husk #i feel like people appreciate how i dress now... they respect it and think im cool and think i look good too #i want those same people to feel that way. but i also want to explore some other styles and see if i like it...#i feel like my perception of myself is so radically different from whatever the fuck im actually putting out into the world #i guess im afraid if i try to align them ill realize im nothing like that version of myself im imagined and never could be #or maybe just that if i could be nobody would want me to be that way or would prefer the way i am now #idk. idk. so so sick of being perceived #wish i could be a little cartoon character or something

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moonlightwritingf1 · 4 months ago

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Tender Moments | LN4

𐙚 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando loves playing with Y/N's boobs—even when they're sore.

𐙚 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𐙚 word count ━━━━━━━ 1.1k

𐙚 warnings ━━━━━━━ breast play?

Based on this request.

The soft glow of the television flickered across the living room, casting a warm, golden hue over the two figures curled up on the couch. Y/N leaned back against Lando’s chest, her head resting just below his collarbone as they watched the film. His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, his fingers occasionally brushing against the fabric of her top in a way that made her skin tingle. The air between them was thick with something unspoken—comfort, tension, desire. It was hard to tell which one dominated more.

Lando shifted slightly, his breath grazing the nape of her neck as he murmured, “You good?”

“Mhm,” she hummed softly, her eyes still fixed on the screen. She wasn’t entirely focused on the movie, though. Her mind kept wandering to the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the way his heartbeat seemed to sync with hers. He felt like home, even when she tried so hard to keep him at arm’s length.

His hand slid up her side slowly, almost hesitantly, until it rested just below her chest. He paused there, his fingertips tracing lazy circles over the fabric of her top. “Can I?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with a nervousness she rarely heard from him.

Y/n glanced down at his hand, her breath hitching slightly. She knew what he was asking. They’d been here before—this quiet, intimate moment where they both hovered on the brink of something more. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the way his voice had softened, or the way his touch lingered like he was afraid she’d pull away.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, just… be gentle. They’re sore.”

Lando didn’t need to ask why. He simply nodded, his fingers moving to the hem of her top. Slowly, he pulled it up over her head, his movements deliberate and careful. The cool air hit her skin, making her shiver slightly, but his hands were quick to replace the warmth. His palms hovered over her breasts for a moment, as if he was savoring the anticipation, before finally making contact.

God, his hands. They were calloused from years of gripping steering wheels, yet they moved over her with such tenderness it made her chest ache. He cupped them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in featherlight strokes. She let out a small sigh, her head falling back against his shoulder as she closed her eyes.

“Okay?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear.

“More than okay,” she breathed, her voice trembling slightly.

Lando smiled against her skin, his hands continuing their exploration. He massaged her breasts with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic, his fingers kneading the tender flesh with just the right amount of pressure. Every now and then, he’d lean down to press a kiss to her shoulder or the curve of her neck, his lips warm and insistent.

He shifted slightly, his breath fanning over her skin as he spoke. “Can I…” He trailed off, his lips hovering just above her breast.

Y/n didn’t need him to finish. She knew what he was asking. She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. There was a vulnerability there that surprised her—a quiet plea for permission. She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.

Lando didn’t waste any time. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the swell of her breast in a kiss so soft it was barely there. Then his tongue followed, tracing slow, languid circles around her nipple. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched into his touch.

Without breaking contact, he shifted her effortlessly, his hands firm as he moved her from between his legs to her ass resting beside him, her legs draped over his thighs. The new position let him pull her even closer, one hand gripping her hip as his mouth continued its slow, torturous worship of her skin.

“Lan-do,” she breathed, his name slipping past her lips in a shaky exhale.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through her. He continued to lavish attention on her breast, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive her to the edge of madness. But he never once sucked or bit down—he was too careful, too considerate of her sensitivity. Instead, he worshipped her with a gentleness that left her breathless.

As the movie played quietly in the background, Lando alternated between her breasts, his hands and mouth never leaving her skin for long. It wasn’t just about physical pleasure—there was something else in the way he touched her, something that felt achingly familiar and new all at once. Like he was trying to show her how much she meant to him without saying a word.

At one point, Y/n turned her head to look at him, her heart swelling at the sight of his half-lidded eyes and the faint flush creeping up his neck. He looked peaceful, like this was exactly where he was meant to be. And maybe it was.

