#overstimulated reader

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ bodyguard!toji has a job, and it's to keep you safe. it's not exactly easy to do it, though, when you won't let him.

"you reek of cheap booze," he says, eyes narrowed, watching you stumble through the window he'd been half-expecting you to use. his hand shoots out, just catching your arm before you ate shit on the (what he assumes to be disgustingly expensive) persian rug.

"jesus!" you gasp, heart hammering against your ribs. "god, toji, you scared the hell out of me."

"you scared me. trying to get me fired, brat?" his voice is low, dangerous.

"don't be such a drama queen," you mutter, clinging to his forearms for balance. holy hell, he's close. his signature musky cologne fills your nostrils, laced with the sharper tang of aftershave. you wonder how long he's been standing there in the dark, waiting to tear you a new one for your late-night escapades.

"for fuck's sake, princess, i'm dead serious. stop fighting me on this. it's not going to make me disappear."

you scoff, ready with a sharp retort, but he cuts you off with a knowing look. "don't even think about hiding this one from your old man."

"what?" you blurt, your eyes snapping up to meet his. "oh, come on! it wasn't even a big deal. was lame party, if that makes you feel any better?"

toji's dark eyebrow arches. "nope, doesn't. so you ditched my protection for a lame party? look, ma, i have one damn job: keep you safe, alright? can't do that when you're pulling this kind of crap."

"no, no," you plead, shaking your head, your slightly buzzed brain scrambling for an excuse. toji thinks you look ridiculously good tonight, the moonlight catching the curve of your cheek, but he'd rather swallow glass than admit it.

your ego was inflated enough as it was. but damn, that little black dress… it was going to be the death of him. it clung to every curve, showcasing the plump swell of your breasts and the tempting roundness of your ass.

being the towering brute that he was, he had to look down at you, and the angle offered a perfect, sinful view of your cleavage. and there you were, pressed right up against him, the thin fabric doing little to hide the heat radiating off your skin.

toji had self-control, okay?

mostly. of course, the rational part of his brain screamed that fucking his boss's daughter was a spectacular career suicide. especially when you were barely out of your teens, young enough to be… well, not his daughter, but close enough to make his gut clench with a different kind of tension.

"this was the last time, i swear!" your voice is a little breathy now, the proximity doing things to you despite your subtle tipsiness.

he remains unamused, his frown a deep furrow between his brows. he worried about you, even if you were a pain in his ass. "that's what you said the last two times i had to physically drag your drunk self out of some punk's ass apartment."

"toji," you breathe, saying his name in that low, husky way that always seemed to tighten something in his chest. "please. don't tell him. why… why don't you deal with me yourself?"

he knows exactly what you're implying. the subtle sway of your hips brings the soft press of your plush tits against his solid chest, a deliberate, teasing grind against his hardening cock.

forget his self-control. it evaporates like morning mist.

his hand shoots out, not gently this time, but firm, cupping the back of your neck and tilting your head up. his gaze drops to your lips, swollen and slightly parted. "oh, i'm going to deal with you, princess. believe that."

he doesn't bother with the niceties. without a word, he scoops you up, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. he carries you the few steps to your bed, dropping you unceremoniously onto the plush mattress. your little black dress rides up your thighs, exposing the lace of your panties.

toji's on you in an instant, his weight pressing you into the soft comforter. he doesn't bother with foreplay, which he feels a little guilty about, but with how you're already leaking onto the sheets... he doesn't think you need it.

besides, he's not sure how much longer he can wait, not feeling your wet pussy clenching around him. he shoves your face into the pink, fluffy pillows, the scent of lavender filling your nostrils as he shoves his thick length into your all-too-tight cunt.

"t— toji!" you gasp, muffled by the fabric. "can't — ngh — take more!"

"oi. better not be tapping out already, brat," he grunts, his voice thick with lust. "all that attitude for — fuck — what, huh?" his thrusts are anything but gentle, deep and demanding, stealing your breath with each forceful entry.

his hands grip your hips, bruisingly tight, anchoring you beneath him as he pulls almost all the way out, the slick head of his cock teasing your hot entrance before he slams back in, burying himself deep.

"okay, okay," you babble, tears pricking your eyes. "m's— sorry!"

"are you, now?" he mutters, his breath hot against your ear. "because you'd be a hell of a lot quieter if you actually were."

the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you, unexpected and intense. you try to buck away, but his powerful arms simply tighten around you, his thumb finding your clit through the thin lace of your panties, stroking relentlessly, pushing you closer to the edge.

he fucks you through that one, and then two more, his relentless rhythm leaving you breathless and whimpering. and still, he doesn't come. toji's not even breaking a sweat.

well, he'll see how much you enjoy sneaking out for watered-down beer and sloppy make-out sessions after he's thoroughly punished you, branding you with his touch, leaving you trembling and utterly his.

[megjameswrites]

Hair

Daryl Dixon x reader, Daryl Dixon x OFC

Overstimulation and a near death experience lead to an impromptu haircut in the woods. The archer can also be a hairdresser, albeit not a great one. But it isn’t the hair that matters so much as the help.

Season 2 setting, one shot

Brought to you by today’s intense desire to shave my whole head because my hair is Too Much(tm)

“What the fuck ya doin’?”

I didn’t bother turning toward the voice. I was busy, and whatever Daryl wanted could wait. I grabbed another hunk of hair and sawed at it with the machete. It came away in jagged layers, falling over the fist clenched around in and onto the ground by the creek as I worked.

He grabbed my shoulder roughly, trying to snatch the knife from my hand. I jerked out of his grasp and out of his reach with a glare. Breathing hard, I narrowed my eyes and stared him down until he held his hands up and stepped back in an exaggerated motion.

"It's in my way," I said finally. I grabbed the last long section, set the blade above my fist, and sawed.

My hair lay all over the creek bank, and what was left of it was no doubt interesting. From the look in Daryl's eyes as he studied it, I was pretty sure it looked a damn mess.

I didn't care. I would shave my head if I had a mirror. As it was, I'd get someone else to do it. I'd ask Rick, but bothering him with my head while he was trying to keep us all alive seemed unnecessary. I grabbed for the shorter strands, pulling them straight up and using the creek as a mirror as best I could. I set the blade against my head and started cutting some more.

Daryl's snort was eloquent. This time, when his hands grabbed at the machete, they were gentle. "Stop that. Too dull fer hair. Lemme use mine."

He tossed the machete into a nearby stump, and then his hands gathered the tattered remnants of my hair. He was silent as he cut, fine strands falling like strange snow around us.

"Thanks," I mumbled finally.

He grunted. "Why ya want it cut, anyway?"

"It's in my way," I repeated, but softer. The jerking of my knee settled, foot no longer bouncing like I was trying to win a trampoline competition. My shoulders, which had taken up permanent residence near my ears, it felt, settled too. "Hate the way it keeps getting in my face, in my eyes. On the back of my neck. And with- with what happened earlier-"

He made another sound, this one low agreement with a hint of a growl to it. I didn't say anything else, lost in thought and tactile overwhelm.

We were packed into such close quarters. Everyone using the RV as a base, and Hershel's people in his house, and all of us so close together when there was so much land, so much room. Daryl had the right idea, making his campsite so much further away.

I'd moved off, too, and then today while out looking for Carol's poor little lost girl, there'd been the walker out of nowhere. I'd been overstimulated and overwhelmed already from the gun training, and Carol's radiating grief and fear, and Rick and Lori bickering and Shane and Rick bickering, and just the general atmosphere. I'd gone out to be alone, more than anything. To get away from it all.

And then the walker, out of nowhere. It was like he'd come out of a tree like a particularly murderous dryad, and his hands had gotten tangled in my hair as I passed. I'd thought it was a branch, until the snarls had been so close to my ear, and I'd grabbed rotten slimy flesh and-

I shivered, hard.

Too close. It had been too close. Daryl had saved me, hearing my choked-off screech. He'd disentangled the thing's hand from my hair as best he could, but it had kept a solid chunk that had ripped right from my skull.

That was the last straw. I went running, taking off for absolutely nowhere while he called my name behind me. I hadn't been thinking, really, just needing to get far away from anything and everything and more importantly, everyone.

My hair flew in my face when I tripped over a plant. I'd landed here, on my knees beside the creek, and I'd started hacking away at it like a manwoman.

It had been either that, or start screaming and maybe never stop.

"Close call. Don't blame ya for being upset."

"I'm not upset," I said slowly, surprised to discover it was accurate. "I'm not even scared, really. Yeah, ok, I nearly died and that was scary, but it's not the first time. It's just- there's people everywhere, always. And there's always someone fighting or crying or stressing out about something, and there's noise, and people chewing, and it's hot and the sun's bright and my goddamn hair driving me crazy, and I just- had to get rid of it," I finished lamely. "You know?"

"Naw."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say to that, so I shut up and chewed on my lip instead. "Well. Anyway. Sorry. For running off."

"S'fine. I don't get the hair thing is what I meant. Liked it. Your hair. S'pretty. But hey, your head. Ya can do what ya want with it. I get the rest though. Too damn much noise. Too many people, all the damn time."

"Oh," I said again, softer this time. He liked my hair? He thought it was pretty?

I glanced down at the fallen strands, dead and dying soldiers in a private, strange war. Oh well. I didn't like it, and already the absence of it felt like a weight off my shoulders.

He ran his hand over my head, brisk to dust off any loose hair, but it felt oddly intimate in a way my hairdresser cutting it never had. It genuinely felt like I was five pounds lighter without the mass of it cascading around my shoulders and down my back, and knowing I wouldn't have to tame it or worry about washing it because my head itched was a relief so palpable I might have cried if he hadn't been watching.

"Thank you." I ran my own hands over my head when he stepped away, feeling the fuzz of super-short ends. It wasn't perfect, and it probably wasn't anything close to even still, but it wasn't all over me and I wouldn't get it caught in any walker hands again.

Plus, the slight breeze on the back of my neck felt like heaven in the Georgia heat. I met Daryl's eyes, smiling for real. His was tentative, but it was there.

I climbed to my feet, reaching to tug my machete out of the stump he'd stuck it in. It didn't budge, and I frowned at it. "Shit."

Daryl's amused scoff had me scowling his way instead of smiling. He grabbed it with one hand, tugged sharply, and presented it to me via the handle. "Here ya go. Come on, let's get back. Before they send out a search party fer us instead'a Sophia."

"Yeah," I agreed. My eyes strayed to the quiet trees all around, and I hesitated. "Want to look for her awhile instead?"

Daryl's eyes slid away from mine like they so often did. He jerked one shoulder like it didn't matter, but I saw the faintest hint of a smile as he waited for me to reach him.

We didn't find Sophia, but we didn't run into any more walkers, either.

[maladaptiveobsession]

“Magic pocket pussy”

Synopsis: DOL NPCS acquiring a magical pocket pussy synced to you.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, discipline, multi penetration, noncon, overstimulation, somnopihlia, toys

Words: 588

A/N: I only differentiated yandere!sirris from his normal conterpart as he is the only character I can imagine having drastically different behavior for this particular prompt. You can’t convince me Gwylan isn’t cooking up magic (probably illicit substances as well) in their shop. Something about them feels underlined with nefarious intent. I’d like to flesh out this concept with some of the characters at some point; there’s so much nuance and potential.

Abuses the hell out of it

With access to your cunt at all times, your pussy will be consistently puffy and raw from abuse. He’s stuffing you with cock whenever the urge strikes, torturing you with toys when his dick can’t keep up with his libido. He purposely teases you at inconvenient times. Watching you struggle to maintain composure in public is his favorite pastime. Most nights you wake up to the feeling of an invisible cock dragging along your gummy walls. If for whatever reason he can’t torment you at night, the pocket pussy is being stuffed with a vibrator so you wake up drenched in the morning. He’ll insert random objects throughout the day of various sizes and shapes, all to watch you squirm. Sometimes he’ll cram the largest dildo he can find inside to see you waddle around town in discomfort. He’s likely to fill the silicone hole with a dildo or vibrator of some sort—possibly both or even multiple of each—and then fuck you for real with the toys still inside. Really though, seeing your reactions is his favorite part of all. While your real pussy will always reign supreme, there’s a charm to watching you break apart without even actually touching you. The fleshlight is just so convenient.

➥ Anxious Gaurd, Briar, Kylar, C!Sydney, Leighton, Morgan, Quinn, Scarred Inmate, Whitney, Wren, yan!Sirris

Generally only when you’re not available

He doesn’t usually care for toys (why bother when he has you), but this one is an exception. It’s hardly a replacement for the real thing, but he can at least admit the convenience is alluring. It’s not all too often it gets used, but there are times when he misses you and can’t resist. It’s just so easy to punish you for being away for too long or simply to remind you of them. He could always just shove a vibrator inside and forget about it if he feels like it. Watching you fall apart without touching you proves enjoyable, as well. There’s a possibility he could even order a custom dildo, a replica of his length, to stuff the silicone cunt with, so you seek them out sooner. No chance you can forget about him when you can’t even sit. This opens the possibility of double stuffing you using only their dick. The longer you avoid them, the less patience and willpower they’ll have, therefore being less likely to wait.

