#short and sweet drabble

[screamingforests]

I can't stop playing BG3, so here's a short blurb with Karlach

: karlach x tav/reader, quiet/recluse-like reader, mild shifting of in-game lore to make it work, very lightweight reader for alcohol tolerance, minor alcohol consumption

Inspired because i finished a play-thru of romancing Karlach and im quite sad and want a hug from her

~~~~~~~~~~

You hummed quietly to yourself, still riding the high of saving the Emerald Grove. The goblins at the Selunite temple had been defeated - saving Halsin and all of the tieflings.

Who were now throwing a very loud, bright celebration party at your camp.

It was alright, you didn't mind it for the first bit, but it quickly grew into a headache. You hadn't had time to wash after the spree, so blood was still caked in where blood shouldn't be. And you smelled horrible, you just wanted a quiet night.

And you would kill for a genuine hug - something warm and grounding.

Karlach had noticed you slipping away from the celebrations, how your brows pulled down like the corners of your lips. She had wanted to follow - truly - but Dammon had pulled her into a conversation that went on for far too long in her opinion.

So swiping a nearly carafe of Amber Wine, Karlach excused herself and went where she had seen you go. Or at least in the direction. You had gone through the nearby woods so she would have to track you down.

And track you down, she did.

Karlach found you sitting by the stream that was just a short walk from the camp - the one the party often used to bathe. Though, you were still clothed, just your feet dipping into the water.

She purposefully stepped on a brach, breaking it, to alert you to her because you seemed too far within your thoughts.

Your head shot up, predictably, "Karlach! I didn't hear you walk up."

"I can see that," She walks up and sits beside you, offering you the carafe, "What's on your mind?"

You debate on your words for a moment, "Not much, really. I think I'm just tired, Dror threw me around during that fight earlier so my head still hurts and the party is... quite loud."

"Yeah, Dror really did a number on ya," Karlach agrees, it was slightly terrifying the way he had been able to throw you like a ragdoll, "but he's gone, and we're okay."

You take the carafe, finally, and take a few small drinks. It felt near immediate the way it settled your mind into a pleasant haze and your back released the tension.

"With just a few more scars to show for it," you add on, taking another gulp.

You pass the carafe back to Karlach, enjoying the stillness, the silence of nature that wasn't true silence.

Karlach looked at you, finally look at /you/. The way you favored your side, despite Shadowheart doing her best to heal the slash a goblin had got, the way your eyes seemed heavy, the way your hands shook.

You had been doing so much recently, fixing her heart, finding artefacts for Gale, making sure Wyll was adjusting alright, ensuring Lae'zel and Shadowheart didn't tear each other's throats out. You were glue, but streched too thin with no structure for yourself.

She says your name softly, watching as you pull your eyes from the stream to her.

"Thank you, for all that you do for no recognition."

She opens her arms and pulls you in, and you accept it. She still ran very warm - but after two upgrades to her heart it was tolerable - and you melted into it.

Just what you had wanted, a hug.

You fall asleep like that and Karlach eventually dozes off as well. Two oblivious lovers, found in each others arms, snuggled together in the woods. Peace for now.

[xxsabitoxx]

Yuta is sick of you getting injured, so he decides to take matters into his own hands…

Yuta, fucking you with the intent of getting you pregnant so you have to stop being a sorcerer for a long while. All because he can’t stand to see you keep getting injured because of your strenuous curse technique.

Yuta who has you nearly bent in half, hands gripping the back of your knees with such ferocity that you’re sure there will be nail indents left behind.

Yuta who has your knees nearly touching your chest, his full body weight on top of you as his hips piston in and out of your sopping cunt.

Yuta who is babbling nearly incoherently about how this will keep you safe, that you’ll be such a good mommy, that you’ll never have to worry about getting injured ever again.

Yuta, who only whimpers in return when you babble the same sort of nonsense, begging him to make you a mommy.

Yuta, who’s coming inside of you in record time, not daring to pull out after and not even thinking about setting your legs down. Mumbling about how he needs to make sure all of it stays inside.

[moechies]

cw domestic smut , angst + comfort darling cries a lil ><

“thank you f’loving me.”

you mumble against his cheek, pulling him against your chest impossibly close. your heart clenches with the vunerable words that unintentionally slipped from the clasp of your lips, avoiding his gaze; his confrontation.

his thrusts are slow and deep, pressing the corner of your shoulder up against the chilly wall, the rest of your body pliant against the sheets.

“don’t say that, baby.” he mumbles groggily, pressing a chaste kiss against your ear. it makes you shudder, combined with the loud slick slapping from down below; it’s all too much. “thank you for bein’ so lovable.”

“m— m not.” you breathe out accompanied with soft moans, feeling hiccups build in your chest, eyes squeezed tight preventing forming tears. your hand grasp around his bicep, tugging his warm envelopment tighter around the waist of your body, satisfied at the warm, honey skin that now squeezes against your soft tummy.

“d—don’t say that. don’t ya ever say that.” his thrusts grow slow but doesn’t stop, his pudgy tip dragging perfectly against the roof of your gummy walls. he forces his face out of the warm confinements of your collar, facing you with eyes full of— love, you’d like to say. but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself.

“i love you more than you can fathom, honey; love everything about you. don’t contradict y’rself, hm?”

“i— i love you.”

“know ya do.” he huffs, smiling when he hears that sweet giggle of yours; sweet thing. “i love you most baby.”

[mcrdvcks]

You knew something was wrong the moment you heard the faint scraping against the window—softer than usual, cautious, almost like he was trying not to disturb you.

Pushing aside your laptop, you crossed quickly to the window and slid it open, heart dropping when you saw him perched precariously on the fire escape.

“Matt,” you whispered, half scolding, half worried, reaching out immediately to steady him. “What happened?”

“Rough night,” he grunted softly, shifting slightly to ease through the window. He winced, favoring his left side as you guided him carefully into the apartment.

“You always say it’s a rough night,” you murmured, gently pulling him toward the couch. “Come sit. Let me see.”

He sat obediently, a faint smile curving the corners of his lips despite his discomfort. He tilted his head slightly as he listened to you move around, gathering medical supplies from the bathroom cabinet.

“You don’t have to—” he started softly.

“Too late,” you interrupted firmly, settling beside him and carefully peeling away the torn fabric from his torso, exposing the nasty bruises beneath. A sharp breath caught in your throat, eyes softening instantly. “Matt…”

“It looks worse than it feels,” he assured quietly, his hand brushing yours comfortingly.