“Why do you always look so happy when you’re doing this?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of the TV.

Lando paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes shining with something she couldn’t quite place. “Because it’s you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

And maybe it did.

Y/n’s chest tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to say something—to tell him how much his words meant to her, how much he meant to her—but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and desperate.

Lando responded instantly, his hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. Their kisses deepened, the world around them fading into nothing as they lost themselves in each other. When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together and breaths mingling, Lando whispered, “You’re everything, y/n. I hope you know that.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes searching his for any hint of insincerity. But there was none—only raw, unfiltered honesty. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. Just the two of them, lost in a moment that felt like it would last forever.

Then, just as quickly as it started, Lando pulled back, his grin returning to its usual teasing self. “Now, where were we?” he asked, his hands drifting back to her breasts with a playful smirk.

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pbpressure · 4 months ago

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capture | p.b

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fluff (reader sounds a little clingy but its cute), fingering (reader receiving), oral (paige receiving), some yearning, hair pulling, slight dom sub dynamics but nothing too serious. lmk if i missed anything!

wc: 3.3k (slight pwp, cmon act like you know me)

summary: paige and reader are out of the country but want to be inside each other LMAO

authors note: i don’t even know what to call this, i barely proofread it. i’ve honestly been having such a hard time writing but hopefully this suffices for now! munch madness i mean march madness is upon us hehe

enjoy! x

when paige told you that she booked you two a getaway for spring break you had no idea that it would be this luxurious.

the room alone was huge. windows covering an entire wall from ceiling to floor. most surfaces were covered in beautiful decor and the bed faced the humongous pool that sat just beyond the deck outside. it was perfect.

you couldn’t actually fuss about the cost or how hard it must’ve been to book because paige was quick to hush you with a kiss on your forehead and mutter how she’d always “do anything for you.”

the vacation honestly felt more like you both ran away. off of your phones for days, with the exception of checking in with family and taking numerous photos. although it wasn’t intentionally secretive that made it even more enjoyable.

the beach, which you had visited every day thus far due to its close proximity, was perfect. the area surrounding your villa nice and quiet as well.

of course with the extra rest time that comes with a vacation you had encouraged paige to rest, that’s all you wanted for the both of you. but after the first two days you realized that even you could only nap so much.

today after a little more exploring the amenities of your villa you did lay down together and close your eyes for a bit. when you open them again you don’t know how much time has passed, but paige was knocked out of course.

you had been awake for a good 20 minutes. in your defense you did try to close your eyes again but it was unsuccessful.

your body was draped over paige’s, one of her hands resting naturally on your thigh that was slung across her hips. her bicep flexed slightly as it was propping her head up on the pillow. you catch yourself silently chuckling when you realize you were just staring at her in awe.

it was all so domestic. from the sleeping position to the way that one of the only noises you could hear were little puffs of air from paige’s parted lips. if you could capture the feeling into one world it would be complete. or maybe absolute.

you’re aching at this point from craning your neck to gawk at paige and you honestly feel ridiculous for how long you’ve been laying like this.

with the urge to bask in the sun and swim a little you gently turn over, lifting paige’s arm from you. you slip out of bed, careful not to wake her and you quietly get changed and head outside.

the wide window in the room gave her a clear view of the pool. hopefully she’d wake up, see you perched in a chair, and come join you.

her nap actually lasts way longer than you anticipated and you were getting antsy. you read your book until you couldn't anymore and switched your lying position too many times to count. it had already been about an hour and a half since you’d got up from the bed and paige was still asleep.

the sun was starting to set and you hoped she would get up soon, but alas the impatience was becoming a bit painful.

you pick up your phone deciding to text paige and immediately open the camera. putting a slight pout in your lips you take a selfie, tits perky and in frame. then you flip the camera and angle your phone down to get your entire lower body and the pool in one picture. you take the photo, press send and quickly type up something to emphasize on the amount of notifications she’d get.

*buzz* 1 attachment

*buzz* p, can you nap faster? i’m…bored.