➥ Alex, Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Harper, Landry, Methodical Gaurd, Niki, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, Veteran Gaurd, Zephyr

Only once in a moment weakness

He’s rather unlikely to use any toy, let alone a magical onahole. Just owning the thing feels like a breach of trust, but they can’t risk having it fall into anyone else’s hands. It sits in a drawer, hidden away until he eventually forgets about it. It’s not until he’s humping a pillow in the pitch dark of his room that he remembers it exists. He’ll scold himself, suddenly too ashamed to feel horny. Days will go by, constantly plagued by curiosity. When he finally concedes, apologies will spill from his lips as he rocks his hips into the silicone. It feels so good, and he wonders if you’re feeling the same. More than that, he wonders if the real thing—the real you—feels this good. His orgasm is the most intense he’s ever felt, electricity taking over him and his essence flooding the silicone imitation of you. The post-nut clarity is potent, mortifying. He’ll avoid you for some time after that, unable to even look you in the eye for even longer. Shame creeps along his spine like a parasite, vowing never to lose control like that again. Below the guilt, desire grows and bites at his willpower. Who knows how long it’ll be before he gives in again?

➥ Charilie, Darryl, Doren, P!Sydney, Jordan, Mason, Mickey, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, Winter,

Bonus

The likely creator of said pocket pussy

➥ Gwylan

[twinkletfout]

Overstimulating Choso is the best thing everr!

He had his head thrown back, his eyes tightened shut, brows frowned as he tried to sit upright but failing miserably, he could feel all the strength in him leaving as he peaked his orgasm. You were watching everything, the way he bit his lips when you take him so deep inside your throat, how his thighs tremble when you tease below the cockhead, the place he loves the most. You giggle when he calls out that it's too much. "Im gonna cum, baby! imgonncum, imgonncum,"

you looked up at him from below, from in between his thighs, your big wide eyes drinking down each and every expression that flashes across his face as you gave faint kisses down his shaft till his balls, as you continued stroking him. "Shhh, i got you, hmm?" You hummed, feeling his abs tense up, breathing heavily "baby, fuck-,, im cummin'!" His hips thrust into your hand as the first rope of cum hit on your lips, his eyes were completely shut, the creases on his brows evident.

And you? You watched him. You pussy tinkled and clenched at that erotic sight of your boyfriend feeling good because of you. As the last drop of cum dripped down, his hips instinctively thrust into your hand, as he slumped down on the bed. But before he could catch his breath, your grip on him tightened, stroking it up and down hard. His eyes shot up, looking down at you. His thighs started trembling uncontrollably

"wait- hah- fuck! I already came! Baby i cant!—" his hands came up to stop your hand from moving it, wrapping around your wrist. "Please..!- mmn!" His hips jerked up when you suddenly went down on him, swirling your tongue around, bobbing up and down. You could feel yourself getting even more wet at the loud whimper he let out. When you looked up at him, tears pricked his eyes, pouring down his cheeks. You quickly let go as you got up in worry, "cho, im sorry, are you—"

"dont stop." He said, while the tears were still dripping down his face. Your hands found his cock again but this time you sat on top of him as you kept on stroking him behind you, could feel him throbbing against your ass. His teary eyes met yours, as he leaned in for a kiss, capturing your lips as he moaned into your mouth, "fuck-" he muttered. "Im cummin again, ma" and gosh he did, it throbbed and twitched between your ass cheeks before he erupted, painting your ass with his cum, as it dripped down to mix with your slick.

[killerplink]

CONSEQUENCES

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: You knew teasing Jason while he was on patrol would have consequences. You just didn't expect him to come home early and ruin you over the kitchen counter.

Words: 8,5k

A/N: For the bestie who wanted Jason to put reader in a chokehold and the one who suggested teasing him with pics while he's on patrol—this one's for you 👀

Jason exhales sharply, the sound muffled beneath the thick material of the Red Hood mask, his gloved fingers tightening around his phone. The dim glow of the screen is the only source of light against the pitch black Gotham skyline, the city stretched out beneath him, flickering in the distance with neon signs and dull streetlights. But he's not looking at the city. Not looking at the gang of low level fuck ups he's been tailing for weeks.

He's looking at you.

You, sprawled out in bed, wearing nothing but his shirt—his fucking shirt—riding up just enough to show him that perfect, pretty little pussy, already dripping, already making a mess of your thighs.

You, spreading yourself open with your fingers, so wet you're practically glistening under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, teasing him with the sight of your slick, swollen clit.

And Christ, you, grinding down on that stupid fucking hot pink dildo he's been clowning on since the day he found it buried in your nightstand, taking it so deep, your lips parted in a breathless moan, your brows knit together in pure, desperate need.

It's almost funny, really, how goddamn insatiable you are. He fucked you stupid just hours ago, left you whimpering, shaking, with his cum still leaking out of you, and yet, here you are. So fucking needy you couldn't even wait for him to get back home.

And Jason should be focused. He should be watching the five assholes below, the ones dealing weapons out of the back of a shitty, beat up sedan in an abandoned parking lot. He should be getting ready to make a move, should be handling business like he planned.

He exhales sharply, dragging a gloved hand down his mask as he adjusts himself again, teeth clenched behind the red helmet. His dick is straining against his tactical pants, twitching every time his mind flashes back to those pictures, to the slick mess between your legs, to the way you spread yourself open like a fucking invitation.

And he knows you. Knows you knew exactly what you were doing, knows you probably thought he'd just finish patrol and come home like normal, that you'd be asleep, all innocent and sweet, as if you didn't just send him those sinful fucking pictures knowing full well what they'd do to him.

But nah. Not tonight.

Tonight, he's handling business as quickly as possible so he can get back home and fuck the bratty attitude right out of you.

So with one last exhale, he focuses back on the losers below, his muscles tense, his mind already running through the fastest way to deal with them. Quick and dirty, no theatrics. Just a couple of broken noses, some shattered ribs, and a reminder that they're not welcome in his city.

And once he's done? Once his hands are free of the night's work? He's going straight home. Straight to you. Because you wanna be a tease? You wanna play games? Fine. But you better be ready to take what's coming to you.

Meanwhile, back home, you sigh as you rinse off your dildo, running warm water and soap over the smooth silicone. It's still slick, still sticky with your cum, and you bite your lip, fighting the embarrassing heat that flares in your belly as you finish cleaning it and grabbing a paper towel to dry it.

Because you're still wet. Still aching. You've already made yourself cum twice. Twice. And it's still not enough.

But it's not like you prefer your toys over Jason. Not anymore. Not since you got together. Because nothing—nothing—feels as good as him. Not his hands, not his fingers, not his tongue, not his lips, not a single fucking thing compares to the way his thick, heavy cock stretches you open, the way he fucks you so deep you feel him for days.

You groan, almost slapping yourself as your pussy has the audacity to clench again, a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs. It's ridiculous, really.

You shake your head, shove the dildo back into its bag, and stuff it into your drawer, trying to push past the lingering frustration. Maybe some tea will help. Maybe a snack. Maybe sinking into the couch and putting something on the TV until Jason gets home.

Yeah. That should do it. Because surely, after cumming six fucking times today, you'll be satisfied enough to sit still.

You're in the kitchen, one hand lazily pushing through the fridge, your other gripping the edge of the door as you scan the shelves for something quick and easy. You're still warm, still buzzing, still throbbing faintly between your legs even after a shower and the fresh pair of panties you slipped on. But at least your stomach is grumbling loud enough to distract you.

Until you hear it. The jingle of keys. The click of the lock turning. The heavy thud of boots against the floor. Your head snaps up so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

No fucking way. You have to be hearing things. Jason went out not even two hours ago. He should still be on patrol, still handling whatever mess he had planned for the night.

He barely gets his helmet off before he's on you, gloved fingers biting into your waist, the other reaching past you to shove the fridge door closed with a dull thud. Your breath hitches, your body jerking at the sudden movement, but before you can so much as blink, he's spinning you into him, caging you between the counter and the solid wall of his body.

And then he's kissing you—kissing you like he's starving, like he can't get enough, like he's already decided exactly how this night is gonna go.

It's hungry, rough, all tongue and teeth and heat, stealing the breath straight from your lungs as his gloved hands slide down, groping at your ass, gripping handfuls of soft flesh like he owns it. You moan into his mouth, your fingers curling into the hard plates of his suit, nails scraping against the reinforced armor covering his chest. He's still dressed in his gear, the sharp scent of leather clinging to him, mixing with the faint gunpowder that always lingers in the air when he gets home from patrol.

And God, you feel him.

Thick, heavy, rock fucking hard, pressing right against your stomach, the heat of him seeping through his pants, through your thin t-shirt, making your thighs squeeze together, making your head spin.

Jason groans, low and deep, like he already knows exactly what kind of mess you're turning into, and then he yanks you closer, his grip tightening as he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how worked up he is.

You whimper, thighs trembling, your cunt pulsing between your legs.

He tears his mouth from yours just long enough to breathe, and you barely manage a stuttering, "J-Jay—" before he growls, a sharp crack echoing through the kitchen as his palm smacks against your bare ass.

You gasp, your body jolting at the sting, at the way his fingers squeeze the soft flesh right after, rubbing over the heated imprint of his palm.

"What the fuck you think you're doin', huh?" he rasps, his voice thick, rough, dripping with something dark and dangerous.

Your lips part, but no words come out. Just a shallow, shaky breath, your brain short circuiting under the weight of his stare. Because you know that look on his face.

And it means you're in trouble.

"I was j-just—"

Another sharp slap lands on your ass, making you gasp, cutting your words off instantly.

"You were just what, huh?" Jason growls, his voice thick with frustration, his grip tightening. "Sendin' me all those pics, makin' me hard as fuck on patrol? You know I had to fight with a fuckin' boner, baby? You know how fuckin' distractin' that was?"

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to let the smug little smirk tug at the corners of your mouth, because honestly? Yeah, you do know. That was kind of the point. But you'll never admit it, not out loud.

Not when he looks like this.

Before you can so much as think of a response, Jason grabs you—big hands gripping your thighs, your body weight nothing to him as he lifts you onto the kitchen counter. Your breath stutters, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, but he doesn't give you a second to catch up.

Because the second your ass touches the counter, he's ripping your t-shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him, leaving you in nothing but your panties. Your soaked panties.

His eyes drop instantly, and fuck, the groan he lets out—deep, rough, vibrating against your skin—makes your stomach flip, makes your cunt clench around nothing, makes your pulse pound between your legs.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby," he mutters, running a gloved hand down your side, gripping your hip, fingers curling into your soft skin.

And then he spreads your legs wider. Your breath catches, your thighs trembling as he steps between them, crowding into you, and before you can process any of it, he's grinding against your cunt. Hard. But the pressure is perfect.

Your panties stick to you, the friction hitting your clit just right, his cock thick and heavy, straining against his pants as he drags it against you, rubbing over your aching pussy. You let out a sharp little gasp, your nails digging into the Kevlar covering his shoulders, your body jerking at the overwhelming sensation, at the heat of him.

You want to say something, want to throw back a smartass remark, maybe tell him it's his fault for leaving you all needy in the first place, but you don't get the chance.

Because Jason's hand is already wrapping around the back of your neck, his fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your face up, and then his mouth is on yours again.

Hot. Messy. All tongue and teeth and Fuck, baby, you're so goddamn wet for me.

And the whole time, he keeps grinding against you, his free hand pinning you in place, the cool leather of his glove pressing into your hip, keeping you right where he wants you as he ruts against your dripping cunt.

You're soaking through your panties, through the lacy fabric right onto his pants, leaving a damp little patch over his bulge, and he groans into your mouth, feeling it, knowing exactly what he's doing to you.

Jason rips his mouth from yours, his breath hot against your lips, and before you can catch up, before you can so much as blink, you hear it before you feel it—the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing.

Your breath catches, your thighs twitching as the cool air of the kitchen hits your soaked cunt, the remnants of your panties dangling from Jason's fingers, the delicate lace snapped like it was nothing.

You gasp, barely processing it before his sharp, wicked little smirk takes over his face, his eyes dropping between your legs.

"Fuck," he mutters, low and rough, his gaze locked on the way a thin, glistening string of your slick clings to the ruined panties before snapping.

He lets out a deep chuckle, tossing them aside like they're useless to him now. He lifts one hand, gripping the edge of his glove with his teeth, tugging it off in one smooth motion, exposing his bare fingers—long, thick, skilled.

The next thing you know, two of them are buried inside your cunt.

"Oh—fuck—" you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body arching as his fingers plunge into you, stretching you open, curling just right.

He works them deep, fucking them into you in slow, firm strokes, the wet, obscene sounds of your pussy filling the room, and shit, you're still so sensitive.

And his other hand—the gloved one—is already working his belt, working the buttons and the zipper, his knuckles bumping against your inner thigh as he frees his cock.

"Jay—w-wait—" you murmur, breath hitching, your legs trembling around his waist.

But he just laughs. Dark, knowing.

"What's the matter, huh?" he drawls, pressing his forehead to yours, his fingers still fucking into you, still dragging slick sounds from your dripping cunt. "Don't tell me you're too sensitive to take my dick right now."

You shake your head so fast, so desperate to deny it, but fuck, you're already so overstimulated, already so close again, and he knows it. He can feel it.

So he drags his fingers out of you in one slow, slick pull, making you whine, your cunt clenching around nothing, but before you can complain, before you can beg, he's already gripping his dick.

Already fisting it, dragging your wetness over the thick, flushed length, mixing it with the pearly precum beading at his tip, groaning under his breath.

"Fuck, baby, you're so messy," he mutters, his voice wrecked, his hand moving slow, firm, teasing.

You can barely breathe, your eyes locked on the way his dick looks in his fist, slick with you, with him, flushed and aching and ready to split you open.

His free hand grips your waist, drags you closer to the edge of the counter, his strength making you feel so small, so helpless, like you have no say in it, like he's going to take what he wants from you. And he is, because he knows you're gonna let him.

