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sixeyesonathiel · 2 months ago

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shy girls suck the best!

fratjo x nerd!reader, fluff & smut, m receiving, overstimulation, whimpering toru. 3.5k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

satoru gojo is experienced.

he’s cocky for a reason. he’s made girls scream his name more times than he can count, and he knows exactly how to make someone fold in under five minutes—ten if he’s playing nice. he’s all confidence, charm, and unearned a’s from professors who don’t want to deal with his antics. his reputation precedes him in every room, and he walks like the world’s already bent over backwards just to please him.

everything about him screams untouchable, and he’s used to people treating him that way. he wears his varsity jacket like armor, a walking billboard of fratboy glory, all swagger and smirks and lazy confidence that makes people gravitate toward him like he’s got his own gravity field.

but then there’s you.

the shy girl in glasses, always scribbling in your notebook with an absurdly cute pen, whispering apologies when you bump into people, hiding in the back row of class like you owe the world an explanation just for existing. you don’t talk unless spoken to, don’t make eye contact, and definitely don’t give satoru the attention he’s used to. it’s not that you’re cold—it’s that you seem like you live in your own quiet little world, and satoru’s never wanted to be invited somewhere so badly.

and maybe what undoes him first is that he sees you before you see him. you’re already there, present in the corners of his attention before he understands why he’s looking. he notices you one day during lecture, tucking your hair behind your ear as you underline a sentence three times with an intense little frown. it doesn’t seem like much. but something in him clicks.

at first it’s curiosity. then amusement. then it festers into irritation—because why the fuck aren’t you reacting to him like everyone else?—and then fascination. and then something deeper that coils in his chest and makes his throat tight every time he sees you. he tries not to care. he wants not to care. but you’re already rooting yourself in places inside him he didn’t know were hollow.

satoru notices you because you don’t notice him. not the way everyone else does. you don’t flutter your lashes when he smirks. you don’t laugh at his jokes like they’re scripture. you don’t even flinch when he calls you “baby” out of nowhere—just blink at him like he’s an equation you don’t understand. it bruises his ego. and for some unholy reason, he loves it.

the problem is, you’re not immune to him at all. you’re just hiding it better than anyone ever has.

because what he doesn’t know is—you’ve always had a crush on him. from the very first time he walked into class, sleepy-eyed and bright-smiled, wearing that damn jacket like it belonged on a movie screen. you just figured he’d never notice someone like you. so you admired from afar. watched him flirt with others, watched the way he filled a room with laughter, memorized the cadence of his voice like it was part of your playlist.

your crush was harmless. private. something you never expected to act on. you played it safe. after all, guys like satoru gojo don’t fall for quiet girls with awkward posture and color-coded notes.

but maybe that’s what draws him in—the absence of performance. the quiet genuine way you exist. no theatrics. no games. just you, completely unaware that you’ve started haunting his every thought.

it starts small.

he catches himself watching the way your hands move. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought. the way you roll your pen between your fingers when you're anxious. it becomes a loop, a soft little addiction. he remembers details he shouldn’t. what color post-its you use. your preferred snack during study sessions. your favorite seat in the library. you don’t change. he just tunes in.

and then, one day, he realizes he’s rearranging his life around yours.

he starts showing up everywhere you are. loiters in the library, conveniently always around during your shifts at the campus café, makes excuses to sit next to you in class. offers to carry your books, asks you about calculus even though he already passed it. satoru gojo, golden boy of his frat, reducing himself to extra tutoring just to see you smile. it’s humiliating in theory, but it feels like worship in practice.

and it’s not just your smile. it’s the way you get passionate when you talk about obscure theories. the way you light up when you don’t think anyone’s watching. the way you stammer when he gets too close, but don’t pull away.

you don’t feed his ego. you feed something softer. quieter. something he didn’t think he had in him. he tells himself it’s because you’re innocent. because you’re shy and sweet and you deserve to be treated right.

he wants to be good for you. slow, patient, gentle. he holds doors open. he listens. he lets you rant about your thesis for forty-five uninterrupted minutes and actually understands it. he even looks up the books you reference, reads them just to impress you. he takes an annotated copy of your favorite book. he starts writing your name in the corners of his notebook like some love-struck high schooler. you haunt him in the best way.