*buzz* 1 attachment

of course paige was still on dnd so naturally you pressed the notify anyway button. sighing in contentment you decide to get up off your ass (hardly) and sit in the hot tub that was adjacent, waiting for your girlfriend.

your texts didn’t wake paige, she had already started tossing and turning a bit ago signaling the end of her nap.

however, when she did pick up the phone after realizing you were no longer lying beside her she felt her eyes go so wide that they could have bulged out of her head.

she looks at both the pictures you sent and exhales sharply, running a hand over her face in disbelief.

the blonde couldn’t help but glance outside, eyes instantly making contact with your bikini clad figure. she bit her lip as her eyes ran up and down your body.

your hair had gotten wet and began to cling to your chest and neck that was now glistening and catching a slight glow from the fluorescent lights in the hot tub. your lips were glossy, as always, and they were parted while you let out what looked like a sigh.

she lifts her phone from the bed swiping the camera icon at the bottom of the screen.

these photos were for her, but also to show you how good you really did look.

your head is slightly tilted to the side when she snaps the photo. you’re standing to adjust yourself so your hips come up to the surface of the water. she almost drools looking back at the way she had captured you before she presses the blue arrow in the text bar.

getting up and changing out of her clothes and into her swimsuit she hurries outside.

when you hear the sliding door your attention is on paige as she makes her way to the hot tub.

your eyes light up and you grin, pleased to see her awake. when you notice that she’s getting in the water, you have to force yourself not to stare.

her abdomen toned and flexing with each step she took. chest exposed and already showing a tan as a result of earlier time spent in the sun.

“so you missed me?” paige breaks the silence once she’s settled into the water across from you.

“don’t act shocked.” you scoff.

“oh, i’m not. it’s just…cute ‘s all.” she says, lifting her eyebrow a bit and stifling a giggle when she sees you roll your eyes.

“i sat out here for almost two hours while you slept, it got boring fast. plus i knew you’d want to watch the sunset so i hoped you’d wake up in time.”

paige’s heart swells at the confession. she had just been a threshold away from you asleep and still the only thing on your mind. it was never a secret between the two of you or to anyone else how obsessed you were with each other. but that didn’t mean it got old.

“as great as it is to rest, i'm glad i woke up in time to catch the sunset,” paige starts. “and you in this…this bikini?”

“what do you mean? it is a bikini.” you contest, raising your own eyebrow now and anticipating how paige would admit that your bathing suit barely covering anything was causing her own skin to run hot.

her cheeks are beet red and she purses her lips together to stop herself from smiling like an idiot.

“you know exactly what i mean.” she mutters, voice suggestive.

you do fully giggle this time, leaning your head back. when you’re done laughing you unintentionally press your entire body forward for a second when you rest your arms on the sides of the hot tub.

you watch the blonde across from you lick her lips as her eyes travel straight to your tits, back up to your face, and then to your tits one last time before she opens her mouth once more.

“I loved the photos by the way. can’t say they compare to having you right here within my reach, but you look amazing.”

“thank you baby. wanna say it again and look me in the eyes this time?”

tonguing her cheek to hold in a laugh she shakes her head. partially because she was caught ogling and partially at how bratty you were being.

“i can show you better than i can tell you.”

“yeah?” you taunt, tilting your head.

“get over here.”

you practically pounce on her with how quickly you travel from your end of the water to her lap. she wastes no time grabbing your hips so you’re comfortably straddling her.

you let out a hiss when she presses your hips down, forcing you to sit on her completely. you had been riled up since she stepped outside, the friction on your clit from the material of your swim bottoms wasn’t helping.

paige brings a wet hand up to cradle your chin, turning your head to face her completely. she pulls you closer, not kissing you yet.

“you really are so gorgeous, you know that?” paige mutters, lips ghosting over yours.

“p, have you seen yourself? cmon now–“

“this isn’t about me, baby.”

she stops you mid thought with a soft peck on the lips. although it’s feather light a smack sounds between you both at how quickly it happened.

you whine when she pulls back and you don’t miss how she smirks at your reaction.

“don’t be a brat.”

“okay, then kiss me.” you groan, bringing your arms above the water to wrap around her neck, closing the bit of distance that's between your lips.

it’s already warm in the water that’s ricocheting against the walls of the hot tub and your bodies, but the way that paige moans into your mouth when she kisses you back heats you up more.

for a while you’re just kissing like horny teenagers. it’s sloppy and wet and you pull away panting a little.

you run your hands through paige’s hair and study her features before leaning in to kiss her again, stopping just barely before your lips meet. she closes her eyes in anticipation but opens them after she realizes you’re not gonna kiss her.