And then he's back between your legs, slapping your clit with his cock.

Your whole body jerks, a high, needy whimper ripping from your throat as the heavy weight of it lands against your sensitive bundle of nerves, over and over, each hit making your thighs twitch, making your cunt pulse with need.

"Jay—" you whimper, squirming, gripping his arms, but he just shushes you, his hand sliding up from your hip, up your side, until it's wrapped around the back of your neck again.

He grips you there, firm, tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him, his lips barely brushing yours, his cock still slapping against your clit, making your legs twitch, your breath hitching in quick, shallow gasps.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, taunting purr. "Was it worth behavin' like a little slut tonight?"

And you don't know what has gotten into you, don't know if it's the way he's looking at you, don't know if it's the way he's got you all pinned in place, your whole body under his control, but you nod.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, his smirk growing, his cock still slapping against your clit, sending jolts of overstimulation through your body.

You nod. Again. Even though you know what's coming. Even though you know he's about to fuck you stupid.

And before you can even think about saying, "I was just kidding"—not that it would save you now—his thick, aching cock is pushing in.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, your whole body going rigid, your fingers digging into his arms as he splits you open, stretching you wide, forcing you to take every thick, pulsing inch.

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open, a helpless, needy whimper slipping past your lips, and Jason groans under his breath, watching the way your tight little cunt struggles to take him, the way you clamp down, so fucking hot and wet and slippery for him.

"You wanna be a fuckin' brat, huh?" he growls, gripping your waist harder, pulling you onto his cock as he drives forward, forcing more of himself inside. "Guess I gotta fuck it out of you."

And he doesn't even bother bottoming out before he starts fucking you. Hard. Fast. Brutal.

The wet slap of skin on skin fills the kitchen, your moans breaking into helpless little gasps each time he slams forward, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs. The gun holster strapped to his thigh digs into your skin, pressing, the leather rough against your soft, sensitive flesh, a constant reminder of just how fucked you are.

His hand moves from the back of your neck to the front, his gloved fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath catch, just enough to make your pussy clench around him.

"Fuck—" Jason swears, his grip tightening just slightly, enough to make your head feel light, enough to make every nerve in your body tingle. "You like that, huh? You like bein' choked while I ruin this little pussy?"

And you can't speak, can't breathe, can't think. All you can do is nod, your moans breaking into choked little whimpers as he pounds into you, each brutal thrust driving him deeper, making your walls spasm around his thick cock.

And when your mouth falls open on another desperate moan, Jason leans in, his breath hot against your lips, his gloved fingers still tight around your throat.

"Yeah, baby," he murmurs, his voice wrecked, his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you so full you can feel every vein, every pulse. "Take it. Fuckin' take it."

And then, his tongue slides into your mouth. Hot, wet, dominating, tasting every gasp, every moan, swallowing down every desperate little noise you make as he fucks you senseless. Your head spins, your whole body trembling, heat coiling tight in your belly, your climax building fast, dangerously close.

And Jason knows it.

"You gonna cum already, baby?" he purrs against your lips, his fingers flexing around your throat, his cock still slamming into you, pushing you closer, closer, closer. "Go on. Fuckin' cum for me."

He slams into you, again and again, his cock driving so deep, so hard, it's all you can do to hold on, to breathe through it, to take every brutal, punishing thrust as he fucks you open, stretches you so wide around him you don't know how you're still coherent.

Your nails sink into the thick material of his suit, your whole body shaking, legs trembling where they wrap around his waist, your toes curling with every sharp, unrelenting snap of his hips.

You can feel it. The heat twisting low in your belly, coiling tight, electric and overwhelming, your orgasm rushing toward you, unstoppable, devastating, making your walls flutter and clench so tight around his cock he groans, his hand tightening around your throat.

You love this. You live for this. The way his gloved fingers press against your skin, firm but careful, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, to make you dizzy, to make every pulse of pleasure more intense.

And you trust him. You trust him with everything, with this, because you know—you know he'd never hurt you, never push you too far.

"C'mon, baby," Jason groans against your lips, his fingers flexing around your throat as his dick pounds into you, his pace brutal, relentless, fucking you so deep you swear he's in your fucking womb. "You gonna cum for me? Gonna make a fuckin' mess all over my dick?"

You try to say something—try to answer—but the words get lost in a broken, desperate whimper, your mouth falling open, almost drooling with how fucked out and wrecked you are.

"That's it," Jason growls, his free hand gripping your waist tight, slamming you onto his cock as he drives into you, giving you exactly what you need, what you crave. "Fuckin' take it."

Your orgasm crashes over you, blinding and overwhelming, your whole body tensing as wave after wave of white hot pleasure ripples through you, so fucking intense it leaves you shaking, clenching, soaking his cock with slick as you cum hard around him.

Jason groans, his hand dropping from your throat to your hip as he fucks you through it, fucking you harder, deeper, dragging out every sharp, shuddering pulse of your release until your cunt is twitching around him, sensitive, overstimulated, your whimpers breaking into helpless, pathetic cries.

"Good fuckin' girl," he grits out, leaning in, swallowing your moans with his mouth, his tongue sliding into yours, hot and wet, claiming every sound, every sharp little gasp. "So fuckin' pretty when you cum on my dick, baby—fuck—"

He's so close, he can feel it. His whole body tense, his dick throbbing, straining inside your tight, soaking wet heat, every little clench of your overstimulated pussy making his stomach coil, making his hips stutter.

"Shit—" he grits out, his hands tightening on your body, his rhythm turning desperate, frantic, fucking you fast, hard, chasing it, so fucking worked up he can't even hold back.

With a sharp, wrecked groan, his hips snap forward one last time, his cock driving deep, pulsing as thick ropes of hot cum spill into your tight little pussy, painting your insides, filling you up until you're dripping, leaking all over the counter. But he doesn't stop.

He fucks it deeper, fucks you through it, milking every last drop, his fingers bruising against your skin as he holds you still, grinding against you until his cock is twitching, until you're both a wrecked, sweaty mess of slick and cum and breathless desperation.

And when he finally pulls back, finally looks down—Christ.

His cum is already leaking out of you, creamy and white, spilling out of you, coating your puffy, overstimulated lips, slicking up his cock as he groans, watching it drip.

"Shit," he rasps, his fingers sliding through the mess, making you whimper, your whole body twitching from the overstimulation. "So fuckin' pretty like this, baby."

You're panting, gasping for breath, your whole body shuddering as Jason keeps grinding into you, his cock still rock fucking hard inside your wrecked little pussy, throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm, spurting the last drops of hot cum deep inside you.

And then—fuck—he crashes his lips over yours.

It's hungry, messy, his mouth claiming yours, his tongue licking into you, sweeping over yours, deep and wet and so possessive it makes your knees go weak.

His free hand grips your tits, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your sensitive nipple as he devours you, making you whimper into his mouth, making your overstimulated cunt flutter tight around his still hard cock.

"Fuck," he groans, his teeth catching your bottom lip, pulling, his hips grinding up, his dick pressing so deep it makes your whole body tremble.

He pulls back, his hand sliding down your body, gripping your waist as his dick finally slides out. His cum trickles out instantly, thick and creamy, dripping from your wrecked, fucked open pussy, sliding down your inner thighs, slicking up the mess between your legs.

Jason smirks, his eyes locked on the filthy sight, one gloved hand reaching down, dragging his fingers through the slick, spreading it around, making you whimper as your sensitive little clit twitches.

But before you can even think about what's next, he grabs you. Lifts you off the counter, spins you around, and bends you over. Your hands slap against the cool marble, your breath hitching as Jason shoves you down, pressing your tits flush against the countertop, keeping you pinned.

"Jay—" you gasp, trying to push up, but his hand is already gripping your back, keeping you in place.

"If you think we're done here," he grits out, his cock pressing back against your dripping pussy, smearing his cum all over your folds, "you're fuckin' wrong, doll."

And then, he slams back in.

"Fuck—" you choke on the word, your body lurching forward as his cock buries deep, stretching you all over again, the angle so perfect, so brutal, it knocks the breath from your lungs.

One hand stays on your back, keeping you bent over, keeping you pressed down, while the other grips your thigh, lifting your leg, spreading you wider for him as he fucks into you.

And the angle? Jesus Christ, this angle is insane. Every sharp, unrelenting thrust drives right into that perfect spot, making your legs tremble, your whole body shudder as your eyes roll back. Jason pounds you into the counter, the sloppy sounds of wet skin slapping filling the kitchen.

"Yeah, baby," he groans, his grip on your leg tight, spreading you wider, letting him go deeper, letting him hit all the spots that make you fucking see stars. "You wanna act like a slut? Then be one. Fuckin' take it."

You try—really, you try—but all you can do is moan, broken little cries spilling from your lips, drool pooling against the marble, your mind going blank from how fucking good it feels.

"Think bein' bratty was worth it, huh?" Jason taunts, his breath hot against your back, his pace relentless, his cock slamming into you, the sounds of your soaking wet pussy obscene as he ruins you.

You can't answer. You can only take it. And Jason knows. Knows you're too fucked out to speak, too wrecked to do anything but clench around him, your tight little pussy gripping his cock.

"Yeah," he grits out, his voice rough, his thrusts turning harder, his hand leaving your back to tangle in your hair, yanking your head up so he can hear every broken, helpless whimper that spills from your lips. "That's what I fuckin' thought."

Jason's a rough man. He always has been. His whole life has been one long fight—against the world, against himself, against the people who've tried to control him, break him, kill him.

But he's rarely like this. Because you changed him. Not all the way—he's still him, still sharp edges and rough hands and a body built for war. But he's softer, just a little. The kind of soft that lets you cling to him after patrol, lets you tug him into the shower, lets him let you love him, even when he's got no fucking clue how he deserves it.

And he loves you too much to be as brutal as he used to be. Loves you too much to fuck you like you're just another warm body, another hookup to use and leave. But right now, none of that softness is here.

Right now, you wouldn't want him soft. Right now, you love him like this.

Love how he cages you in, his broad frame looming over you, his tactical gear rough against your bare, overheated skin, the hard plastic of his gun holster still digging into your side as he pounds into you from behind.

Love how his cock stretches you wide, the fat head dragging against your sweet spot with every brutal thrust, slicked up with his cum, with your cum, with the mix of everything he's fucked out of you.

Love how his voice is wrecked, low and gravelly in your ear as he grunts, "God, baby—fuckin' love this pussy."

The slick, obscene noise of your dripping wet cunt, squelching as he fucks you, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, his gritted curses, your helpless little whimpers—it's filthy.

And God, his hand. His big hand slides from your hair to your throat again. That thick, gloved hand, wrapping tight around your neck, tilting your chin up, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And you fucking love it. Not because you're some mindless little thing who lets him do whatever he wants—okay, maybe a little— but because you trust him. Because you know he'd never hurt you.

Because you know that after this, he's gonna carry you to the shower, wash you with slow, gentle hands, let you curl up against him in bed, his lips pressed to your hair as he murmurs how much he loves you.

But right now? Right now, he's got you bent over, wrecking you like he's got a point to prove.

"Open," Jason orders, his grip tightening, his gloved thumb pressing just right against the side of your throat, making you shudder.

You barely process the command, your head spinning, pleasure thrumming through your entire body as he fucks you deep, relentless. But then he tilts your face higher, and you know exactly what he wants. You whimper, body trembling, and you obey, your lips parting, tongue slipping out just slightly.

Jason leans down, lets his saliva pool into your mouth, slow and filthy, his eyes locked onto you, watching as it drips down your tongue. You swear you could cum just from that alone, from the way he's looking at you, from the snarl on his lips, from the way his hand is still tight around your throat.

"Swallow it," he growls.

And you do. He groans when you do, when he feels your throat contract beneath his palm, when he sees the way you fucking love it.

"That's my girl," he grits out, his other hand gripping your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he drives into you harder, fucking you so deep you can feel him in your fucking gut.

His good fucking girl, even when you're a brat. Even when you push his buttons, test his patience, send those filthy little pictures to fuck with his head while he's on patrol, you still take it. Take his dick, take his rough hands, take the way he ruins you like you need it.

He watches you—watches the way your tits brush against the cool marble with every thrust, the way they bounce from the sheer force of his fucking, the way your skin is hot, damp with sweat, your pussy an absolute mess between your legs, his cum and your slick dripping down your thighs, down to the floor tiles beneath you.

And yet, you still take it, just like he knew you would.

"Put your leg up, baby," he rasps, grabbing your thigh and hooking it up onto the counter, spreading you wider for him, letting him sink deeper into your cunt.

You moan, legs trembling as he bottoms out, dick pulsing, the thick head pressing right against your cervix.

"Keep it there," he orders, voice rough as he ruts into you, every thrust sharp, his grip on you tight enough to leave bruises.

And you listen, even though your body is shaking, even though your pussy is so fucking overstimulated, so wrecked from his pace, because you can't do anything else but obey him at this point.

"Look at you," Jason grunts, watching your body rock against the counter, "so fuckin' messy, baby, got my cum drippin' outta you, but you still want more, huh?"

You whimper, back arching, hands gripping the edges of the marble as he fucks you, relentless and rough, cock splitting your pussy open, stretching you wide.

"Was it worth bein' a brat tonight, huh? Can't even fuckin' answer a simple question," he taunts, one hand slipping down your stomach, sliding between your legs.