“Why do you insist on lying when we both know that’s not true?” you muttered, gently applying antiseptic to the cuts scattered across his ribs. He hissed softly, muscles tensing under your touch.

“Occupational hazard,” Matt said dryly.

“You know,” you teased lightly, trying to distract both him and yourself from the sharp pang of worry in your chest, “you’re lucky I’m here. I’m basically your personal medic.”

“Hmm,” he hummed softly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, “I’m definitely lucky.”

You paused, biting your lip thoughtfully. Carefully placing a small bandage across a deeper scrape on his shoulder, you glanced up into his face. “You know what would heal these injuries faster?”

Matt’s head tilted curiously, amusement flickering in his weary expression. “Oh?”

“Kisses,” you declared confidently, your voice mock-serious. “Kisses are my superpower.”

He chuckled, a soft, warm sound that relaxed the tension in his shoulders, visibly easing him despite his discomfort. But his tone quickly shifted, becoming unexpectedly solemn. “Well, then by all means. I trust you implicitly, doctor.”

You laughed softly, playing along as you leaned forward and gently kissed a bruise just below his collarbone, murmuring teasingly, “See? Practically healed already.”

Matt reached up, fingertips grazing your chin gently, tipping your face toward him. His voice was low, genuine now, wrapped warmly around your heart. “Don’t stop. It’s definitely working.”

You blinked slowly, pulse skipping at his intensity, but held onto the playful air between you. Leaning forward again, you pressed another soft kiss near his shoulder, letting your lips linger gently. “Better?”

“Much,” he whispered roughly, his voice catching slightly.

“Hmm,” you hummed, emboldened, trailing kisses carefully up his neck, pausing to murmur against his skin, “This one might need extra attention.”

Matt’s breath stilled beneath you, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around your wrist. His voice was a tender, gravelly whisper in your ear, “Whatever you think best.”

You paused, your heart beating faster at the vulnerable sincerity hidden beneath his playfulness. Pulling back slightly to look into his face, you brushed your fingertips softly over his cheek, careful of the bruises there. “Matt,” you murmured softly, your voice gentle, serious now, “be careful. Please.”

His expression softened, and he gently lifted your hand, pressing your fingertips to his lips, murmuring earnestly, “I promise.”

“Good,” you whispered, warmth flushing your cheeks at his touch. After a quiet moment, you leaned forward again, pressing your lips softly to his, sweet and lingering, heart fluttering when he smiled gently into the kiss.

When you pulled back slightly, he sighed contentedly, tilting his head down as if savoring the feeling. “Definitely your superpower.”

You laughed softly, leaning your forehead against his. “Glad it works.”

“More than you know,” he whispered, voice full of warmth, thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Don’t ever stop.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[xoey101]

Bf!Nanami loves to adorn you!

tags: fluff, gifts, nanami is a baller, you love him sososo much, domestic lifestyle, you love cartier

Once you’re comfortable enough with him spending so much on you, he won’t stop until your ears, wrists, and neck sparkle brighter than a thousand diamonds.

You’ll just be cooking dinner, focused on the stove when he walks in the door with an armful of Cartier bags.

“I saw so many pieces that reminded me of you…” He eyes you sheepishly. “Oh, Nanami,” you turn off the stove and step towards him gracefully.

He opens one bag and fishes out a small box—you’re so excited to see what Nanami’s bought for you this time!! Carefully, he reveals a golden bracelet—it’s the pathére piece you’ve wanted for so long. Relishing in your astonished expression, he earnestly fastens the bracelet around your wrist. My goodness, it’s lovely.

“Nanami, how much did this cos—”

“That’s irrelevant. I can only give my darling the best. You understand that, don’t you?” He smiles at you warmly, grasping your hand to kiss it.

“I understand.” Your heart still flutters whenever he does something like this, despite your closet being full of designer. If only you could explain in words just how much you appreciated these sweet things he did for you. Instead, you communicate your appreciation the best way you know how: a sweet kiss.

“Alright, that’s enough of that for now,” He chuckles, reaching for the other bags. “Let’s get you into these other pieces….”

……………………………………………………..

a little something short n sweet

[thesvnandthemooon]

What about Nat experiencing the rage of pregnancy, being terrified of r

oh god.

natasha could write an entire book on this, but it wouldn’t be a nice one. she’s always been a little afraid of you, but when you were pregnant? downright terrifying.

she didn’t even have to do much. the smallest things made you see red.

like seeing her throw her dirty jersey on the floor after coming home from practice. natasha usually always cleans up after herself (as she should), but that day, she just…forgot. she forgot one (1!) time. it was enough to get you snapping at her.

“i’m not your maid, romanoff!”

natasha stood in the corner, visibly sheepish. “i know, baby.”

“i’m not your mom either!”, you added, huffing.

“…that implies my mom ever cleaned up after me.”

death glare. natasha? silent.

your jealousy, bad as it was before the pregnancy, skyrocketed. she didn’t have to flirt with other girls (not like she wanted to, anyway). she didn’t even have to look at them. existing in the same space as one was enough.

you’d tug at her sleeve, already looking like you’re about to strangle her. why? because she dared looking into the same direction as another girl.

“you wanna fuck her or what?!”

she started sputtering, her cheeks red. of course, you both remembered what happened at spring break.

“baby, what? no!”

she truly didn’t look at her. she’d never be interested in anyone else, either. she still held your hand extra tight afterwards and made sure to kiss you until you were annoyed.

speaking of kisses — your sex drive had been impressive before, but once you were pregnant, it was insane. like, genuinely worse than natasha‘s (which is definitely an achievement). nat foolishly thought that, hey, during sex it’s basically impossible for her to do anything that’d upset you.

WRONG. all she had to do was even glance in the direction of your belly, and you paused mid-sex. you squinted your eyes and she knew she was in trouble…again.

“you looked at my stretch marks.”

natasha, on the verge of coming, sweat dripping down her temples. “i…did?”

“you think i’m disgusting, huh?!”

and she was panicking once more. no doubt she spent an entire hour kissing every stretch mark she could find. you fell asleep afterwards, which was kind of a relief. you’re cute when you sleep. peaceful, soft, snuggling into her and keeping her close. but, maybe most importantly — you were unable to get mad at her. no yelling, no snapping, no cold shoulders. just warmth.

or so she thought. she didn’t consider the fact that her dream-self could piss you off as well.

it happened the night after a big exam. she was tired. like, exhausted. you both crammed into the narrow bed in her dorm (because you didn’t want to sleep by yourself and, honestly, natasha didn’t want you to, either) and she knocked right out. it was way too tight, but she loved it. you both did. she had the most peaceful sleep of her life. you, half-asleep and on the verge of tears, ruined it by smacking her arm.