and then—you kiss him.

it’s after a late-night study session. the campus is quiet. the lights in the library flicker like they’re caught between timelines. your voice shakes when you say “thank you for walking me back.” you pause, fidget with the strap of your bag. and then, like you’ve been gearing up for battle, you rise onto your toes and kiss him.

it’s chaste. hesitant. warm. like you're afraid he'll vanish if you lean in too much.

you pull back like you’ve done something wrong, but satoru’s frozen, staring at you like he’s just been baptized. you’re blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“you… sure?” he whispers, voice ragged, leaning in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you nod, barely audible: “i’ve read… a lot. i think… i wanna try. with you.”

and he short circuits.

he thought he’d lead. thought he’d ease you into it, kiss your forehead, hold your hand like a gentleman. but then your hands are on his chest, pushing up under his shirt—the varsity jacket creaking as it shifts on his shoulders, the cotton brushing your fingertips. your eyes are searching his like you’re looking for confirmation that he’s real. you study every reaction like a research project. when he shivers, you smile, barely-there, and go back to tracing the line of his abs with trembling fingertips.

it’s not even mischief.

it’s curiosity. slow-burning, chest-aching, and barely held together by your own hesitation. the sort of yearning that tastes like nervous giggles and the edge of something terrifyingly new. you pause between touches like you're checking your hypothesis, calculating the way his muscles tense under your fingers. each brush of your skin feels like a question he's too dazed to answer properly.

“does that… feel good?” you whisper, lips barely moving, as though you’re scared to break the spell.

“f-fuck—yes, baby, yeah,” he gasps, throwing his head back, one hand clutching the edge of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

your lips trail down his throat, each kiss a trembling prayer, following a path only you can see. his skin is fever-hot, tasting of mint and salt, boyish charm unraveling under your mouth. when you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, his pulse jumps, a twitch rippling beneath your lips. his breath catches, a sharp stutter that makes his chest lurch, and his hands hover, fingers flexing like he’s afraid touching you will break the spell.

satoru gojo—fratboy, golden boy, untouchable—is quiet. too quiet. his eyes are hazy, pupils wide and unfocused, lips parted like words have abandoned him. his varsity jacket is bunched at his elbows, leather creaking, shirt rucked up to his ribs, abs clenching under your trembling fingers. he could take charge, flip this with a smirk—he’s done it countless times, effortless and expert. but now? he just watches, reverent, like you’re a deity he’s too awestruck to approach.

he’s known mouths. polished ones with perfect rhythm, greedy ones that took without giving, bold ones that knew every angle. but yours? it’s hesitant, new, like you’re crossing a threshold you’re not sure you’re worthy of. the way you look at him—eyes flickering behind slipping glasses, wide with awe—shouldn’t hit this hard. shouldn’t feel this fucking intense. but your fingers, shaking as they tug at his waistband, send a jolt through him that makes his vision spark.

satoru’s hand grazes your cheek, a trembling brush of knuckles. “baby… keep going. please.”

you nod, glasses sliding, your breath hitching as your fingers slip under his jeans, easing them down. your eyes flick up, catching his—flushed, jaw tight, his whole body fighting to stay still. it hits you like a blade: he’s done this a thousand times, fucked girls who knew every trick, but you’ve got him like this. trembling. aching. satoru gojo, invincible, unraveling because of you.

guilt stabs your chest, sharp and fleeting. you shouldn’t have him like this, shouldn’t be the reason his hands clutch the couch like it’s his only anchor. he’s always cocky, untouchable, the center of every orbit. now he’s breaking, and it’s your fault—your lips, your touch, your fault. but the guilt only fans the heat in your core, makes your thighs press together as you lean closer, your breath ghosting over his skin.

satoru is used to being wanted. but not like this. not with this aching, earnest hunger that makes his chest tighten.

you press shaky, open-mouthed kisses to his hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. spit gathers at the corner of your mouth, a slick trail left behind as you suck softly at the sensitive skin just above his cock. he jolts, hips jerking before he catches himself, a low curse slipping free, his hands clenching until his knuckles bleach. the sound he makes—fuck, it’s a choked gasp, raw and ragged, like you’ve torn it from his core.

you shift lower, hands sliding up his thighs, fingers digging into the taut muscle. your kisses grow bolder, sloppier, your tongue dragging along the crease where his thigh meets his groin, leaving a glistening streak of drool that catches the dim light.

he tastes like heat and need, and the way his skin trembles under your mouth makes your own pulse hammer. you pause, lips hovering over his cock, spit pooling on your tongue, and glance up—his head is thrown back, throat bobbing as he swallows, a groan clawing its way out of him.