The second his fingers find your clit, you cry out, the sound breaking into a series of gasping, choked moans. You can't even form words, just desperate little whimpers, hips jerking, body twitching as he rubs quick, hard, matching the brutal rhythm of his fucking, rolling the swollen bud in firm, tight circles.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jason groans, feeling the way your cunt flutters around him, feeling how wrecked you already are. "Still so fuckin' sensitive, but you just couldn't wait, could you? Had to send me those pictures, had to make me fuckin' ruin you, baby, Jesus fuck—"

And you're gone, you can barely think, your entire world narrowing to the feeling of his cock, his hands, his voice, the way he's owning you, the way he's fucking you stupid.

"J-Jay—b-baby, fuck, more—moremoremore—"

Your voice is wrecked, stuttering through the words, barely making sense as you push back against him, as you take everything he gives you, as you chase your next orgasm like you need it to breathe.

Jason groans, his dick throbbing at the sound, at the way you're babbling for him, your pussy so swollen, so raw from how hard he's been fucking you, but you don't care.

Because you need it. You need him to fuck you through another orgasm. You need him to fill you up again.

"Jesus fuck," Jason grits, snapping his hips forward, sinking deep into you, his cock sliding into your wrecked little cunt so easily, so smooth with your slick and his cum.

It's loud—the wet, filthy squelching of your pussy swallowing him down, the thick slap of skin on skin as he pounds into you, the sounds of your ragged, desperate moans.

"So fuckin' needy," Jason grunts, "so fuckin' desperate for it, baby, Jesus—"

His pace changes, from deep, dragging thrusts that have his cock pressing into every swollen, sensitive spot inside you, to sharp, shallow ones. The thick head rubs right against your sweet spot, the sensation intense, making you sob, making your whole body shake from how badly you need to cum.

His fingers on your clit are relentless, rubbing it quick, fast, rolling it in tight circles, making your thighs shake, your mouth fall open, a wrecked, desperate sob breaking from your lips.

"That's it, baby," Jason growls, "fuckin' take it, let me feel you cum, c'mon, be a good girl, fuckin' cum—"

You break, your whole body tensing, your cunt pulsing around him, squeezing his cock in hard, tight waves. So fucking tight that Jason swears, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. He keeps rubbing your clit, keeps fucking you, dragging out your orgasm until you're sobbing from how good it feels, from how overwhelming it is. Until your pussy's gushing around him, soaking his cock, soaking his pants, soaking his hand.

Jason can barely think.

His body is a mess, his back soaked with sweat under his gear, his thighs burning, his skin sticky, and he doesn't give a fuck. He can feel sweat dripping down his nose, feels it fall onto your bare back, sees it mix with the sheen on your skin, and it just makes him crazier.

Because you're a wreck, too, your body slack, trembling from how many times he's fucked you into the counter, your tits bouncing, your skin flushed, covered in goosebumps. Your pussy is a wet, sloppy mess around his cock, soaking his pants, coating his thighs, and he swears he's never been this fucking hard in his life.

"Jesus fuckin'—"

His hand grips your throat again, tugging you back against him, making you arch, your body pressing flush to his, his chest heaving against your spine. And the angle—

"Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Your moan is wrecked, wild and desperate, your fingers clawing at his wrist as his cock slams into you from this new angle, hitting so deep, so fucking good that you almost black out.

Jason groans, deep and gritted, his fingers flexing around your throat, his dick throbbing, aching, his whole body tense and burning because he's so fucking close.

"Fuck, baby, I'm—"

His hips snap forward, burying himself to the hilt, and he breaks.

A wrecked groan rips from his chest as his orgasm hits, his body shuddering, his thighs flexing as he fills you up, thick ropes of hot, sticky cum pumping deep into your pussy, spilling against your cervix.

And the second you feel it, the warmth flooding you, coating your walls—

"Ohh, fuck—J-Jay—"

Your whole body locks up, back arching hard against his chest, your mouth falling open in a wrecked, helpless sob. Your nipples are so hard they ache, goosebumps ripple over your skin, your legs shaking so bad you swear you're gonna collapse, but you can't stop.

Because you're cumming, too. Hard.

Your cunt pulses around him, tight and needy, milking his cock, making his hips jerk, making his whole body shudder against you as he groans into your hair, his dick throbbing inside your soaked, wrecked pussy.

You whimper, body shaking, your clit aching from how hard he fucked you, how good he filled you. Jason groans, keeping you close, feeling his cum spill out, thick and white, coating your swollen, fucked out little pussy.

You're shaking, your whole body wrecked, overstimulated and soaked, your legs barely able to hold you up, and Jason can feel it.

His arms are around you before you can collapse, a strong, steady hold keeping you upright, his chest heaving against your back as he tries to catch his breath. His dick is still buried inside you, so thick and hot, and you sob, pleasure pulsing through you in aftershocks, your body still shuddering from the intensity of it all.

"Shh, baby," Jason breathes, his voice wrecked, panting, thick with heat and something softer, something that makes your chest ache. "I got you. 'M right here, pretty girl."

You whimper, boneless and exhausted, your hands reaching up to grasp at his arms, fingers curling into his sweat dampened sleeves, and Jason hums, pressing a warm, messy kiss against your temple.

"Jesus, doll..." He nuzzles into your hair, lets his hands smooth over your skin, rubbing slow, gentle circles along your sides. "Fucked you so good, made you all dumb on my dick— fuck—look at you, baby, still shakin'."

His voice is low, soothing, his lips ghosting over your temple, your cheek, your neck, the words melting sweet and hot into your skin. And even though he's still panting, still wrecked, there's a tenderness there—something soft, even as his fingers tighten just a little when you whimper.

Because you're a brat, you're a fucking menace, teasing him with those pictures while he was on patrol, making him fight with a raging hard on, and he should be mad every time you pull that shit. But goddamn, he can't even be mad when you're this perfect.

"You okay, baby?"

His voice dips a little softer, lower, his nose brushing along the curve of your shoulder as he squeezes you a little tighter, anchoring you, making sure you're still here with him.

And when you nod, still catching your breath, still soaked in sweat, still whimpering, he just smirks against your skin, presses one last, lazy kiss to the side of your neck.

"That's my girl."

You keep sniffling, little aftershocks making your body tremble against his, and Jason just soothes you like he always does when he's been this rough with you. His hands are gentle, rubbing slow, soothing circles down your belly, along your hips, his touch warm and steady even as you're still so wrecked.

"Shh, baby," he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing soft against your damp temple. "Breathe for me, yeah? I've got you."

You whimper when he pulls out, your whole body tensing at the sudden loss, the stretch of him leaving you making your breath hitch. Your legs immediately give out, completely spent, but he's already catching you, lifting you into his arms like you weigh nothing.

You melt into him the second he picks you up, arms clinging around his neck, face burrowing into his chest, not even caring that his tactical gear is in the way. You just need to be closer, need to feel him, need the solid, safe weight of him keeping you grounded.

"Jesus, baby," Jason huffs, but he smirks, his breath ruffling your hair as he presses a kiss against your forehead. "Fucked you that good, huh?"

You nod faintly, fingers clinging to the fabric of his sleeves, and he chuckles, shifting you in his arms as he starts walking, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor.

"C'mon, doll," he murmurs, voice still low and warm, tinged with the last traces of roughness. "Let's take a bath, yeah?"

You nod, barely more than a little, dazed tilt of your head against him, and he smirks, adjusting his grip before carrying you effortlessly through the apartment. You're still clinging to him when he steps into the bathroom, reluctant to let go even as he starts to set you down.

"Nooo," you whine, arms tightening around his neck, making zero effort to let him go.

Jason laughs, low and fond, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Shhh, I'm not goin' anywhere."

You peer up at him, your eyes still glassy, still so thoroughly fucked out, lips slightly puffed from all his kisses, and you pout. "No?"

"Nah, baby," he reassures, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. "Took care of business for tonight. I'm all yours."

That makes you smile, your whole body melting against him, soaking in the warmth of him, the solidness, the safety, and you nuzzle right back into his chest, sighing as he strokes a hand through your hair. He reaches over with his other hand, turning on the water, the steady stream filling the tub as he drops the plug in.

And then he's wrapping his arms around you again, holding you tight, his palm smoothing slow, soothing strokes up and down your back as the water pours into the tub.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs against your hair, voice low, gravelly, but so damn soft. "I've got you."

Once the tub is filled, Jason reaches over, twisting the faucet off, and then he's lifting you again, hands firm under your thighs as he gently lowers you into the warm water. The heat makes your spent muscles immediately relax, and you let out a soft, content sigh, sinking into it, your head resting against the edge of the tub.

Your eyes are heavy, but you still watch him, all sleepy and soft, as he starts stripping out of his gear. His vest comes first, then his glove, each movement slow, unhurried. His shirt follows, baring his sweat slicked chest, the scars and tattoos across his body catching in the dim bathroom light. Your lashes flutter as you take him in, still entranced by the sight of him, no matter how many times you've seen him like this.

And then he pulls down his pants, the fabric sticking slightly to his thighs, and you giggle when you see the obvious stain of his cum on them.

Jason raises an eyebrow, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. "Somethin' funny, doll?"

You just grin, innocent, eyes sparkling as you look up at him, and he shakes his head before stepping closer. "C'mon, brat, make me some room."

You do, scooting forward a little, letting him step in behind you. The moment he settles into the water, his legs spread wide, caging you between them, he pulls you back against him. His chest is warm, solid, his arms coming to wrap around your middle, holding you close.

You melt into him, your head nestling into the crook of his shoulder, your body fitting perfectly against his. You reach for one of his hands, bringing it up to your cheek, nuzzling into his palm, your lips brushing over his roughened skin.

Jason chuckles, his breath warm against your hair. "Already in sleepy cat mode?"

You nod, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before tilting your head up to look at him, lips pouting slightly as you murmur, "I'm hungry..."

Jason snorts. "I bet."

You whine softly, rubbing your cheek against his hand again, making him laugh before he relents. "I'll make you somethin' after we finish here, yeah?"

"I want cheesy chicken nuggets and fries," you say, your voice soft, almost dreamy, as if you're already thinking about the food.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs, lips pressing soft to your temple. "I'll throw some in the air fryer."

That makes you happy, your whole body perking up as you hum, wiggling a little in his lap to get more comfortable.

But the second your ass presses back against his lap, Jason groans, fingers tightening on your hips. "Careful, baby, or I'll fuck you again."

You freeze for a second, but then you giggle, wiggling just a little more, just to tease him.

Jason grunts, his breath shaky, and his hands flex around your waist. "Brat."

You just grin, settling back against him, feeling warm and safe as he holds you close.

For a few long, quiet minutes, Jason just holds you, the heat of the water soaking into his muscles, easing away the tension in his shoulders, his back. You're soft against him, warm and pliant, your fingers tracing idle little patterns over his forearm where it rests over your stomach. He lets out a long breath, pressing his lips to your temple, lingering there for a second before he shifts, reaching for the bottle of body wash.

His hand is gentle as he leathers it up between his palms, and you hum when he starts gliding it over your arms, your shoulders, down your back. He lingers there, just a little, kneading at the muscles, working out any lingering soreness.

And he can't help it—his lips find your shoulder, pressing soft, slow kisses along your damp skin. Then up, to the curve of your neck, to the spot just below your ear. He can feel you smiling, can feel the way your body relaxes against him.

He keeps going, washing you with slow, careful strokes, rinsing away the sweat and the remnants of what you just did. And when he moves up to your hair, you let out a happy little sigh, tilting your head back as he starts working the shampoo into your scalp.

You hum, all soft and content, and Jason finds himself grinning like an idiot the entire time.

It's always like this, ever since you got together. Before you, he never thought he'd feel this kind of happiness, never thought he'd have moments like these—where love wasn't just something distant, something out of reach, but something real. Something warm.

He never thought he'd have someone who knew every jagged piece of him and didn't flinch, who didn't try to smooth out his rough edges but traced them with careful fingers instead, holding them like they were something precious.

He was always too much. Too broken. Too rough around the edges. He thought he wasn't made for soft things, for gentle things. He told himself that for so long it started to feel like truth, like something carved into his bones. But then you came along. And suddenly, softness wasn't something fragile anymore.

It wasn't something that could be taken from him, something he had to keep at arm's length. It was you, curled up against him, fitting so perfectly in his arms, hands running slow over his skin like you were memorizing every inch of him. It was in the way you looked at him like he wasn't something broken, but something worth loving.

And now? Now, he doesn't have to wonder what it feels like to be held, to be wanted. Now, he knows.

He keeps rubbing small circles into your scalp, massaging the tension away, and you let out another little happy sound, and yeah, he's fucking gone for you.

He takes his time, gently massaging your scalp, lathering your hair with shampoo and making sure it's washed thoroughly, all the while being soft and slow, making sure you feel taken care of.

After a few more minutes of soaking in the warmth, he helps you rinse off, his hands still steady, still gentle as he cups the water, running it through your hair until it's completely clean. Then, once your hair's thoroughly washed, he rinses it one final time, ensuring all the soap's gone.

He stands, stepping out first before reaching for a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders as he helps you up.

You shiver a little as the cooler air hits your damp skin, but Jason doesn't let you linger in it. He tugs you close, rubbing your arms through the towel before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Sit tight for a sec, baby," he murmurs, giving you a squeeze before letting you go.

You nod sleepily, leaning against the sink, the warm towel still wrapped around you as you watch him step back into the tub.

Even though you're exhausted, your limbs heavy with post orgasm haze, you can't help but admire him—broad shoulders, sculpted arms, the scars and tattoos that map across his body, each one a story, a reminder of everything he's been through. His hands move efficiently, lathering the soap over his chest, his arms, down to his abs, and then... lower.