“you fucking jerk! what were you thinking?”

in retrospect, you’d feel bad for natasha. she was confused and sleepy, rubbing her eyes and stuttering. “i…uh…what?”

then, tears. she immediately sat up. “you cheated”, you sobbed. “in my dream. with some bimbo.”

“in your dream? are you kidding me?”

“yes, in my dream! what, you thinking about leaving? huh?? tell me, you bastard!”

(no, she wasn’t thinking about leaving. but she was definitely thinking about sleeping in the fucking hallway instead.)

that’s not the only time you woke her up, though. during your pregnancy, the most random things tended to annoy you. the smell of cheese, for example. someone looking at you too long. your clothes not fitting anymore. worst of all? certain sounds.

it wasn’t constant, thankfully. but during a few days of your pregnancy, natasha’s breathing seemed to offend you. it wasn’t particularly loud or anything. she wasn’t even doing much — she was just sitting there, working on a paper and sipping black coffee. you were beside her, looking for baby clothes and ways to shut her up.

“stop breathing like that.”

“like what??”

“like that.”

she stared at you, eyebrows furrowed. “baby, i kinda have to breathe.”

“yes, but not like a fucking horse.”

she was holding her breath after that, hoping it wouldn’t end in another fight.

she thought it’d only bother you while you’re awake. she was wrong about that.

to be fair, not being able to sleep is bad enough already. but not being able to sleep because someone is sawing logs? horrible. the worst. wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.

now you, heavily pregnant and tired and unable to sleep, were stuck in the same bed as someone who just wouldn’t stop snoring. nat usually didn’t snore unless she was sick, but tonight, the odds were stacked against you.

you suffered through her obnoxious freight train-imitation for about five minutes. when not even poking her side or nudging her helped, you reached for the pillow under your head and slapped it over her face. she woke up gasping for air.

“did you just try to smother me in my sleep?!”

“…you were snoring.” (at that point, you felt bad)

“so you thought, ‘oh, let’s try and kill her��??”

“if i wanted you dead, you would be.”

she just stared. after this, she made sure to sleep on her side.

with you, it was either the cold shoulder or full blown rage. natasha never knew what to expect, so she was always left guessing. like a surprise menu, except that you were either serving the silent treatment or absolute war.

nat hated both, but the first option was worse. you wouldn’t even do so much as tell her what she did, so she couldn’t even apologize for whatever she did.

then, the screaming. the fighting. the random accusations. once the hormones wore off, you’d feel horrible — but in those moments, you didn’t care. all you knew was natasha did something inexcusable (she literally left an empty glass in the sink), and that was enough to set you off. explosive arguments over the most random stuff, usually ending in you first sobbing, and then cuddling nat because the guilt suddenly hit. your mood changed so quickly sometimes it actually gave her whiplash.

like, you’d threaten to gut her like a fish. you’d threaten her entire bloodline. and then you’d just suddenly get all sweet and loving and kiss her face, and nat had no choice but to sit there and accept the fact that, until this baby is born, she’ll have to endure this. (and she gladly did, even if she sometimes feared for her life)

[f1amour]

you write lando so well omgg!! could u write a little blurb for him with these two prompts for your 1k event? ❛ i swear to god i won’t stop until you’re shaking. ❜ and ❛ now spread your legs and try to tell me all about your day. ❜

❝ spread your legs and tell me about your day ❞ — lando norris

pairing | lando norris x reader

warning | mature content ahead — 18+ only minors do not interact

authors note | thank you!! you are so kind 🥹🫶🏼 enjoy!

★ join my short n sweet friendsgiving!

─────────────────────────

“shut up—.”

“lando! this is important so i got to the office and—.”

“baby, i wanna hear all about your day but…you look so good in my shirt,” he pouts pulling you down on the bed with him. his hands make their way under your shirt straight to your breasts, “missed you all week and i couldn’t wait to be home with my girl. let her know how much i love her. adore her.” he whispers as he leaves a trail of kisses on your neck.

you pull him into a messy kiss his tongue quickly meeting yours. your fingers run through his hair until you pull on his curls and he lets out a throaty chuckle, “baby, you do that and wonder why i wanna fuck you all night long. please, let me take care of you. wanna feel you wrapped around me.” he whispers in your ear, between your legs as his lips work your neck while his fingers tease your clit as you let out a breathy moan.

his fingers are gliding through your folds. "see you’re soaking, honey. you want this too? i swear to god i won’t stop until you’re shaking" his words make you make you moan as he rocks his fingers inside of you. you feel the pressure building up…until he pulls his fingers away and you whine at the loss of contact, “lando! why’d you stop?” you pout at your boyfriend who adorned a smirk on his face.

"ah there she is, my needy girl," he cooes letting his hands go to your thighs giving them a quick tap, “but i want you to finish on my tongue. now spread your legs and try to tell me all about your day.”

[pupkashi]

colourful fridge magnets, please!

a/n: i hope you enjoy this little drabble :3

masterlist

the first sign of satoru’s house becoming a home was his fridge. a once minimalistic chrome was now full various meaningful signs of your love.

there’s a bright blue magnet of your initial holding up a picture of the two of you on a picnic, his breath still catches in his throat when he sees how beautiful you look in it. another one from Paris, a cat dressed in stereotypical Paris wear holding a baguette makes him grin. under it another colorful magnet from Switzerland, holding up a sticky note he’d written on before heading out to work one day ‘i love you i hope you miss me all day <3.’

right below the sticky note is a magnet with a turtle wearing sunglasses, the words ‘turtley awesome’ written in colorful text. you’d bought that one at a beach he’d taken you to, a weekend trip he surprised you with after a stressful week at work. next to that is two penguins the two of you made from polymer clay, the whites of the bellies made hearts when put together. the penguins held up a photograph you had printed of you and satoru surrounded by wildflowers.

theres a dried flower held up by a magnet of the letter ‘S’ a matching set to the one of your initial. a drawing that a much younger megumi had created is held up by your favorite animal. the growing grocery list is accompanied by a dog magnet holding the paper up, your handwriting makes satoru smile.

“what’re you staring at?” you ask, bumping into your lover softly as you open the fridge and take out the milk. “need to add milk to the grocery list” you mumble, closing the fridge door and scribbling it on the list.

“we should add another magnet soon” he says, eyes lighting up as you hand him a mug of hot chocolate. “should we go to Italy?” you tear your eyes from your own mug of hot chocolate as the words leave his mouth.