“like i was saying,” you whisper, struggling to hold eye contact when you feel her breath hitch against your lips.

“i could look at you all day.” you lean in, intending just to give her a peck like she did you earlier. but the moment your lips lock one of her hands is holding you by the back of the neck, it was firm but she knew you weren’t gonna pull away.

she parts your lips with her tongue and it’s your turn to moan into her mouth. you can’t help the grinding of your hips, rutting against her eager for your clit to make contact with part of her somehow. she takes note of this and takes her hand off of your neck, it disappears under the water quickly.

she uses two fingers to push your bathing suit to the side, immediately pressing onto your clit. you pull back from the kiss to gasp, eyes heavy as you try to keep them open and on paige.

“just look? i mean, i’m flattered but there’s a lot that i’d rather do to you all day.” she trails off, now circling your clit with her fingers, watching your reaction intently.

“f-fuck, you know what i m-mean. i always want to look at you, kiss you, touch and feel you. i’m so in love with you baby. you’re so good to me.” you ramble, bucking your hips to signal that you wanted her fingers inside.

“yeah?” she was mocking you. “sure you’re not just saying that because you want something from me right now?”

her voice was low and her eyes never left yours. hearing her say that while her hand was between your legs caused you to clench around nothing.

of course it wasn’t true, and you both knew it, before you could give her any attitude her middle and ring finger were thrusting into your cunt.

“p, oh my god–“ you don’t even finish your sentence.

the ease in which the heel of her palm met your clit was almost embarrassing. it was like your pussy was made to take her fingers.

your jaw goes slack, and you struggle to breathe out for a split second. since you were on top of her she was already prodding at the spongy spot you knew all too well, each thrust making you shudder and clench harder around her fingers.

“‘s so good, so deep!” you pant.

“i know pretty girl,” she pants, placing kisses your chest. her tongue is hot when it comes in contact with the same spots she pecked. she uses her free hand to move your hips until you get the idea and start riding her fingers, already close to your release from how long you'd waited to have her.

“keep it up, i can feel how close you are baby.” she says, voice muffled by the skin of your tits that she’s still burying her face in.

it doesn’t take long for your hips to begin to circle messily, your eyes are squeezed shut and your entire body is on fire.

curling her fingers as they drilled into your hole, paige uses her thumb to fondle your clit. not letting up on her thrusts she leans forward to tongue your nipple through your bikini top and your head falls back as you let out a sound that mimics sob. you take in one sharp breath before letting out a moan that’s borderline pornographic.

paige’s eyes are on you, watching your face and body contort with pleasure. her lips are parted, eyebrows furrowed, and she’s moaning occasionally too with the way your cunt was fluttering around her fingers. she was getting off on this just as much as you were.

“shit! p-please don’t stop, i’m so close.” you choke, hands gripping onto her shoulders like she had intentions to run away.

“you wanna cum for me?” she coos, once again in a mocking manner.

you attempt to nod but paige starts making a scissoring motion inside of you with her fingers and you’re already feeling static from head to toe.

you do cum, literally into the palm of her hand. she can’t hide how badly she’s into this shit and you can feel her smiling against your skin as she kisses any part of you that her lips can reach, milking you through the rest of your high.

when you’re starting to catch your breath you feel paige curl her fingers inside you again.

choking on a mixture of a scream and a moan you have to reach down and hold her wrist to stop her from stimulating you more.

“p that’s enough, what about you?” you ask, already licking your lips at the thought of getting to have your way with her next.

“what about me?” she responds, placing another hot kiss on your neck and making zero effort to move from her current position: beneath you with her hand between your legs.

“i want to taste you. please?” you whisper the last part. it came out as more of a plea than you realized but you didn’t care.

on wobbly legs you stand, pulling paige to her feet as well.

she towers over you, bending down to kiss you again. you kiss back hungrily and place your hands on her hips and guide her to sit on the edge of the hot tub.

she parts her legs for you and you grip onto her thighs with gentle hands. looking up at her as you kneel and begin to pepper light kisses on her damp skin. her breathing gets harder the closer you get to where she wants to feel you the most.