You bite your lip, watching as he strokes a hand down his thick thighs, washing away the sweat and the grime, half from fucking you, the other half from patrol. His dick is soft, but still impressive, flushed from earlier, streaks of soap washing down the drain as he rinses himself off.

"See somethin' you like, pretty girl?" he murmurs, smirking as he slicks his wet hair back.

You pout, cheeks heating as you pull your towel tighter around yourself, mumbling, "Maybe."

Jason chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches for the shampoo, running his fingers through his hair as the lather builds. He rinses quickly, shaking the water from his head before turning off the faucet.

Then he grabs a towel, rubbing it over his head, water dripping down his back, his chest. You can't help but sigh dreamily, still admiring the way his muscles flex, the way he moves.

Jason notices—of course he does—and before you can react, he's stepping forward, cupping your jaw, tilting your head up so you have to look at him.

"You keep eye fuckin' me like that, and I'm gonna forget about aftercare," he murmurs, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You shiver, thighs clenching on instinct, and Jason just grins, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to your lips before letting go.

"C'mon, let's get you dressed before you catch a cold."

You don't bother dressing in anything fancy, just grabbing a comfy shirt—his, obviously—and slipping on some underwear. As you pull it on, you glance over to see him pulling on a pair of shorts, the fabric settling low on his hips. The sight makes your chest flutter, but you push the thought aside, smiling at him as you finish getting dressed. The moment you're done, you beam up at him before skipping toward the kitchen.

Jason watches you go, a smirk tugging at his lips as he follows, his bare feet thudding against the floor.

As promised, he pulls out a bag of frozen cheesy chicken nuggets and fries, tossing them into the air fryer while you grab your tea, getting to finally make it after he'd thoroughly ruined you earlier.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, the way you happily hum to yourself as you prepare your drink, and he shakes his head fondly, grabbing a beer from the fridge before leaning against the counter.

A few minutes later, the food is ready, and you grab the plates, eagerly bouncing to the couch, practically dragging him down with you.

Jason doesn't protest, just lets himself get pulled into the cushions, and you barely give him a second to sit before you're reaching for him, arms stretching toward him with a sleepy little whine.

"So fuckin' clingy," he teases, but he's already pulling you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

With the TV playing softly in the background, plates balanced on your laps, he takes a sip of his beer, one arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you munch on your nuggets, still warm, still content, snuggling into his side like it's where you belong. And maybe it is.

[ehls1020]

Munch munch munch...

Mark Grayson is a certifying pussy eater, his warm slick tongue running a lap over your already dripping folds, his hands holding your hips in place as they circle gentle motions, all while his own hips rubbed against the folds of your sheets for pleasure

"your such a good girl~" his hums and groans sending shivers down your spine, all while your hips chased his mouth, pussy soaking, oh god you were so close....

Mark Grayson who would watch as you squirm and squeeze his head as your back ached, toes curled and face flushed, nonsenses leaving your swollen lips unable to form any actual words

"Fuck your so wet..." his fingers playing with your hole as his tongue continued to suck the living hell out of you.

Mark Grayson who refused to stop even after your whimpers and pleases to stop and let you catch your breath, he wasn't moving , no way, not after he had been craving you all day, and especially not when he had you just where he's been wanting you, Right underneath him.

after the third time you would think he would have had his fill...right?

Nope

"Please, 'm sorry, just- please let me keep eating you out..."

{you guys know how some countries Censor blood and make it white... ya I need him to do that to me}

[kiplex]

You hated parties. They were loud, overstimulating, and there were too many strangers. So when Gideon invited you and Caleb to a party he was having you were hesitant to say the least. You thought having your boyfriend there, your emotional support Caleb, you would be fine; especially once you had a little bit of alcohol in your system. But alas, the universe has a different plan for tonight.

You're three cups of something deep, probably some vodka and a splash of juice, and glued to the side of the wall which were vibrating with how loud the music was, the hum of people yelling over the music certainly wasn't helping. Caleb was god knows where, the second you guys got to the party Gideon whisked him away to go take shots with him and some of the guys they went to college with. Your finger drums a consistent beat against your red plastic cup, your eyes scan the room for any sign of him. Sure, you could go and talk to people, mingle a bit but… Something in your stomach lurches at the thought of doing that.

You take another small sip. You pull out your phone check to the time. “You're Colonel Xia's girlfriend right?" Someone shouts to your left. He looked about the same age as Caleb. “Ah! Yeah! Yeah I am." Your voice wobbles, slightly startled. “Man, he is one lucky guy. I was assigned to his fleet shortly after he took over." The man extends his hand offering his name, that you definitely don't catch. Instead you politely smile, shaking his hand and yelling your name back over the music.

He starts going on and on about fleet stuff, with the amount of liquor in your body you really can't make heads or tails of it, you just politely nod. He wasn't a bad guy or anything, you just clearly were uncomfortable and didn't want to be there. When you feel a hand wrap around your waist, you nearly jump ten feet in the air. “Woah woah! Pips, it's me." Caleb's voice is soft in your ear. Your whole body immediately relaxes into his touch. “Oh Colonel! Good to see you off duty." The man you're talking to acknowledges his superior. “Good to see you too, if you don't mind I'm gonna steal her away for a bit." Caleb smiles at the man. You are always in awe of how charming and charismatic Caleb is naturally. He makes it look effortless.

The man nods, and Caleb grabs your wrist taking you to a free spot farther down the wall. His body blocks your view of the crowd, his cologne flooding your senses calming your nervous system down exponentially. " You okay pretty girl?” He asks, his hands cupping your cheeks intentionally making you maintain eye contact with him. Regardless you down cast your eyes. " I'm fine.” You answer, not wanting to ruin this night for him.

He rarely gets time off, let alone gets to spend it with his friends. His eyebrows furrow. " No you aren't.” He sighs, pulling you against his chest before wrapping his arms around you. " Pips, I've known you, your whole life. I know when you're lying to me.” He kisses the top of your head. " Let me ask you again. Are you okay?” He repeats gently. You shake your head no into his chest. "Not really, it's loud and I'm a little tipsy and… I'm sorry Caleb." Your eyes gloss over slightly, tears threatening to spill over.

He pulls you back a bit so he can look at you. “Aw you sweet girl, don't apologize. You've never really been big on this stuff. I'm proud of you for even tagging along with me. Even Gideon was singing praises about you being here tonight… I mean I did shove him for talking about my girlfriend like that, but semantics.” You giggle slightly.

Caleb kisses your forehead. " Do you wanna get the hell out of here?" He asks, grinning at you. “Are you sure? I know you don't get to do this often…" You mumble. He smiles, shaking his head. “I already got to hang out with Gideon for a while, besides my girlfriend is clearly overstimulated and trying to be brave for me. That's my job Pips, how dare you steal my thunder." He squeezes you slightly. You lean up kissing him gently. “Let's go home." He grabs your hand again, leading you through the sea of people out the door. “Oh also, if I see you talking to another man at a party again I won't be so kind next time, I can promise you that. " You roll your eyes, a dumb smile on your face. If you're being honest, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You can find my master list here

[boobearymuch]

❀ You're Overstimulated ❀

Zayne would instantly recognize you're overstimulated and leap into action without thinking twice about it. He'd notice you've gone uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, nodding or giving clipped responses. Or maybe you're snappier than usual, but he doesn't take it to heart, he never does.

He'd suddenly excuse you both from whatever social situation you're in without warning, and you'd give him a surprised look. Or if he can't control the circumstances, he'd suddenly suggest you guys move to a different room if he knows the lights are too bright/noise levels are too loud. You'd pout out of embarrassment for a bit, "Was it that obvious?"

But he only chuckles and leans in to whisper, "To me, yes." And you frown again, but then he thumbs your chin softly, "...I can't help it. My eyes are always on you."

Bonus: If your clothes are irritating you, he'll wait until you're in the car to say, "Take it off."

"...What?"

His cool eyes slide over to you as he shifts the ignition, "Your clothes. They're bothering you, are they not?" The authority in his voice is unmistakable, and it raises the hair on your arms, "So, take them off."

[jesuistrestriste]

art donaldson getting so lost in how being inside you feels that he begins to lick at your shoulder and slobber all over it like he’s a hungry puppy. whimpering into your neck and grabbing you wherever he can reach, his thrusts turning jagged and stuttered as he climbs to the edge. he tries to warn you—to tell you that he’s about to finish again, that he’s unable to muster enough discipline to slide out this time—but his words come out incoherent. a mess of slurred syllables broken up by wet hiccups and painfully distorted mewls. his blues start to roll back like waves of ocean salt as he is plunged into an orgasm he can’t stop; one hand in the sheets, one under your back, tongue lolled out and thighs shaking hard enough to vibrate the mattress.

“g’na—fffuu—ungh, com’n—g’na cmngh—aangh-!”

[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: LN04 x Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, BDSM room, fingering, oral (F!Receiving), restraints, overstimulation, dirty talk, dom!lando x sub!reader, orgasm denial, mention of safe word, use of colour system

WC: 2.6k

Divider: @hyuneskkami

The air in the driver room was thick with adrenaline, the scent of champagne and rubber still clinging to Lando's fireproofs. He tossed his gloves onto the sofa with a cocky grin, gold-rimmed trophy glinting on the table behind him like a second sun. "You were watching," he said without turning, voice low and teasing.

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying not to stare at the way his curls were still damp with sweat. "You won Monaco, Norris. I'm pretty sure the whole world was watching."

"Yeah, but I was only looking for one face in the crowd."

You snorted, but your stomach fluttered. He turned to face you, eyes gleaming, cocky confidence slowly melting into something heavier. He looked like he wanted something - you - and that realisation hit you like a corner taken too fast.

"You think winning gives you permission to flirt shamelessly?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stepped closer, the tension between you snapping taut. "I think winning gives me a reason to celebrate," he murmured. "And I would rather do it with you than a bottle of champagne."

You swallowed hard. "Lando..."

"Tell me to stop." His voice was a whisper now, close, intoxicating.

But you didn't. Because somewhere between the roar of the engines and the glitter of Monaco's streets, you'd stopped being just another team liaison, another face in the paddock. You were the person he looked at when the visor came up.

You reached for the zipper of his race suit, just enough to tug it down a few inches.

"You've got five minutes before PR come knocking." you said, voice steady, heart racing.

Lando's smirk turned downright wicked. "That's all I need."

Lando's mouth crashed on yours before either of you could second-guess it.

It wasn't gentle.

There was no lean-in or nervous pause - just heat, all teeth and lips and the pent up energy of 78 laps and months of stolen glances. His hands cupped your jaw, calloused palms grounding you in the moment as you gripped the collar of his suit, half to steady yourself, half to pull him closer.

The world narrowed: the hum of the air conditioner, the faint beeping of telemetry left running in the background - and the way he kissed you like he'd been waiting all season for it.

"You taste like champagne," you muttered against his mouth.

He chuckles, breathless. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not."

You pushed him back gently until the back of his legs hit the bench. He sat with a grunt, eyes dark as they watched you step between his knees, fingers ghosting over the zipper of his race suit. His chest rose and fell fast, suit halfway down now, fireproofs clinging to his like a second skin.

"You're dangerous," he whispered, hands roaming your waist. "You come in here looking like that, say my name like that..."

"Yeah, well... I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

You smiled, slow and deliberate. "Then maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you in closer. "I'm learning."

The door thudded once - loud, sudden - and both of you froze.

"Lando?" A voice. Zak. Fucking. Brown. You rolled your eyes and Lando giggled silently. "Sky wants one more quote before the top-three presser."

You didn't move. Neither did he.

"I'll be right there?" Lando called back, his voice only slightly strained.

Silence returned, except for you shallow breaths and his racing pulse where your hand still rested on his chest.

"You've got lip gloss on your jaw," you said softly.

He grinned, eyes gleaming. "Good, Let 'em wonder."

You leaned in one last time, brushing your lips against his ear. "Next time you win," you whispered, "I'm locking the door."

Then you turned, left him there in his half-undone race suit and stunned silence, the taste of you still fresh on his tongue and a wicked promise trailing behind.

Later…

The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence in Lando's apartment was loaded - thick with something that had been simmering between you for months, now finally threatening to boil over.

Lando didn’t say a word.

He just took your hand and led you down the hall - not to the bedroom, not to the balcony with the sea view - but to the heavy, wine-red door at the far end of the corridor. You’d seen it before. Always closed. Never asked.

Tonight, he unlocked it.

The room was dim, cast in deep shadows and soft amber light from vintage wall sconces. It was spacious but intimate, lined with dark oak panels and velvet accents, cool metal glinting from the walls - restraints, chains, hooks you didn’t fully register before your pulse spiked.

Your throat went dry.

“You trust me?” Lando asked, voice low, serious now.

You met his eyes. “Yes.”

He nodded once, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Safe word?”

You exhaled. “Miami.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Predictable. I like it.”

Without another word, Lando stepped behind you, dragging his fingers over the zipper of your dress, down, slow, until it whispered open. His breath skimmed your shoulder as the fabric slipped from your skin, pooling silently at your feet.

“Stay still,” he said, and something in his tone made you obey instantly.

The click of a drawer opening. The soft rasp of leather. Then his hands - warm, steady - fastening soft cuffs around your wrists, buckling them with a practiced precision that had your knees threatening to give out.

You didn’t know whether it was the win, the power, or the raw, controlled hunger in his eyes - but this was not the grinning golden boy from the paddock.

This was Lando in his element.