“seriously?” you can’t hide the smile on your face, satoru kisses your cheek as he walks past you and to the living room, the tv set to the newest episode of the reality show you’d been watching together.

“have i ever lied to you?” the look you shoot him makes him smile sheepishly before quickly adding on “about traveling!”

two months later when he walks past the fridge there’s a new magnet accompanying the others, and he’s reminded of is kissing you on lake como after finally making you his wife.

taglist (send an ask to be added!) @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com-deactiva @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke @bakugouswaif

[lovings4turn]

teasing oscar about his sudden, 'newfound' outbursts of emotion in response to his wins and successes. because apparently, to everyone else, your boyfriend is the human embodiment of the word 'unflappable'. sure, he isn't one to jump to use the team radio, or jump, and shout, and bawl over a triumph.

not that there's anything wrong with such a thing, no. not at all. in fact, you get it. drivers sacrifice a lot, sometimes everything, to get where they are, and you would never judge them for a second for how they choose to react to their hard work finally paying off.

it's just.. sometimes, the world's perception of oscar makes you giggle a little, that's all.

because to them, he may come off calm and collected. like if he were any more laid back, he'd be lying down. he's level headed. carefully chosen words, to the point without being unfeeling.

but to you? he's a totally different person. this is the man who smiles at you like you hung the moon and stars when you so much as yawn in the morning. the man who praises you for minutes on end for simply making him a good cup of coffee (light milk, no sugar. exactly how you learned he liked it three years ago, when you were only four months into your relationship).

he's the man who picked you up and spun you around without hesitation when you revealed you'd passed your finals after countless late nights, the one who will throw his head back in laughter at your shitty jokes. so, really, no one can blame you for having a little bit of fun with the misconceptions.

it's after his latest win, in miami, that you crack the joke. he heads over to you the moment he spots you. he's a little sweaty, sure, cheeks red and glowing with exertion, but nothing you aren't used to. as he drops a kiss to your temple, you speak.

"y'really getting full of yourself, now," you tease, unable to prevent the grin that's already tugging at your lips. "i mean, griddy-ing after a win? are you sure the heat didn't get to you too much?"

as expected, oscar laughs. a beautiful sound, a little high pitched, as he tips his head back, tan skin almost shimmering. he tsks, shaking his head as he returns his gaze to you. his cheeks are pink. and you know it's from more than the sun.

[swtheartz]

“sit still,” you hum, applying the blush on mark’s face as you readjust his face to sit in the position you want. he huffs but doesn’t do anything, trying his best to stay in one spot.

this is the closest you’ve ever been near him. sure, he invades your personal space and gets close and personal all of the time, but this is the first time you’ve come so close on your own.

slow, sweet progress. over a year of waiting and the results are worth it. not best friends, but close! and mark likes that. it’s simple. it’s something he enjoys—as much as he does want more, he refuses to rush you. the fact that the two of you have come this far shows that you don’t completely hate him; that’s more than good enough.

“i would put lashes on you. except yours are longer than mine, and i don’t wanna waste anything on your ass.”

“i’m. . . sorry?” mark says hesitantly, confused, about to tilt his head before you correct his position. again.

“stay. still.” you glare at him before finally putting the makeup you’d bought on a whim away.

for a moment, you just stare at him, before shaking your head. “you look like shit even with makeup. there’s no saving you, markus.”

“mark.”

“markus. that’s your name.”

“you know what? fine, whatever.”

connected to this series ఌ

[karaeilish]

❝ daddy's lap . . . s. carpenter ❞ . ◞

⤷ pairing . . . gf!sabrina carpenter x stripper!reader

⤷ genre . . . smut !

⤷ warnings . . . dom!sabrina . brat!reader . degradation . spitting . spanking . manhandling .

you were embarrassed. your cheeks were burning, your fingers were tightly clenched around the pole, your eyes darting around the interior of the expensive limousine, avoiding sabrina's silhouette, comfortably settled on the plush pillows. her legs were spread lustfully, her shirt crumpled, and her jacket barely clinging to her body. her eyes were wild.

"come on, princess," she raises her right hand, the expensive cigar disappearing between her lips, making you swallow hard until she speaks again, leaning forward to playfully spank your ass a few times.

"dance for me" the voice is sweet, drenched in false kindness, sending a wave of goosebumps down your spine. she had you trapped, with no escape.

your bottom lip disappears under your teeth, as your hands reach for your see-through robe, slowly pulling it off your body to reveal a tiny set of lingere that barely covers your tits. sabrina's gaze wanders over your body hungrily and shamelessly, her hands clenching into fists in her lap.

you lean over to turn the music on the speaker up a little, the perfect view of your ass making sabrina shift in her seat, doing her best not to fuck your brains out before your little show starts.

passion oozes through the speakers, making the blood boil under your skin. your fingers wrap around the iron pole easily, helping you keep your balance.

hips moving in rhythm, back arched perfectly, your legs spreading wide as you sit up, tossing your hair to one side. your knees ache as they hit the cold floor, but you ignore it, pushing yourself up onto all fours. you slowly crawl forward, your hips rocking with every movement until you're at sabrina's feet, your cheek pressed against the inside of her thigh, teasing her.

"is this what you wanted?" lips curl into a smirk, hands coming up to wrap around her waist, squeezing her sides. "to make me your slut?"

her eyes are burning with fire, but she continues to sit still, watching, waiting for you to get her worked up enough to be rough with you.

your lips move closer to her fly, leaving kisses on her bulge through the fabric of her pants, and a little biting won't hurt.

sabrina sighs, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as if she could feel every touch driving her crazy.

"wanna take control, daddy?" you taunt, hands now working on her pants, pulling them down to her ankles along with her black boxers. the dark red strap moves rhythmically between her legs, and only now do you notice that this one is more than nine inches.

ten. . . ten . fucking . inches .

you continue to hold your face, as you move up her body until your knees are on either side of her legs, towering over her for the first time.

your hand moves forward to grab a rough handful of her hair, pushing her face right into your tits, and her tongue immediately darts out to taste the sweet skin.

"fuck..." she moans, her voice muffled by your breasts, her hands greedily wrapping around your hips, pulling you closer to her body. heat spreads through your veins, causing the most adorable whines to come from her lips, which only encourages you to continue to mock her.

sabrina sighs heavily, lips parting to reveal teeth, but as soon as she tries to bite you, you tug at her hair again, pulling her head back, fingers gripping her chin tightly.