“you were just begging to taste me, don’t tease me.” paige groans, placing a hand on the back of your head to guide you.

you place an open mouthed kiss on her clit through her swim bottoms and she shudders at the feeling. using two fingers you pull them to the side and kiss the same spot, this time skin to skin.

paige gasps, the hand that was on the back of your head threading through your hair for a better grip.

you lift your other hand and use two fingers to part her lips. as slow as you can manage you lick sloppily from her clit to her hole and your eyes roll back into your head when you feel her gush into your mouth.

“fuck!” paige whines, throwing her head back.

you relax your jaw and stick your tongue out again, shaking your head from side to side, intentionally making a little extra noise to add to the crudeness of the act.

paige’s chest is rising and falling rapidly as she pants, simultaneously trying to watching you pleasure her. when you both lock eyes you moan and take her clit between your lips sucking on it messily.

this sends her into a frenzy.

although paige was never afraid to be vocal with you, this was possibly the loudest she had ever been during oral. you’re gloating mentally as you start literally making out with her cunt.

it’s lewd and you love it, clearly she does too. you feel her thighs start to close around your head and when you force them apart you watch her throw her head back and reach up to play with her nipples.

“you’re doing so good for me baby, it’s almost like you were made for this.” paige groans, pulling on your hair a little harder than she had intended, almost cumming from the moan you let out against her.

“i was made for you.” you pull back and pant before lowering your head again and thrusting your tongue into her, using your thumb to circle her clit.

paige is a babbling mess and you can feel her start to thrash around slightly.

“f-fuck! i’m almost there.” she manages to spit out, a yelp following as her thighs start to shake.

it doesn't take much more and as soon as you can hear her you can taste her. she cums, hot and immediately coating your lips and chin.

paige’s back is arched as she tries to close her legs around your head. you’re pussy drunk and have no intentions of pulling back despite the way that she’s nearly sobbing every time you flick her aching clit with your tongue.

one final harsh tug at your hair causes you to pull away from her breathing heavily and with a groan. instantly she’s pulling you to your feet and against her body.

when you’re face to face you’re obsessed with how fucked out paige looks. her lips pink and puffy, eyes glossed over, and hair a mess.

when she pulls you in your lips make contact and you smirk into the kiss at the thought of her being so eager to taste herself.

after a few more sloppy languid kisses you drop your head to her shoulder and she leans forward,

submerging you both into the warm water once again.

“that was so sexy.” you mutter, voice hoarse.

“you need to wear this bikini anytime we are near a body of water, for the rest of this trip.” paige says, causing a giggle to bubble in your chest that pressed against hers.

“whatever you say, p.” you reply, tone singsong like.

your back hits the wall of the other side of the hot tub and paige wraps your legs around her waist and stands again.

reaching behind you towards your towel and other belongings you grab your phone, thinking of how much you wanted to capture this moment.

when the screen lights up and you see the last text you received your mouth opens in shock and you can’t help the way that your cheeks rise. you're grinning like an idiot.

2 attachments

i need that.

“paige!” you say, looking up from behind your phone to catch her already smiling back at you, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

“i mean...i got it, didn’t i?”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige x reader #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wlw smut #pbpressure🍓#namz🍓

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javierpena-inatacvest · 4 months ago

Text

Ride

Summary: Javi's a ride you can't resist (aka, it's more PWP LMAO)

Word Count: 1.9K

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Warnings: It's all porn again, sorry- Javi's POV, unprotected p in v (pls do not do, but who am I to say), oral (m receiving), Javi is down BAD for you bouncin' on that thang, idk y'all, make men yearn insatiably 2025 is the motto for the year, I don't make the rules

A/N: Hey, remember when I said I was gonna write this and then didn't? Guess who finally finished this thing 🤠 Shout out to @yxtkiwiyxt for gracing my brain with this idea, and to @gothcsz for being insane about it with me!!! @jolapeno I'm dragging you into this, too heheheh y'all, it seems like it's 24/7 horny hours over here, so apologies about being insufferable for This Man™️ enjoy, before someone eventually (and inevitably) calls animal control on me!! (we're also considering this piece a research project, fellow pillow princesses rise up LMAOOOOOOO)

He doesn’t notice the way the corner of his lip has been turned upward since he left your apartment. The strain in his cheek muscles are the last part of his body he’s concerned about.