The hours blurred after that - flushed skin, whispered orders, the leather bite of restraint contrasting with the drag of his hands, his mouth. Every inch of you learned what it meant to be unraveled and rebuilt by a man who’d just conquered Monaco and still had something left to prove.

He praised you like he’d praise a perfect lap. Whispered your name like a prayer and a promise. And when you finally collapsed against him - breathless, trembling, marked by him in all the right places - he kissed your temple and held you close.

“I told you I didn’t want champagne,” he murmured. “I wanted you.”

And damn if he didn’t take his victory like a man who meant it.

Your wrists were still bound, but not harshly - padded leather cuffs tethered to the velvet-covered frame behind you, high above your head. Your toes barely touched the floor. Vulnerable, exposed. But never unsafe.

Lando stood in front of you, shirtless now, race-toned body bathed in warm, red-tinged light, his expression unreadable - a potent mix of reverence and raw intent.

He ran a hand slowly up your thigh, fingers ghosting the inside like he had all the time in the world. “Do you know what it did to me,” he said, voice a gravel-soft whisper, "seeing you in the garage after I won?"

You couldn’t answer. You were too breathless, too wrecked from the hours of teasing, restraint, and controlled denial. He’d touched you everywhere but where you needed most - until your body vibrated with tension.

"I was soaked in champagne, engine heat still humming in my chest," he continued, now dragging his lips along your jawline, "and all I could think about was this… getting you in here. Making you mine in every way I hadn’t yet."

He slid two fingers between your thighs, finally, and you gasped like you were coming up for air.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You’ve been waiting, haven’t you?"

You nodded desperately, back arching against the bonds. "Lando..."

"Uh uh." He pressed in slightly, but not enough. "Monaco winners don't take orders."

His mouth was on your chest before you could beg, tongue tracing circles, teeth nipping just enough to leave heat behind. He was relentless - not cruel, but calculating - taking you apart one sound, one broken moan at a time. You were past modesty now, past pride, You'd let him do anything.

“Look at you,” he murmured, finally sliding two fingers deep, slow, curling. “All this just for me.”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t let up. His free hand held your waist as he knelt in front of you, and when his mouth replaced his fingers, the sensation ripped through you so violently, you cried out - hips straining forward, arms pulling against the cuffs.

Over and over, he brought you to the edge - pulled you back - then pushed you further. Until your pleas became sobs of release, thighs shaking, the fire in your belly finally breaking open in a wave that made you see stars.

When he stood again, lips glistening, eyes dark with heat, you could barely breathe.

“I’m not done,” he said, voice rough now. “Get ready for round two.”

You hung there, limp in the cuffs, skin flushed and slick with sweat, lips parted as your chest heaved. Lando had edged you into oblivion, dragged pleasure out of you like it was a science - each orgasm coaxed or denied with cruel expertise.

He watched you now from the chaise across the room - shirtless, pants undone, the outline of his cock straining beneath his grey Calvin Kleins. His knuckles pressed against his mouth as he studied your shaking legs, the tremble in your core.

"Colour?" he asked darkly.

Your voice was hoarse. "Green."

"Good." He stood, slow and deliberate. "Because I'm just getting started."

You whimpered as he approached - you wanted it, needed it, but you were already past your limit. He knew that. And that was exactly the point.

"You begged so pretty," he whispered, brushing fingers between your thighs again. You flinched. He smirked. "Sensitive now, aren't we?"

The his hand slapped your inner thigh - not enough to hurt, just enough to make you jolt. "Answer me."

"Yes...fuck, yes, I'm...sensitive."

"Better." His voice dropped lower. "You don't cum again unless I say so."

Then he unbuckled his belt.

The sound alone had you clenching around nothing. He looped the belt through his hand, then slid it under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"I want you to remember who you belong to when we go out for breakfast tomorrow with bruises on your hips and cum still dripping down your thighs."

Your breath hitched - half shock, half need.

"You like being used, don't you?" he asked.

“Yes.”

“You like being my celebration gift.”

“Yes, Lando.”

He didn't undress you completely - there was something primal in the way he kept you partially clothed, cuffs still on, legs spread just enough by a subtle hook at your ankle.

Then he stepped behind you.

You could feel the heat of him, his dick pressed against your ass. He didn't prep. He didn't ask again. He knew you were ready - he made you ready - and when he pushed into you, slow and deliberate, the stretch made your eyes roll back.

"Fuck," he growled into your ear. "So. Tight. You were made for this... made for me."

His hands gripped your hips, nails biting skin, and then he fucked you - no teasing now. No edging. Just a hard, brutal rhythm, every thrust taking the breath from your lungs.

You couldn't speak. Could barely think. The cuffs creaked with your movements as you braced yourself.

"You gonna fall apart for me babygirl?" he asked, teeth dragging your shoulder.

"Yes," you sobbed. "Please...let me."

He reached round to rub your swollen, aching clit again, and your body convulsed.

“No. Not yet.”

You cried out, body clenching, wave after wave crashing into a wall he wouldn’t let fall.

“Lando...”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

The way he held you, the way he denied you - it wasn’t cruel, it was worship. In his mind, you were divine, and your ruin was a masterpiece he was building stroke by stroke.

And finally,

“Now.”

That one word broke you.

You shattered like glass, screaming, body pulsing around him as your orgasm tore through you so hard, you sobbed into the velvet restraints. He chased his own release seconds later, hips snapping into you with a grunt that sounded like your name.

When it was over, he caught you as you collapsed, unbuckling the cuffs, lifting you into his arms with shocking gentleness.

“You did so good,” he murmured, pressing kisses to your temple. “So fucking good for me.”

He wrapped you in one of his oversized hoodies and carried you to the bed, letting you melt against the sheets as the adrenaline drained from both your bodies.

The silence that followed was full, heavy with exhaustion and something warmer - something softer.

Your breathing was shallow, skin still tingling from every place he'd touched you, every command he's whispered like silk over steel. But your mind had settled. Floating but not lost. Anchored.

By him.

Lando was already unbuckling the cuffs from your wrists, his fingers, gentle now - nothing like the firm authority he'd held earlier. He rubbed slow, soothing circles into your skin, like he was trying to erase any pressure, any ache.

"You okay?" he asked, voice hoarse, low.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "Better than okay."

He smiled, brushing a kiss across you knuckles. "Colour?"

"Green."

That grin - the real one, boyish and bright, slipped back onto his face. "Atta girl."

He reached behind you for the plush robe draped on the back of a velvet chair, slipping it over your shoulders himself before wrapping you in his arms. He was warm, chest still rising quickly beneath you, but his touch was careful now, reverent.

"You did so good for me," he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. "So fucking good."

Your throat tightened.

He guided you out of the room, one hand firm on your lower back, like he needed to keep touching you - not possessively, just... to make sure you were still there. Still his.

The ensuite bathroom was already fogged with steam, the tub filling with lavender-scented water. Candles flickered on the edge - clearly lit before you'd even entered the room.

You gave him a look. "Did you plan the after more than the... during?"

He smirked, peeing off his shirt. "I'm a Formula 1 driver, baby. I think about the whole race - not just the start."

You rolled your eyes and let him help your into the tub. The hot water soothed every ache, and as he slid in behind you, pulling you gently between his legs, you let your body fully relax for the first time in hours.

His hands stroked over your arms underwater, slow and rhythmic. You rested your head back against his shoulder.

"I needed that," you whispered. "Not just the sex. All of it. The trust. The way you looked at me."

He kissed the top of your head. "I've been waiting to give you that since Singapore."

The two of you soaked in silence, fingers tangled, hearts slowly syncing up.

And when he dried you off after, dressed you in one of his shirts, and tucked you into his bed with your legs tangled in his - you knew.

This wasn't just a post-win indulgence.

This was something real. And he wasn't letting go.

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Taglist: @dessashippr

[dollsei]

What blue lock guys do you headcanon to have brat taming kink?

pairings: barou shoei, oliver aiku, itoshi sae x f! reader

warnings: brat taming + impact play / spanking + overstimulation + creampies + slight degradation + dacryphilia

💌: i dont usually do hc’s on my main blog but here…mayhaps i will try. just this once. as a little treat. also i didnt mean to make sae’s part that long but.. he’s my bf so <3 yeah <3

number one is absolutely barou. there’s something about strict dom shoei that makes me so dizzy… he’s the type to reprimand you then n there; youre out in public n try bratting out n sho has a firm grip on your jaw, a stern look on his face, brows knitted n his deep voice grumbling out a, “fuckin’ behave.” he knows you only act like this when you’re craving his cock n he’s happy to deliver once he gets you alone, harshly snapping his hips into yours. you wanted an orgasm? you’ll get one. and another. and another. and another. but only if you take your punishment like a good girl. let barou slap your cunt and your ass, all while counting and he’ll overstim you to tears, until you’re pleading for him to stop, but he’s having none of it. “y’wanna act like a whore, i’ll treat you like one.”

oliver aiku… yeah <3 hearts in my eyes jus’ thinkin’ ab this. he’s a freak. he likes when you misbehave. he likes when you snap at him n insult him, your heels clicking as you walk away from your boyfriend, annoyed at how many girls have tried making a move on him right in front of you; makes it so much sweeter when he’s buried in your tight little cunt, eyes rolling back n moaning whiney oli’s n please n telling him ‘s too much. “there she is,” he grins, “look at my sweet girl, usin’ her manners.” he slows his pace, resorting to grinding against you rather than fucking into your wet pussy. “you jus’ needed my cock, huh? ‘s okay,” his lips find your jaw, sucking hickeys along the soft skin and kissing his way up until he’s reached your ear. “oli’s here baby, i’ll take care of you.” and he picks up the pace again, precise thrusts battering your cervix in a way that makes you squeal, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck, inner walls clenching around his length when he lets out a deep, guttural moan.

itoshi sae, hands down. he’s always sooooo focused on soccer; training for upcoming games n spending his time out on the field instead of with you, his girlfriend!!!! what better way to get his attention than to show up at practice wearing the skimpiest little outfit you could find! maybe compliment shidou too, while you’re at it; bat your lashes n hang onto his arm, pushing your chest into his muscled bicep. he won’t show it in front of his teammates, but sae’s fucking pissed. you can tell though; it’s obvious due to how tight he’s gripping your wrist as he drags you to his car, combined with the silence on the ride home? yeah, you’re in for it. his punishments are mean, too. he’ll tie you up, not once letting you touch him despite how much you struggle against the restraints, chuckling lowly when your eyes begin to water.

he likes when you cry. lets him know that despite acting like such a little slut, you belong to him. you crave his touch; ache for it. your tears are proof. “so,” he starts, eyes locked onto yours no matter how much you try to avert your gaze. you’re a little flustered, he’s fully dressed while you’re laid bare before him, your bratty act quickly melting with each passing second. “shidou, huh?” continues sae, “i don’t give you my attention so you whore yourself out to that fucking demon? maybe i should call him, yeah? since you clearly wanna fuck ‘im.”

you’re quick to deny the accusation, bottom lip wobbling as the tears descend, wetness streaking down your cheeks. “n-no! sae, please,” you sniffle. “don’t want him, jus’ you! wan’ you, i miss you. i miss your…” your own whimper cuts you off, the sound escaping you when sae brings his hand up to your cheek, wiping your tears, cocking a brow when you lean into his palm.

“you miss…? what? say it, cariño. use your big girl words f’me. maybe then i’ll give you what you want.”

another whimper. “miss your cock, sae! pleaseplease, i wan’ it soso bad. need to feel you in me, need your cum inside me, please,” you beg, peering up at him through wet lashes.

“atta girl.” you’re released from the restraints after telling him, and he wastes no time before sliding his thick cock inside, relishing in your moans of pleasure, grinning when you wrap your legs around his waist as if to bring him even closer, like he’s not as close as he possibly can be. he can barely pull out to fuck you properly like this, so he opts for pressing his hips into yours, cockhead pressing against the opening of your womb and snaking a hand between your legs to rub your sensitive clit.

he can tell you’re close, and he stops all his movements so your focus is solely on his next words. “next time, tell me what you want, instead of bein’ such a fucking brat.”

you nod along stupidly, “yesyes, i promise, promisepromisepromise god, sae please! make me cum, please!” he doesn’t bother with a reply, just presses a wet kiss to your lips before fucking you again, the pleasure building until your mouth falls open in a silent scream, pussy clenching tight around sae as you cum, the vice grip on his cock triggering his own climax, grunting into your ear as his thick cum floods your insides, painting them white.

[pipszhou]

playback

✧ — synopsis: you knew flirting with the client would get under his skin. but you didn’t expect caleb to drag you into his office, press record, and make you say who you belong to—with the camera still rolling. jealousy is cruel. so is proof.

✧ — pairing: caleb x mc

✧ — wc: ~1.4k

✧ — tags: jealousy, recording kink, rough sex, sexual overstimulation, possessive behavior, power dynamics, power imbalance, reader-insert, colonel caleb, office sex, degradation, plot what plot/porn without plot, pet names, they are both freaks i swear

✧ — notes: i am back with another horny fic. i have nothing to say other that i have sinned yet again in the face of the Lord. this one is also not beta read by anyone, only edited by yours truly so read with caution.