"you know, those ten inches don't make you the boss. you still act like a pathetic—" that was a fatal mistake.

a moment passes before sabrina breaks, her hips thrusting up, causing you to cry out, grabbing onto her body to keep from falling.

"you should've thought better before deciding to act like a fucking little bitch." her words sting, not in your heart, but by sending warmth right between your legs. you're on all fours, hands gripping the back of the leather seat, legs spread wide, ass in the air, pressed up against sabrina's crotch. the thick belt presses too temptingly against your pussy.

sabrina doesn't wait, doesn't stand on ceremony, just pushes your panties aside, grabs your hips, enjoying the sight of your dripping pussy. she looks as if she owns it, owns your body. your pathetic attempt of resistance ends with your arms twisted behind your back. one of her hands holds onto both of yours, too tight for a 'fragile' little girl.

"you think just because i give you a little control that it makes you in charge, huh?" she growls in your ear making your toes curl in anticipation, but not a single word leaves your mouth. you stick silent. sabrina isn't particularly surprised; she chuckles. she spits on her palm as if it’s normal then swings, delivering a harsh slap on your ass that leaves her handprint instantly marked on your skin.

"sabrina!" you squeal, your forehead dropping onto the soft leather upholstery, your chest rising and falling with each breath heavily.

sabrina was not happy with that. the next moment, her right hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard and forcing your head backwards.

"wrong. try again."

you swallow. hard. knowing now is the worst time to try to resist. "daddy"

"good girl" she says, her voice sweetly false, pushing you to believe she might take pity. until her cock slams into you, fast, sharp, rough, letting you feel her deeper than ever before.

the dark red tip kisses your cervix, your eyes roll to the back of your head, stars light up behind your eyelids. sabrina sighs in relief, tugging your hair harder to close the proximity between the two of you.

"when you act like a whore, you get treated like one," she whispers before moving her hand to your throat, allowing herself to press your entire body against her chest.

her hips start to move, the strap hitting at the perfect angle, letting you feel every inch, every vein rubbing against your walls. it's big. so big that you can feel how hard sabrina is tearing you apart from the inside.

"can you feel how deep i am, baby?" her nose gently rubs against your cheek, contrasting the brutality of her thrusts, which drives you crazy. your mouth, however, simply does not obey.

"s—shut up..." your eyes fill with tears, your throat dries up from constant sighs and moans. sabrina holds your hands from behind so tightly that you feel your muscles start to go numb.

"wrong answer," sabrina says with mock boredom, letting go of your body and letting you fall onto the wide seats, barely holding yourself up on your hands and knees. sabrina shifts behind you, grabbing your arms so hard that it feels like there will be bruises under her fingertips.

the two of you shift so that your back is pressed against the soft pillows, ankles wrapped around her neck, body arched as sabrina's palms press against the back of your neck, giving you a perfect view of her thick cock ramming into your pussy again. moans drown out the languid music in the background. more tears roll down your hot face, but she doesn't stop, not for a second.

"now watch, bitch" she grabs your hand in hers, guiding it to your lower abdomen, where she stopped, completely buried inside you.

“press" she orders, the command leaving no room for hesitation. you obey, applying light pressure that makes the bump stand out even more. you whine.

deep.

౨ৎ tags; @brinasheqrt, @sabrinannlyn @mystiquemm, @bilswifee, @dragoneyelashart, @bilssturns, @chrissv4mp, @allyeilishh, @bitchesbrokenpromises, @itsdopewhatmorecanisay, @too-sapphic-to-function,

[bunny-jpeg]

ruining the leg of lando's driving suit because there was little time to have sex before the interviews after the qualifiers. so you ended up with your skirt flipped up and your pussy rubbing against the leg of his driving suit. the fabric felt perfect against your achy cunt.

you're a fanatic as you thigh ride him, your pretty nails dug into his shoulder as he watched your pretty tits bounce as you move up and down his leg. he'd even call you his puppy since you hump like one and when you try to protest, he stuffed two thick fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. 'no use causing a see, love." as he continued to eye you, his cock straining his pants.

your wetness soaked through your cotton panties and dragged up and down his thigh as you feverishly try to get off with the limited amount of time you had. either you climaxed now or had to edge yourself until you could be more alone. it was desperate, you looked pathetic. and lando loved it.

what you didn't expect was your wetness to dry on the leg of the pants, and now lando has to do interviews with your drying cum on his leg. he can't help but simply smile when his teammate threw suspicious glances at him. <3

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Reversal is red, Limitless is blue, I keep on Infinity—but never with you⋆.˚ᡣ𐭩.𖥔˚

couldn't resist a stsg/reader valentines day drabble <33

The first sensation that envelops your senses is the rich scent of cinnamon and amber, laced with a hint of vanilla—warm and syrupy, like stepping into a bakery just as fresh pastries hit the display. You can’t remember your dream, not vividly, but the warmth in your chest lingers, wrapping around you like a second blanket. It almost distracts from the suffocating press of something firm and heavy restricting your movement.

Almost.

Waking up with Gojo is a paradox—both stifling and comforting. Your body stirs before your mind fully wakes, muscles shifting sluggishly as you stretch, only to be pulled back into a firm, unyielding hold. A sleepy exhale brushes against your ear. The weight atop you is familiar, massive, and unmoving.

As your vision clears, you blink up at a mess of white hair and smooth, pale skin. Gojo’s arms are locked around your waist in a death grip, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling, his heartbeat a calm, tranquil rhythm against your cheek. Your lashes flutter against his skin, and he shivers.

You suppress a giggle.

The golden morning light filters through the curtains, pooling over the bed in waves of warmth. Outside, birds chirp lazily, greeting the slow start of the day. You lift a hand from where it clings to the comforter and reach for the nape of his neck, eager to trace your fingers through the sharp undercut—

“AUGH!”

Gojo jolts like he’s been electrocuted, limbs flailing as he thrashes free of the covers. The sheets tangle around his waist, curling and wrinkling like rippling ocean waves.

“C-cold! What the fuck? Your fingers are like icicles!”

You blink up at him, unimpressed, wiggling your fingers idly in the air. “They were under the covers all night. They can’t be that cold, Satoru. Always so damn dramatic.”

Gojo pouts, pink lips plump from sleep, cheeks lined with indents from the satin pillow. He huffs, burrowing into the comforter again, but not before reaching out to grasp your hand. “Feel. This is the normal temperature a hand should be, Ice Queen.”

You scoff, threading your fingers through his. His hands are equally cold—if not colder. A chill shoots up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Oh, you bitch,” you deadpan. “You’re just as cold.”