It takes everything in him to pretend like he’s did have to waddle to his desk through the office this morning. While there’s a part of him that curses the fact he can’t handle himself the way he used to as a younger man, he’d be lying out of his goddamn teeth if he said that he’d never been happier to be this sore.

And he’s only got you to blame.

It’s safe to say his work efficiency is absolutely fucked today. The only thing he has the mental capacity for is the image of you, straddled across his hips, riding him until he was half way convinced he’d never walk again.

It had started off innocent enough, your body draped across his on the couch, re-runs of a sitcom he couldn’t be bothered to remember playing in the background. It wasn’t long until you had found a way to crawl into his lap, cute and giggly pecks of your lips shifting into a frantic dance of tongues and teeth, hungry and needy.

“Let me take care of you, Javi.”

You had whispered it in his ear like a siren song, the sultry promise of your words making him grow harder by the second beneath you.

It was a luxury he had forgone for too many years to count, to let someone else take the lead- to work herself slowly into his lap, worship every inch of him, and fuck him in a way he was convinced he’d never be worthy of.

In Colombia, sex was far from luxurious. Better yet, sex was a survival instinct- a way to gain intel from questionable informants or a chance to finally numb his mind from the pressure and terror of the things he’d endured, even if just for a little while. It simply existed as another need, like food or water, a way to keep him alive in the chaos of a cartel ridden country.

But now, he’s home. He wakes up in the morning to the soft Laredo sunrise and closes his eyes to the cicadas chirping as the sky shifts to darkness, unburdened by the weight of the world that used to haunt him. Now, he slips into bed next to the warmth and softness of your figure, curled in the sheets next to him.

Now, the world is different, because he has you.

Sex is no longer a need. It’s an overwhelming want that stirs his stomach every time he sees you. It’s a desire that burns deep in his chest, an all consuming thought, an itch he just can’t scratch. No matter how hard he tries, he just can’t get enough of you.

He still doesn’t understand how you can’t get enough of him, either.

It’s not your words that solidify his belief that he’s worthy of you, even though every time you talk to him, he’s convinced he can’t breathe- He knows you love him from all the things your words can’t say. Your tender touch, gentle kisses on his lips whenever there’s a chance for them to meet, the way you can’t help but let your hands wander his body until they’ve explored every part of him with a fervent promise of desire.

Perhaps there will always be a part of him convinced he’s not deserving of you, but with the way you have your hands wrapped around his cock, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, it’s all the convincing he needs for right now.

It’s not long until your hands become your mouth, tongue dragging up and down the length of his shaft, swirling around his tip before sinking down so deep, he can feel the huffs of warm air from your nostrils tickling the hairs at his base. He’s lost in the warmth and wetness, hand tangled in your hair as he cradles the back of your head, gently guiding you up and down while you take him down your throat.

As if he wasn’t wrecked already, it’s the devilish grin you shoot him with his cock buried deep inside your mouth, split dribbling down the corners of your curled lips, that has him all but whimpering, soft expletives and moans rapidly spilling out of him.

He’s so drunk on you, eyes closed and head tipped back against the edge of the couch, he’s barely even registered when you’ve stopped, only looking up at you when he feels the way your weight has shifted, one hand bracing yourself against his chest while your hips hover over his cock.

“You ready for me, cowboy?”

He swears that one day that smirk will be damn near enough to kill him, but God knows he won’t let today be that day- not with what you’re about to do.

All he can do is nod, the both of you breathless as you begin to sink down his length. It’s almost painfully slow, the way you’re taking him an inch at a time, teasing him the whole way down until you settle with him stuffing you to the brim, whining as your hips finally flush with his, taking everything he has to give.

He’s not sure what higher power he needs to thank that you have the mercy to start slow- anything but the later, and he would have had no choice but to finish right then and there. His arms reach around your waist, fingers dipping in the dips of your hips as you roll them, like he’s holding on for dear life.

Javi wishes his hands could be everywhere as you lean down to kiss him, that they could grope and grab at the plush of your breasts, cup your face, and smack your ass all at once. He needs you in a way that’s all consuming, a way that lets you know how lucky he is to have every part of you be his, and his alone.

He’s handsy and fumbling like a goddamn teenager- you know it just as well as him. He should be embarrassed by the little giggle you give him in between the muffled moans of your mouths meeting, but he doesn’t care. Instead, for the first time in years, Javi laughs along with you.