“caleb—what are you doing?”

you barely had time to catch your breath as he yanked your wrist, his steps swift, jaw clenched. fleet officers stepped aside. some stared. some whispered. no one dared move. he said nothing. his silence louder than fury.

your heels clicked against the floor as he led you toward his office. your heart pounded.

you hadn’t expected him to find out. you’d leaned close to that diplomat on purpose. finger tracing the rim of his glass. laughed at his jokes. let him look down your uniform. the deal needed to go through. and you needed caleb to remember how it felt to be provoked.

the door hissed shut behind you.

then you were slammed back against his desk, the impact making papers explode into the air like a startled flock. you gasped—but didn’t struggle.

his colonel cap hit the table. his jacket peeled off his shoulders. you didn’t dare speak again until you saw the fire in his eyes. you’d lit it. now you had to take the heat.

“you think i didn’t see that?” he growled, pinning your hips to the wood with his own. “batting your lashes. touching his wrist. whispering in his ear.” 

you inhaled sharply, your pulse thudding against your throat.

“it was work,” you muttered, but it was weak. you’d known what you were doing. you wanted this.

he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. “you know exactly what you were doing.” his mouth ghosted your ear. “you wanted to make me jealous.” 

a breath. a brush of his lips against your jaw. “wanted me like this, didn’t you? wanted me angry enough to ruin you.”

you swallowed, eyes fluttering shut. “no.”

he smiled against your skin, cruel and knowing. “liar.”

his fingers tugged open the buttons of your uniform, one by one, until it slipped past your shoulders. you gasped at the cold air, and the heat of his gaze devouring every inch of you.

“don’t you dare look away,” he hissed, and for a moment you forgot how to breathe. he reached into his drawer. pulled something out. something small.

a sleek, black recorder.

he clicked it on.

beep.

“say it,” he said softly, voice venomous sweet. “say who you belong to.”

“caleb…”

your voice trembled like the flicker of a candle, eyes fixed on the camera in his hand. you tried to plead, play innocent, lashes fluttering like wings. but he saw through you. he always did.

“come on, pips,” he crooned, voice all smoke and steel. “tell them who owns you.” that devilish smirk curved his lips, the one that promised ruin and knew you’d beg for more.

he was in on it. the whole thing. the flirting, the baiting, the need clawing at your throat.

you’d stoked his jealousy on purpose—just to be devoured.

“you… you own me, caleb,” you finally whispered, voice breaking into breathless heat.

“fuck—yeah you’re mine.”

in one swift motion, he freed himself, the thick length of his cock glistening in the office light.

he didn’t give you a second to prepare. just pressed the blunt head against your dripping entrance, letting the tension stretch between your bodies like wire.

his hand found your chest—pushing you down to the desk, pinning you in place like a fragile document.

“so don’t dare protest when i do this.”

and then—he pushed in.

deep. thick. unrelenting.

you gasped—no, cried—his name, your voice echoing against the cold metal walls.

the sound would carry. maybe people outside could hear. maybe they were listening.

you didn’t care. your body bloomed open for him, soaked and wanting.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, lowering his face to your ear, “you like this, don’t you? making me watch you flirt just so you could end up here—bent over my desk, stuffed full of cock.”

the camera whirred in his hand, capturing every lewd slap of skin, every moan, every breathy chant of caleb caleb caleb—proof of your surrender.

his free hand slid under your skirt, thumb circling your clit as he pounded into you. “look at the camera, pipsqueak,” he hissed. “show them how good i fuck you.”

he suddenly reached forward and groped your breasts—rough, possessive, fingers curling into the tender flesh through your half-undone uniform.

you gasped, head rolling back, the edge of his desk biting into your spine. your hips moved on their own, rocking back onto him, greedy for every inch.

“caleb—fuck. so good, i can’t—”

your voice broke into a high, wanton moan as he slammed deeper.

his fingers tightened around your waist, nails digging into the softness of your skin hard enough to leave marks, markings of who you belonged to. his hips snapped forward again, again, again, like punishment.

you tried to reach for him—fingers fumbling backward, seeking the warmth of his back, desperate for anything to ground you—

but he slapped your hand away, sharp and stinging.

“no.”

his voice was guttural. absolute. “you don’t get to hold me. not today. today, you’re a toy. you wanted me angry? here’s what you earned.”

you whimpered, thighs trembling, your walls fluttering around him uncontrollably. the friction. the angle. the brutal pace—you were unraveling, nerves screaming, body barely holding together.

“you can’t do that anymore, pipsqueak.” he leaned in, biting down lightly on your shoulder. “no more flirting. no more fluttering those pretty lashes at anyone but me.”

you nodded helplessly, tears dotting the corners of your lashes. “yes, yes, caleb—only you—”

his thumb pressed hard against your clit, circling too fast, too firm. your legs kicked from the overstimulation, your voice breaking into a sharp sob.

“caleb—wait, i’m gonna—”

“don’t wait. i want you ruined.”

his voice was thick, rough, heavy with hunger. “i want you drooling, crying, too full of me to even walk.”

he kept going, thrusting deep, relentless, your pleasure turning sharp, electric, too much…

but you couldn’t stop.

your body was betraying you, clutching him tighter, choking on moans, your soaked folds dripping mess onto the desk beneath you.

“look at the camera,” he growled, still filming. “let them see what happens when my baby tries to act like she’s not mine.”

your body tensed under him, mouth falling open in a silent cry. his thumb kept rubbing merciless circles into your clit, even as your walls clamped around him tight, too tight—milking his cock like your body never wanted to let go.

“caleb—i’m close!”

and you did.

your whole body seized. your back arched off the desk. a moan ripped from your throat, loud, obscene, echoing in his sealed room like a siren.

you came hard, soaking him, your thighs trembling, eyes rolling back. the waves of pleasure hit you like a crash of heat and static—blinding, blissful, brutal.

but caleb didn’t stop.

“good girl,” he growled, breath hot against your neck, “but i’m not done.”

he didn’t slow down—just kept pounding into you, letting you ride out your orgasm while forcing your body into another. every thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. your legs twitched. your clit was raw, screaming for mercy.

he held your hips in place like you were nothing but a doll. “you’re gonna come again. you’re going to cry and shake and let me use this tight cunt until i say we’re done.”

you sobbed—somewhere between pain and pleasure, your body going limp beneath him, oversensitive, helpless. you were gushing again, slick dripping down your thighs, your mouth slack and begging.

he finally slammed deep and stilled, buried to the hilt, panting hard.

you thought it was over.

your mind drifted, dizzy and fucked-out.

then you felt his hand move—lifting the camera slowly, angling it to catch the mess between your thighs, your flushed, tear-stained face, the way you twitched when he moved just slightly inside you.

his voice came low, gravelled, thick with satisfaction.

“only i can see you like this.”

his thumb brushed your cheek.

“no one else. ever. and i’m keeping this recording…” he leaned down, lips ghosting over your ear, “as a reminder.”

you gasped, your body jolting weakly beneath him.

then, he drew back just an inch. let your oversensitive walls feel the stretch again. “round two?”

the camera clicked.

still recording.

cut to black.

[peachsayshi]

touch starved!satoru - your best friend whose never been touched, never been kissed. who watches you with lovers with curiosity. wondering if it's as lovely as it seems. who asks you if you can show him one night, cheeks so pink and eyes so soft. he's not embarrassed, he's maintained this distance by choice. but he needs to know. wants to know. he just can't imagine anyone else touching him other than you.

so, you oblige. smoothing back his soft, white locks. tracing the outline of his strong jaw. "I'll go slow," you whisper against his lips, feel the way his chest rises and falls against your palm.

he freezes when you kiss him, but it's a frost under sunlight that gradually drips. the first kiss is innocent, with you readjusting your position to straddle him properly. "I'm going to use my tongue now," you inform and he nods his head while trying to sift through his own dizzying thoughts.

he's half hard almost instantly when he tastes you - the warmth of your kiss sending a heat in his belly that has him fidgeting his hips. you moan when he finds the confidence to return the kiss - his naive tongue attempting to figure out this dance. he just didn't think it would overwhelm him so much. your spit slick lips, the wrestle of muscle and your sex pressed up against his erection. he didn't even notice himself trembling, the cold sheen of sweat tickling the back of his neck or the broken moan that leaves him when he suddenly cums in his pants.

he's crimson all over all over when he looks down at the mess he's made. nervous eyes searching for yours only to be met with such tenderness. "it's okay," you say with a kiss to his forehead, "you're okay," you soothe with your arms around his neck, keeping him in a tight embrace because you know better than anyone else that it's far too much for him to handle in such heavy doses.

[b-lairington]

Dumb Little Thing | Mike Schmidt

☆ : dumbification(hopefully, it's my first time writing for this kink), overstimulation, cockwarming, creampie, hinted/mentioned multiple orgasms, very brief but also cnc if u squint, mentioned foreplay, dom!mike schmidt,

requested by anon

It's not often that Mike gets a day off, working countless overtime shifts in order to make ends meet.

When he finally catches a break, he's using that time to blow off steam, letting out all his frustrations by using you.

With your face pressed into the matress, your back arched, and moans muffled into the fabric of the sheets, he had it. Your hole is clenching tightly around his cock, milking him for all the cum he could give possibly give you.

"Fuuuckkkk, Miikkeeee....!" You cried, whimpering out as you couldn't form any other words, your mind was practically scrambled as Mike continued to fuck his cock deeper into your cunt. His tip continued to nudge your cervix. He was so deep inside he almost had the air in your lungs knocked out. You wanted to beg for more, for him to go faster, but all that came out was a mewl and whine.

"Yeah? Can't say shit?"

He slapped your thigh, a pink print left behind while he grabbed your hair and tugged on it. Your legs were shaking as he grabbed your arm and pulled you up, your back pressed up against his chest. He starts kissing your neck, his hands groping whatever they could reach. His fingers eventually make it to your nipples, playing with them as the movements of his hips moving start up again.

Your own hips ache with the positions he's had you in, your stomach dips as his fingers eventually reached your pussy. Your clit is overly sensitive from earlier foreplay, you almost fall forward as he starts to play with it.

"M-.. Mike-! Mike..!" You want to say something, you want him to fuck harder and faster, you want him to make you cum, but you can't make out words as your own breathing picks up a faster pace.

Your cum and slick allows for his cock to glide in and out so smoothly, the angle at which he has you in only intensifies the amount of pleasure he's giving you.

"You dumb little thing.." He groans out, seeing how fucked out he has you, how stupid you've become on his cock. "So fucked out on my dick, aren't you?", he whispered into your ear.

You can't even say anything other than his name as you're reaching another climax, pussy throbbing around his dick.

"Gonna cum?" He asked, pushing you onto the mattress, your chest hitting the bed, face into the sheets again. All you could do was let out a muffled cry, the overstimulation was reaching a peak within you, it was painful but overpowered by the sensation of pleasure. It was an overwhelming feel, but you needed it, you craved it because you didn't know when the next time would come.

"Oh, you dirty girl." Mike groans, you came, pussy spasms around his length. All strength in your body is gone, it doesn't take longer before your boyfriend is cumming into your used cunt. The hot sensation of his cum flowing into your pussy had you panting more.

Everything after that is a blur.

Mike doesn't pull out, instead, he falls to your side and hugs you from behind. The mixed combination of both yours and his cum sits at the base of his dick.

"Aren't you such a good dumb doll?" He kisses your neck. You barely hear what he says before his cock is ramming in and out of you again.

[killerplink]

HEATWAVE

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 3,1k

Plot: It's too damn hot outside, and the only thing keeping you from melting is Dick—lazy mornings spent tangled in sheets, trying to avoid the heat, but failing miserably.

It's too fucking hot, even with the AC on.

The sheets stick to your skin, damp with sweat, and the air is thick, stifling in a way that makes it impossible to get comfortable. The weak breeze from the AC does nothing to help, just pushing warm air around, and every time you shift, your body practically glues itself to the mattress.

But the real problem? The real reason you're burning up?

Dick.

He's right next to you, bare chested, hair messy from sleep, tanned skin glistening with sweat, and somehow still wrapped around you like he isn't overheating, like he isn't also suffering in this heat. His arm is heavy over your waist, one leg hooked between yours, his breath slow and deep against your shoulder, and it's making you crazy. Every inch of you feels too sensitive, too warm, too needy, because the way his body presses against yours is unbearable.

You bite your lip, shifting just enough to feel the hard press of his morning wood against your ass. Yeah, that's not helping.

You should be trying to cool down, should be avoiding touching him, but you don't. You can't. Because despite how hot it is, despite how sticky and unbearable it feels, you want him. And that's how it starts.

A slow, teasing grind of your hips back against him, just enough to see if he's awake, if he'll react. He shifts slightly, lets out a quiet sigh, but doesn't wake up. So, you do it again, rolling your hips back a little harder this time, letting the curve of your ass drag against the outline of his dick through his boxers.

That gets you a reaction. A low, sleepy groan against your shoulder, fingers flexing where they rest on your hip, his grip tightening slightly. But still, he doesn't wake up.

So, of course, you push further.

You let your back arch, pressing flush against him, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, feeling the heat of his dick through the fabric. You're barely doing anything, barely moving, but the friction is delicious. All lazy, teasing pressure against your already aching cunt, making your breath hitch as a slow, lazy pulse starts to build between your thighs.

And then? Dick grunts, low and rough, and suddenly moves—hips pressing forward, grinding himself right against you, a slow, unconscious rutting motion that makes your breath stutter.

Oh, fuck, he's still half asleep.

But his body knows exactly what it wants. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you back into him, his hips rolling in a deep, lazy grind, chasing that friction in slow, unconscious movements. His dick is so fucking hard, pressing against you, and the sleepy, needy little sounds slipping from his throat are driving you insane.

Your panties? Already ruined. Sticky and damp against your cunt, making every little shift so much worse, and when you drag your ass back against him again, the way he shudders against you almost makes you whimper.