Gojo retracts his hand like you burned him, gasping indignantly. “This! This is why we need Suguru. He’s our portable heater and arbitrator,” he declares, raising a finger like he’s struck gold. “A two-for-one deal, just like we are for him!”

He throws an arm around you triumphantly, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Right, right. Where is he, anyway? He really abandoned us in the middle of the night like a couple of common whores.”

As if summoned, the door creaks open, and a smooth, familiar voice interrupts.

“Ah, I wouldn’t exactly call you that, but you do seem to enjoy it privately. If I recall correctly, it’s usually you two begging me—on your knees, insisting I call you all sorts of names like—”

“—Sugu!”

Gojo’s voice pitches high, both mortified and excited, but the way his attention snaps toward the long-haired figure in the doorway tells you Getou’s got something else that’s captured his focus. You turn, propping yourself up on an elbow to take in the sight of him.

Getou stands at the threshold, a tray in hand, eyes glimmering with amusement. Despite his teasing, his smile is warm, genuine, crinkling the corners of his violet eyes. His dark hair is tousled, flyaways curling haphazardly, but the majority cascades down his back and over his shoulders in sleek, steep slopes.

He steps forward, kneeling on the bed to set the tray between you and Gojo. His flannel pants slide lower on his hips, exposing the deep lines of his V, muscles flexing under the weight of the tray.

Your breath catches.

On the tray, two plates of fragrant omurice are neatly arranged, ketchup hearts drawn over golden eggs, scallions sprinkled delicately on top. A ceramic plate holds heart-shaped spam musubi, croissants stacked beside a fresh fruit cup. Two glasses of juice sit on either side, and in the center, a tiny vase holds two blooming violas.

Silence.

You and Gojo are frozen, utterly dumbstruck. Even the birds outside seem to pause.

Getou settles back on his knees, placing his hands on his thighs, an easy pink dusting his cheeks. “Oh, come on,” he chides, waving a hand as if to brush off your awe. “You should’ve known I had to spoil you today.”

You finally find your voice, gaze flickering to the ketchup hearts. “Be mine?” you read aloud.

Getou extends his hands to both of you, a soft, expectant smile curving his lips.

“Will you be my Valentines?” he asks, voice sincere. “It’d truly be an honor.”

You and Gojo share a look, a million unspoken thoughts exchanged in a second. Then, simultaneously, you grab Getou’s hands and tug him forward in one frantic breath.

“Come he—” “—t over here.”

Getou laughs, warm and deep, as you and Gojo shove him between you, his broad back pressing into the pillows. You lean in first, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Gojo follows, but his is far more obnoxious—a loud, smacking peck.

And then—almost as if compelled—you press another, this time along his jaw, behind his ear. A shower of kisses follows, tracing the curve of his throat. Getou chuckles, the sound reverberating against your lips, chest shaking lightly.

“You can thank me after. Eat first,” he teases, dodging Gojo’s next attempt at a kiss.

Gojo whines but grabs a fork anyway. “Fine,” he pouts. “I stole more kisses than you anyway.” He points an accusatory finger, “You lose.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, would you look at that? My omurice is bigger than yours, Satoru. Tough break.”

Gojo gasps, scandalized, angling his face behind Getou to glare at you from over his shoulder. When you adjust to meet his eyes, he flashes Red at his fingertip then drags it across his throat in mock threat.

Getou sighs, exasperated but amused. “Hey, hey. Stop that—I want us all to have a pleasant day, but I can easily cancel your surprise plans for tonight. Kiss and make up.”

Like a couple of well-trained dogs, your bodies return to Getou’s side on instinct, perching on each of his thighs as if muscle memory alone guided you there. Your nose bumps against Gojo’s, the upturned tip of his sliding against your own before you press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Again.”

Your fingers curl around Getou’s thigh, and your pinky brushes against Gojo’s. He hooks them together, matching the soft pressure as he slots his lips against yours. Getou hums in approval, and you follow Gojo’s lead, pulling back just enough to tug on his lower lip. His lips are chapped from sleep, and the friction makes him run his tongue over them to moisten the slide. The warmth of his breath lingers between you, a fleeting pause heavy with unspoken expectation.

A light tap at the small of your back pulls you from the moment.

“Now me.”

Lidded eyes flutter open as you reluctantly pull away from Gojo, turning toward Getou. He lifts up to press slow, sweet kisses against your lips, the soft smacks like music to your ears.

“Let’s eat now, shall we?”

Getou picks up a silver fork and knife, slicing neatly into the omurice, ensuring a perfect ratio of rice, egg, and ketchup before feeding it to a drooling Gojo. The moment the bite hits his tongue, Gojo moans like he’s reached nirvana, his expression pure bliss. A couple of grains of rice stick to his chin.

Getou turns to you next, guiding a forkful of the warm, umami-rich dish to your lips. The rice is still steaming, the ketchup balancing the textures and heat. You chew, savoring the care poured into the meal. The fruit is perfectly ripe—fat strawberries that stain Gojo’s lips red as you teasingly drag one over Getou’s tongue. Meanwhile, Gojo tears into the croissants like a starved beast, flaky crumbs littering the sheets and Getou’s lap.

You scrunch your nose but quickly relax as Getou offers you another bite. He follows it with a kiss, licking at your lips.

“Mm, a bit salty, is it?”

You shake your head, but he frowns anyway. As if reading your thoughts, he soothes, “Don’t worry about the crumbs. I anticipated Gojo’s frantic eating style. I’ll hand-vac after, okay?”

“Fis ith sooo guud, Soogi,” Gojo mumbles, his words barely decipherable around a full mouth, but his delight is unmistakable. The tray is nearly bare now, only cleared plates and the small vase remaining.

Feeling content, you lean into Getou’s side, his forearm curling around your shoulder, his head resting against your temple. He sighs, utterly content. By now, the sun has fully risen, golden heat flooding the room. You close your eyes, letting the warmth settle in, focusing on the small sounds Gojo makes as he finishes the last bites—hurried breaths, quick chewing, pleased little sighs.

Then silence.

Cracking an eye open, you find Gojo staring, that familiar hungry glint sparking behind his lashes.

“All full now. So good, Suguru—you’re the best.”

His appreciative gaze shifts into a smirk, milky lashes lowering over brilliant blue eyes.

“Now I’ve got pleeeenty of energy!”

He wedges himself between you and Getou, nuzzling into your necks before beginning to tongue-kiss the sensitive skin, his lips warm and sloppy. His hair tickles your chin, and his thick arms cage you both in. For all his bratty tendencies, Gojo is undeniably built—all lean muscle and effortless strength.