“Handsy, much?” You tease, nostrils crinkling and lips curling.

“Can’t get enough of you, hermosa. Can never get enough of you.”

You grant him one last kiss before you pull away, biting down on your lip as you watch his jaw drop at the way you shift your hips, leaning back to drag your cunt up and down his cock, sliding effortlessly with the way it’s drenched with your slick.

The once forgiving ease of your pace has dissipated, your bottom half rocking as you ride him. He can’t decipher if the sultry smile spread across your face is from your own doing, or from the way he’s looking up at you, entranced and captivated by every movement you make.

It’s enough of the second to seem to spur you on, bouncing faster on his length as your hands creep up your own chest, cupping your breasts in your hands to hold them as they jiggle. When your fingers slide across your pebbled nipples, tweaking the hardened buds between your index fingers and thumbs, Javi all but short circuits. There’s an extra ache in the way his cock throbs, watching the show you’re putting on for him.

There’s something harmonious about the way your moans melt with the slap of your hips meeting his. Sure, it’s lewd, but fuck, if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard, watching you lose yourself in pleasure with the warmth and wet of your pussy wrapped around him.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck, you’re so perfect. Look so fucking pretty bouncing on my cock.”

He’s not sure how he even has the capacity to form coherent thoughts anymore, desperate and needy babbles falling from his parted lips like an endless waterfall of praises, just for you.

“Feels so good, Javi. So fucking good.”

Your cocky facade is beginning to fade, eyes scrunched shut in focus with every thrust up and down his length. It hasn’t taken him long to recognize the expression now plastered across your face- Javi knows it’s the reflex that tells him you’re close, that it won’t be much longer until you’re clamping down around his cock, the sound of his name hitching in the back of your throat as you cum.

Your once methodical rhythm has transformed into something fiercely frantic, arching your back so that you can reach behind and brace yourself on his thighs, fingertips digging deep half moons into his skin.

He’s too all consumed to do anything but watch, to take in the beauty that radiates off of every part of you straddled across his lap.

He relishes in the melodic symphony of your moans, muffled and mixed with expletives between heavy breaths, lost in the soft sheen of sweat glistening over your skin, shimmering from the way you’ve all but conquered him, hips grinding down on him, taking all of him over and over.

There’s a selfish war raging in his head amidst his mesmerization- One side wishing he could stay like this forever, keep you perched over his lower half, cock stuffed inside you until your bodies give out. The other prays you cum sooner rather than later- He won’t until you do, and lord knows it’s taking every ounce of self restraint he has left to make sure that happens.

Fuck, maybe you really are trying to kill him.

“Oh f-fuck- Fuck, I’m close, Javi.” You whimper, your grip around his thighs growing impossibly tighter as you furrow your brow in focus, not daring to let your pace falter, not when you’ve found the spot where the head of his cock fits perfectly inside you.

“Use me, baby. Fuck- use me, pretty girl.”

It’s not much longer until you’ve reached your peak, feeling the way you tighten around him as you soak his length with your slick, the once steady rhythm of your hips faltering as you cum.

Your head thrusts back, chest heaving as you cry out his name, over and over, a sound he swears he’ll never tire of as long as he’s alive to hear it. Because when it falls from your lips, it stirs something so deep inside him, knowing he’s the reason you feel this way.

That you’re his.

There’s only moments until Javi’s following suit, fingers buried in the soft dips of your hips as he takes one final thrust, moaning into the crook of your neck while he cums, letting your pussy milk him of everything he has to give.

The two of you have become a hot, sweaty mess of limbs, melting into each other’s bodies, unsure of where one starts and the other ends. But even with your head rested against his shoulder, he can feel the way your cheeks tense to house the smile spread between your lips. It’s only then he recognizes the same strain in his face, the subtle smirk he can’t seem to shake whenever he’s with you.

It’s also then he realizes, as long as he’s with you, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to.

“What’s that grin for?” You tease, sitting up to plant gentle kisses on his cheeks, brushing away the dark curls dangling over his forehead.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

“Well, good thing I feel the same then, huh?”

Both your smiles stretch wider as he cups your jaw in his palm, his hand just big enough to let the ends of his fingers wrap around the back of your head, pulling your mouth to his, letting your lips lock for a moment before you break away.

“Thanks for the ride, cowboy.”

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