"Mmnh... baby..."

His voice is rough, thick with sleep, and fuck, that does something to you. You don't stop.

You should, you should probably let him wake up properly, give him a second to adjust, but you can't. Not when he's already moving against you like this, not when his cock is pressing against you so perfectly, not when every slow, sleepy grind makes your clit throb with desperate, aching heat.

"God, you're so needy," he mumbles against your skin, voice still sluggish with sleep, but there's a hint of amusement there—because he knows.

"Mmm," you hum, rolling your hips back again, pressing right against him, letting your ass grind slowly against his dick. "You're the one humping me in your sleep, baby."

That gets a low chuckle from him, but it's cut off by a sharp inhale when you push back again, dragging your soaked panties right against him. His fingers dig into your waist, gripping you tighter, his hips pressing forward a little harder this time.

"Oh, fuck, baby—"

And that's when he snaps. One second, you're teasing him, and the next? He's rolling you onto your stomach, pressing his weight over you, his dick grinding against your ass in slow, desperate rolls. His lips are on your shoulder, trailing messy, open mouthed kisses down your spine, lazy and wet, his hands pushing your thighs apart as he settles between them.

"I—" you gasp when he ruts against you again, hard, pressing your soaked panties right up against your swollen clit.

"What's wrong, sweet girl?" he murmurs against your skin, voice all slow and lazy, thick with sleep and arousal. "Thought you wanted this."

You do. Fuck, you do.

But you can barely breathe, barely think, because the heat is unbearable, the air thick and heavy, and the way his cock presses against you is too much—sticky and messy, his boxers damp with sweat and precum, making every slow, teasing grind feel filthy.

"Dick, please," you whimper, rocking your hips back, desperate for more.

"Please what?" His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down over your ass, peeling the damp fabric away from your needy cunt. "Tell me what you need, baby."

You don't hesitate. "Fuck me."

That's all he needs. He groans, low and desperate, before shoving his boxers down just enough to free his cock, the thick, flushed head pressing against your entrance. He doesn't tease, doesn't wait, just grips your hips and slides in, slow and deep, punching a gasping moan from your throat as he stretches you open.

"Ohhh, fuck," he groans, forehead dropping against your shoulder, hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts, dragging his cock through your soaked, messy heat.

It's slow. So slow.

Not because he's teasing you, but because he can't go any faster, not in this heat. Every shift, every movement is sticky, your bodies damp and sweaty, sliding against each other in a way that makes it so much worse, so much better, so much hotter.

And God, the way he's fucking you—deep, slow, grinding against you with every thrust, letting you feel every inch of his cock as he moves—it's driving you insane.

"You feel so good," he groans, mouth hot and wet against your shoulder. "So fucking wet."

He's right. You can hear it, can feel the way he slides against you, the sticky, messy friction of it, the obscene little squelch every time he fucks into you.

It's so fucking hot. Too hot. But you don't care. You just take it. Take every slow, dragging thrust, take the heat of him, take the way his hands grip you, holding you down as he fucks you slow and deep and messy.

He's not rushing. He can't. Not in this thick, unbearable heat, not when every shift, every grind of his cock inside you is so much—sticky and heavy, your bodies sliding against each other, sweat pooling in the dips of your back, making every movement smoother, every slow push inside you feel slicker.

And fuck, he's deep. So deep you can feel the hot press of his cock stretching you open, every slow roll of his hips sending a hot, aching pulse straight to your clit. He doesn't pull out much, just enough to make you whimper, just enough to let you feel every inch drag against your swollen walls before he presses back in, slow and thick and perfect, grinding himself deep inside your cunt.

And you need it. Fuck, you need it. You push back against him, hips rolling, greedy and desperate, wanting more, wanting it harder, faster, wanting him to ruin you. But he doesn't let you.

His hands tighten on your hips, holding you still, keeping you pinned beneath him as he grinds against you, slow and deep, pressing the weight of his body over yours, letting you feel him, letting you take it exactly how he wants to give it.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick and wrecked, forehead pressed against your shoulder.

He drags his dick out so slow—just the fat tip stretching you open, making you clench—before rolling back in, filling you up again, pressing himself as deep as he can fucking go.

And then it happens.

The pleasure doesn't just hit you, it takes you, swallowing you whole, ripping through you in deep, melting waves that leave you trembling. You gasp, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your thighs twitching as your body locks up, hips jolting back against him in frantic, desperate little rolls, grinding onto his cock, trying to chase it, trying to sink into it, trying to drag him in deeper even as your muscles go taut.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your cunt squeezes down hard, pulsing around him in fluttering, greedy little clenches, sucking him deeper, milking his cock in helpless, uncontrollable aftershocks. And fuck, the sound—so filthy, so wet, the messy squelch of his cock grinding through the slick, dripping heat of you as he keeps moving, keeps fucking you through it, stretching you open, dragging out every aching, shattering wave until you're left gasping, raw and sensitive and so fucking full.

You whimper, pushing back against him, grinding yourself onto his cock, desperate for more, for everything, as your climax rolls through you. And he feels it. He groans, deep and wrecked, hips jerking forward, pressing deep into you as his cock twitches, thick and hot inside you.

"F—fuck, baby—oh, fuck—"

And then he spills. His cum pours into you in thick, hot pulses, filling you up deep, the heat of it overwhelming, too much, making you gasp, making you clench around him again. His breath is ragged against your shoulder, his hands tight on your hips as he grinds into you, slow and desperate, working his cum deeper, fucking it into you, making sure you take all of it.

And you do. You can feel it, thick and hot, sticky inside you, making your cunt feel full, wet, messy, your walls still fluttering around him, milking every last drop.

He doesn't pull out—not yet.

Just stays inside you, cock still buried deep, his hips rolling in slow, lazy grinds, fucking his cum deeper, pressing it further inside you, stretching you open with every slow, messy push.

Your head falls forward, body still trembling, breath shallow as you try to recover. The heat, the mess, the way his body stays wrapped around you—it's overwhelming in the best way. You feel him shift slightly, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles over your hip, grounding you.

"Shit, baby," he breathes against your shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss to your damp skin. "You feel so fucking good."

You shudder, whimpering softly, loving the way he still moves inside you, the way he's still grinding himself deep, still filling you up, still making you take it.

Still making it so much worse. Still making you want more. And he knows it. Feels it.

Feels the way you clench around him, still soaked, still needy, your cunt fluttering with every slow, grinding thrust, milking him for everything he's worth, even when his cum is already leaking out of you—thick and hot, slicking up the mess between your thighs, making every slow push easier, deeper, wetter.

"Still want more, huh?" he murmurs against your ear, voice low and wrecked, thick with heat as he presses into you, hips rolling, cock stretching you open again, making you gasp.

And you do.

You want more. You want him to keep fucking you, keep filling you, keep ruining you until you can't think, until all you know is the slow, grinding press of his dick stretching you, fucking his own cum deeper into you, making you drip, making a mess of you.

You nod, whimpering, desperate, rolling your hips back against him, taking every deep, thick thrust as he grips you tighter, holding you open for him.

And then he gives it to you.

Not faster, but harder—a slow, deep grind turning into a filthy, pounding rhythm, his hips snapping into you, making you shake, making the bed creak under the force of it, his cock pressing so deep you can feel the thick, heavy drag of it in your fucking stomach.

And then—fuck—his hand slides around to the front, fingers slipping through the mess between your thighs, dragging over your swollen, aching clit.

Your whole body jolts.

The second he touches you, you know you're done. His fingers are slick—so slick, slipping and sliding through the mess between your thighs, rubbing your clit in slow, lazy circles, and fuck, fuck, fuck—

It's brutal. Instant. Your whole body jerks, legs kicking out, muscles locking up as your vision blanks—pure static, pure sensation, pleasure tearing through you so violently that your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out, just a wrecked little gasp, a high, broken cry that barely makes it past your lips.

And he just keeps fucking you.

Deep and slow, grinding through it, forcing your cunt to take every aching pulse, every fluttering, milking squeeze, every little aftershock that leaves you twitching, shivering, your thighs trembling so bad that they almost give out.

Your walls squeeze down tight, so tight, sucking him in, gripping him, dragging him back in every time he pulls out even an inch, so fucking wet that every thrust is sloppy, messy, obscene, making the filthiest little squelching noises that make him groan against your shoulder.

"Holy fuck, baby—"

He keeps rubbing, keeps fucking you, keeps pressing deep, slow, grinding thrusts into you, until your body gives up.

Until your orgasm floods through you, sharp and overwhelming, white hot pleasure ripping through your spine as you clench around him, your thighs trembling, your whole body shaking as you cum with a gasping, broken moan, walls pulsing in greedy, desperate waves.

And fuck, it's so much.

So intense, so deep, dragging out for what feels like forever, your breath catching in your throat as he works you through it, fucking you through it, forcing you to take every second of it, forcing you to keep clenching around him, milking his cock, keeping him buried deep inside your spasming, dripping cunt.

And he groans, voice wrecked, hips jerking against you, grinding deep as your orgasm drags him down with you—no.

Not yet. He grits his teeth, forces himself to hold on, even when your cunt is squeezing him, even when it's too good, too tight, even when he aches to cum again.

Because he's not done. He won't stop, not when you're still trembling, still gasping, still too sensitive to take it, and fuck, that's exactly why he doesn't stop.

He keeps fucking you—hard, deep, slow and messy—rubbing your clit in slick, sloppy circles, overstimulating you, keeping you right on the edge.

And you whimper, your body writhing, hips jerking, trying to escape the unbearable pleasure, but he doesn't let you.

"Take it," he grits out, voice thick, hand tightening on your hip as he slams back inside you, sending a shudder through your spine, making your whole body jerk.

And you do. You take it. Take every slow, deep, brutal thrust, every slippery drag of his fingers over your swollen, aching clit, every messy grind of his cock rubbing against your raw, twitching walls.

And it builds, again.

Faster this time, sharper, meaner—your orgasm ripping through you so fast, so hard, it makes your vision black out. You don't just cum, you break.

It's deep. So deep. It rips through you like liquid fire, hot and unbearable, tearing the breath from your lungs, making your whole body jolt as your cunt clamps down so fucking hard around his cock it's painful.

Your hips stutter, shaking, back arching as pleasure wracks your spine in brutal, unrelenting pulses, dragging you under, drowning you in it, forcing you to take it.

And he feels it. Feels the way you grip him, tight and wet and throbbing, your walls spasming around his cock, milking him, making his rhythm stutter.

"Fuck—"

His voice is wrecked, his grip tightening, his cock twitching inside you, thick and heavy and right there, rubbing up against that sweet spot so perfectly that it feels endless. Like you're caught in it, like you're floating in that raw, overwhelming pleasure, like every slow, deep grind of his hips drags you right back into it. Until you're gasping, squirming, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because it's so much, too much, but you still want it.

He's barely holding on. You feel it, feel the way his cock twitches, the way his thrusts get harder, rougher, the way he's practically grinding himself into you now, rutting deep, chasing it, chasing the way you're pulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him.

And then—fuck—he breaks.

He slams inside you, deep and hard, hips jerking, body shuddering as he cums again, groaning wrecked against your shoulder, voice thick and hoarse, cum flooding inside you, spilling deep, so much, too much, so fucking hot you whimper, your cunt milking him, sucking out every last drop.

And he just... keeps moving.

Grinds against you, fucking his own cum deeper, spreading the mess between your thighs, rubbing your clit through every aftershock, making you twitch, making you whimper, making you shudder in overstimulation.

And God, it's not just good.

It's too much—too wet, too deep, too fucking full, his cock still buried inside you, his cum still thick and hot, seeping out in slow, sticky dribbles, slicking up the mess between your thighs. He's still grinding against you, fucking it deeper, slow and lazy, like he knows how wrecked you are, like he knows you can't take it, like he wants to see how much more you can handle.

And you love it.

You whimper, thighs still shaking, cunt still fluttering around him in weak, clenching little aftershocks, overstimulated and fucked raw, but he doesn't stop. His hips keep rolling, smooth and easy, spreading his cum deeper, making sure you feel every last drop of it, making sure you take it, letting you feel the heavy, slow drag of his cock pressing against your swollen, spent walls.

And it's filthy. So filthy.

Your skin is damp, sticky, your body trembling, oversensitive, your breath ragged, but he just kisses the back of your neck, lazy and so satisfied, his voice warm and wrecked when he finally groans, "Fuck, baby... you're perfect."

And you just melt. Completely. And you whimper, exhausted, fucked out, and so full of him you can barely move. And fuck, you can't even breathe. You're both a mess, sticky and sweaty and shaking, chests heaving as you collapse onto the bed.

"It's too hot for this," you mumble breathlessly, and he chuckles, lazy and spent, pressing a slow, messy kiss to your shoulder.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough and satisfied. "But totally worth it."

[yuwuta]

katsuki might be a little rough, brash to those who don’t know him, he might bluff with fake threats but even then it’s all talk and much milder when directed at you than at his friends. because katsuki is kind, he’s reasonable, he’s gentle, he’s a lover through and through. he doesn’t even ever really get mad at you, and when you’re mad at him, he doesn’t let that be either. the only time he’s mean is when he’s being nice to you; when he’s being so gentle and willing and willing and willing to be kind to you even amongst your frustration that it feels smothering, almost as if you’re undeserving of his rationality and patience. he doesn’t think so, and he won’t change his mind on it, either. he loves you and you’re precious to him so you’re going to have to get used to it and get over it because he won’t stop