But Getou is stronger. He threads his fingers into Gojo’s hair, pulling him back with a firm grip.

“You guys didn’t even answer my question. I can’t help but feel ignored.”

“Hm?”

You blink up at him, bright-eyed, his feigned sad tone tugging at your heart despite the obvious tease.

“You didn’t agree to be my valentines.”

Gojo barks out a laugh. “Ha! Of course we’ll be your valentines. Is that even a fucking question?”

You poke Getou’s cheek in faux admonishment. “Right, Sugi? Duh. We couldn’t even wake up peacefully without you.”

“Exactly,” Gojo hums, ruffling his own hair to shake it out of his eyes before making grabby hands at you both. “Now give us attention. I’m not above using Blue.”

⋆.˚ᡣ𐭩.𖥔˚

[batsybat91]

CW: Office sex, unsafe sex, sexual frustration

Seeing men hard in their pants always gets you riled up. You don't know why it sets you off, but it does. It doesn't happen very often, because you don't have a boyfriend. It's unfortunate that you don't get to experience that thrill; the one you get when you know you're the cause of their erection.

You are a secretary for Leon Kennedy at the DSO. He is the best boss you've ever had - and goddamn, he is sexy. Sometimes, he catches you ogling him, the way you squirm in your seat like you want to jump his bones right there. You've fantasized about Leon in every dirty way possible. It's upsetting that you can't climb him like a tree. The things you would let that man do to you-

God, you're getting yourself horny again. This is the worst part of work. That pressure begins to build between your hips, and it becomes increasingly obvious that you won't be able to focus on work today. This happens every once in a while, when all you can think about is going home to finish yourself off.

Leon brusquely walks out of his office. You suddenly remember a letter someone left for him at your desk, just outside of his office. "Oh, Leon!" you say, voice an octave higher than usual. "I- I have you- a letter for you."

You see it. The rock-hard length of his cock bouncing inside his slacks. "I'm busy!" he snaps at you.

He never snaps at you. But you are too busy staring at his crotch to care. "Fuck," you gasp. "Sorry, Mr. Kennedy."

"Don't call me that!" he groans.

"Sorry!" you squeak out again.

"Stop looking!" he growls.

"I- I'm sorry!" you apologize for the third time.

"Get in my office," he snarls. You can't get up fast enough. Today, you wore a skirt. That means easy access, if he decides to fuck you.

He locks the door behind you, then draws the blinds. There isn't a camera in this office, so you know he's not worried about anyone seeing you.

Lips crash into yours, desperate, hungry, needy. He grinds against you and God- the feeling of his length against your clothed cunt drives you insane.

"You're mine." He kisses your neck, sucking at your oversensitive skin.

"Fuck, yes, Mr. Kennedy, yours," you affirm, drunk on the feeling of his zipper brushing your clit.

"You think I don't see the way you look at me? The hunger in your eyes? The way you squirm in your seat like you can't stand the sight of me?" Leon asks between firey kisses.

"No," you admit. He swipes everything off your desk and lays you back against it. Leon's big hands slip under your skirt to yank your panties to your knees.

"I should have fucked you sooner." He nips your earlobe.

"Yes!" you agree, dazed from the sheer amount of hormones flooding your system.

He unbuttons his slacks, then pulls them down just enough to let his red, angry cock free. You watch it bounce as he jerks his hand over his length once. Pre-cum gathers at the tip, and you damn near lose your mind.

"Leon!" you exclaim. You can't think of anything else to say. He pushes your skirt up, pulling you to the edge of the desk. Then, he is inside of you. One sharp thrust, and he's bottomed out. You want to cry out, but his hand is over your mouth.

"Can't believe you," he says, eyes focused on the sight of his dick sliding in and out of your core. He's never loved a sight so much. "Always making me hard. Fuck! You're beautiful, baby. Just want to sink my teeth into you."

"Leon," you mumble against his hand. His thrusts are erratic, and you're barely able to register what's happening. God, it feels good. You need more. You are ravenous, groping for his collar. You yank him down to your level. Leon's lips meet yours in a bruising kiss as he fucks you.

His thumb comes down to brush your clit, and fireworks explode in the back of your vision. His mouth swallows all your sounds, ensuring no one can hear you.

He is rough. Every snap of his hips against yours makes you want to scream. But he won't let you. Tears pricking at the edge of your vision as he drives into you, you claw at his suit jacket. He breaks the kiss for air, and you immediately move to bury your head against his shoulder. "Mmph!" you moan, muffled by his suit jacket.

"Fuck- you're so tight-" he chokes, panting like a wild animal.

One last thrust is all it takes for the two of you to come together. You are certain tears flow from your eyes now. Not from pain, but from the sheer realization that Leon Kennedy is fucking you. You feel full, even when he pulls out. "Leon," you whine softly. His pleasure drips from you onto his desk, smearing over your thighs.

"I'm taking you to my bed tonight." He presses another searing kiss to your lips as if to seal the promise.

[thesvnandthemooon]

hi! i hope you have a good day :)

how do you think nat would be during the pregnancy, like protectiveness and jealousy wise?

i can totally see her being overly worried and entirely too protective, even over the most mundane things. especially later in the pregnancy when the belly grew more

hi :) hope you’re having a good day, too!

nat during your pregnancy basically equaled jealousy and protectiveness. it was ridiculous at times.

for once, you basically had a private bodyguard. whether you liked it or not, she followed you around everywhere — to classes, convenience stores, the library. she’d grab your backpack without asking (because why should the mother of her child have to carry something?) and follow you into the lecture hall like she belongs there.

the first time that happened, you stared at her. “are you kidding? this isn’t your class.”

natasha just leaned back in her seat, arms crossed behind her head. “i’m auditing.”

“you can’t just-“

“shh, i’m trying to listen.”

she did, in fact, try to listen. for a whole ten minutes. she spent the rest of the lecture distracting you.

also, she didn’t only carry backpacks for you. carrying anything seemed off limits. a grocery bag? nope. she’s got it. a purse? nuh-uh. a water bottle? not even that. usually, she’d walk around camps looking like a packhorse, whereas you had unlimited mobility; kind of embarrassing (at least until your belly had grown more, at which point you were more than happy to give her all your stuff).

jealousy was also a big thing. funny enough, you were both jealous, and pregnancy had dialed it up for you both as well.

someone else touching your belly, especially without asking you first? death sentence. immediately. no matter who did it:

a friend, running up to you in the hallway and putting both hands on your belly, being all like: “you’ve gotten so big!”? a glare and natasha physically moving you behind her.

one of her teammates, joking about how natasha “put her whole back into that one”, and finishing up with a pat for good measure? she gripped his wrist and told him to fucking ask first.

she almost got banned from a Whole Foods, too, because she threatened some random grandma who thought it’d be a good idea to touch a stranger’s baby bump.

the general rule? no touching without asking. or better yet, just no touching. just keep your hands to yourself.

it didn’t even have to be on purpose. one time, a guy bumped into you on campus, and all he said was “woah, didn’t realize you were pregnant!” = death stare. arm around your shoulders. a warning to fucking watch where he’s walking.

and god forbid someone flirts with you (yes, despite the huge belly you were carrying around, some people still had the audacity to flirt). natasha was always ready to kick some ass. and when some crusty little frat boy actually had the nerve to hit on you? even though you’re heavily pregnant, and nat was trailing behind you like an overprotective golden retriever with muscles and eyeing everyone? oh, hell no. that was bound to end badly.

first, a glare. then, her arms around your waist. a kiss on your neck, deliberately placed there.

“are you blind?”, she said, holding on tight. the look in her eyes was enough to make him back off, if only slightly. “you’re flirting with someone’s family now? do you have a death wish?”

it’s not only living beings that suffer, though. seeing how your belly had gotten bigger, she’d bought you a pregnancy pillow to sleep on. you found out that, hey, those things do work, and they’re quite comfortable — and suddenly, you spent more time cuddling that thing than natasha. when confronted about it, you brushed it off and said that “gary is just very helpful.” nat stared at you, in disbelief that you’d given the stupid thing a name. long story short, gary now sleeps on the floor.

the sleeping pillow is not the only thing she got to make life safer and more comfortable for you. she turned your bathroom into an actual elder’s paradise — she got an anti slip mat that she personally tested, she installed a grab bar (all you could do was stare at the hideous thing), she bought a shower chair because she insisted you shouldn’t have to stand that long with all the extra weight (yes, you smacked her with a pillow for that comment). the rest of your new apartment wasn’t safe, either. night light in the bedroom (so you don’t trip in the darkness when getting up to pee), a birthing ball replacing the chair at your desk (what the fuck), etc.

worst of all, though? the meal plans. the food restrictions she enforced. the “no street meat”-rule. your favorite hotdog stand? banned. pop tarts? only tolerated because you craved them and started sobbing. red40 dye? she fought hard, but you fought harder. she started cooking the most nutritious meals known to man, specifically created for you. and no, she still wasn’t a good cook, but she TRIED. healthy fats, protein, complex carbs, vitamins, etc. she prepped snack bags and meal plans, burnt four different attempts before perfecting the dish, went to that one organic supermarket and spent half a fortune on ‘the good stuff.’

natasha was also intent on protecting both your sleep and your peace. being pregnant messed with your sleep schedule, but mostly in the sense that you were either suffering from insomnia or falling asleep in the most random places. like face-down at your desk, or your body slumped over the edge of the bed. one time, you were waiting for her outside a lecture hall. you’d barely slept the night before, and when you sat down next to the vending machine, you dozed off.

she had to look twice before actually realizing that, yes, that’s her girlfriend who fell asleep on the floor. on the dirty floor, with the crumbs and dust and god knows what. but, knowing how you couldn’t fall asleep the night before, she covered you with her jacket and then sat next to you until you woke up.

speaking of sleep — one time, she called the campus security because of your dorm neighbors. no kidding. to be fair, it was 1am, and you had just fallen asleep, but the music had been quiet enough for no one else to notice. natasha was livid. she whisper-yelled into the one phone, one hand awkwardly covering your ear, and then personally looked for the culprits when security arrived. you had finally been at peace, after all. no way she’d let some stupid college kid ruin that.

she was also terrified for your safety, but she tried to keep her fears subtle (keyword: tried). still, it showed. like when you were walking down the street, and you dared to walk on the side closest to the road. a felony, at least according to natasha, so she gave you a warning look and quickly swapped with you.

sex was also a big no for that exact reason. too big was her fear of squishing the baby in your belly. depending on the position, that’d be a valid concern — but you were too horny to think straight. as soon as you’d initiated, though (and gotten her way too hard way too quick), she jumped off the bed like she’d seen a ghost.

it took you a week to convince her. she still refused to go too hard, though. (and truthfully, the way she kept asking you whether “you’re okay” and “if she’s going too hard” kind of killed the mood.)

[f1amour]

hi! could i request a small blurb for oscar with   ❛   now will you please sit on my face already ?   ❜   🍮 if that’s okay

❝ now will you please sit on my face already? ❞ — oscar piastri

pairing | oscar piastri x reader

content warnings | face sitting, oral (r receiving) — 18+ only, minors do not interact

★ JOIN MY SHORT N SWEET FRIENDSGIVING !

─────────────────────────

“no.”

“what? why not? you just texted me saying you wanted this?!”

“well…i didn’t think you’d take me seriously plus i’m getting my period soon so it’s just the hormones talking.” you lie, sure the hormones were an added effect but you had been thinking of sitting on oscars’ face for months now.

“then let me fulfill your pleasures, baby. please?” oscar begs, pulling you on his lap and giving your neck soft kisses. you can’t let but let out a soft moan as he finds your sweet spot, “osc…what if i crush you? oh god, what if i break your nose? or you pull a muscle on your neck or-.”

oscars’ hands hold your face and pulls you out of your thoughts, “baby, i love you but you come up with the most outrageous what ifs. i am trained to handled so much more weight than you will have on me. so now will you sit on my face already? please?”

you smile and poke his cheeks, “you are never beating the polite cat accusations. even when you’re horny you say please,” you giggle as he quickly gets rid of your clothes and his. “from what i remember it was you who texted me saying come home and let me sit on your face.” he smirks up at you as you hover over him, “now, sit.” he smacks your ass lightly.

before you can say anything the feeling of his tongue washes all through your body. "o-oh fuck," you gasp, clutching to the headboard as he finds your clit. his tongue works slowly, circling your cunt and teasing you, “fucking perfect, baby.” he pulls away just quickly before getting back to where he was.

your eyes are shut, pleasure filling all over your body, "oscar…baby, i-i-i'm so close," you whine, your fingers tangle in oscar���s hair as you feel yourself growing closer to your orgasm you rock your hips forward. "let go and cum all over me. make a mess on me.” your head falls back as you cum all over him, squeezing his head between your legs.

as you catch your breath, you open your eyes to meet his big brown eyes between your thighs he has a cheek smile on his face “round two? please?”