“holy shit—baby, you—fuck,” satoru gasps, eyes snapping open, blown wide as his hand grips the couch, fabric groaning under his fist.

you take him in your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip, soft and slick with spit that drips down his length. your tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, tracing the ridge as drool spills from the corners of your mouth, coating him in a wet sheen.

he’s hot, heavy against your tongue, and you hum—a low, vibrating sound that pulls a whimper from his throat. your fingers curl around the base, stroking in time with the bob of your head, slick with the spit that pools at his base, making your grip slippery. you suck, gentle at first, then harder, lips stretching around him as spit slicks your chin, a glistening trail dripping onto his thighs.

he’s panting, desperate, each breath a ragged plea. his abs flex, thighs trembling under your palms, and he’s biting back whimpers, trying not to overwhelm you. that restraint—fuck, it’s gorgeous, the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flutter shut like he’s fighting to stay grounded. he doesn’t push, doesn’t guide, just moans your name like it’s a prayer, raw and broken. “that’s it, baby—fuck—just like that—your mouth’s so fucking perfect—”

the satoru gojo is unraveling, and it’s because of you. the way you glance up, glasses fogging, eyes glassy with effort, lips shiny and stretched around him, spit dripping down your chin in messy strings. the way your tongue flicks, catching the sensitive spot under the head, makes his hips buck, a choked sob escaping.

your hand slides lower, fingers brushing his balls, tentative but deliberate, slick with the drool that’s pooled at his base. you cup them, rolling gently, and his whole body seizes, a string of curses spilling out as his hand fists the couch tighter, the fabric creaking under the strain.

he’s had every fantasy, every trick, but this—your mouth, slow and reverent, full of wonder, messy with spit that coats him like a second skin—hits like a fucking freight train. it’s too much, too good. he wants to last, to let you explore, but you’re too fucking intent.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you take him deeper, throat tightening around him. he chokes, hips jerking as his control frays. “gonna—baby, gonna cum, wait, fuck—”

you don’t stop. your lips slide further, tongue flattening, taking him as deep as you can. it’s filthy—spit drips down your chin in thick strings, pooling on his thighs, your glasses fogging as breaths puff through your nose. you’re focused, watching his every twitch, adjusting when he gasps, slowing when he whimpers, like you’re mapping him.

his hand grips the couch, knuckles white, and he breaks with a sound that’s barely human—a shattered cry as he spills, hot and pulsing against your tongue.

you try to swallow it all, but it’s overwhelming—cum mixes with the spit already coating your lips, spilling past them in a slick, messy rush, dripping down your chin, onto his thighs, and pooling on the couch. you pull back, gasping, wiping your mouth with trembling fingers, but the slickness clings, smearing across your skin as your eyes stay wide behind crooked glasses. he’s trembling, chest heaving, shirt clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown like he’s seen the divine.

you should stop.

you fucking should.

he’s wrecked, twitching, fucked out beyond reason. but the ache in your chest—the sharp, flickering guilt of breaking him—only makes you hungrier. you lick your lips, tasting the salty mix of him, and your thighs press together, a soft whimper escaping as you lean in again, spit still clinging to your chin.

“just once more?” you whisper, voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the words will burn you.

his eyes flutter open, unfocused, dazed. he groans, raw and low. “baby… you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

but he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t even try.

you start again, slower, your mouth softer but hungrier, lips wrapping around him with a reverence that makes him twitch instantly. he’s sensitive, still pulsing, and the second your tongue grazes him, he whines—a high, broken sound that makes your stomach twist. you suck lightly, lips gliding along his length, spit pooling at the base and dripping onto his thighs in slow, glistening trails.

satoru buries his face in a cushion, muffling a sob. “s-sensitive—fuck, it’s too much—”

his thighs tremble under your hands, hips jerking as you kiss the tip, tongue darting out to lap at the bead of cum still leaking from him, your spit mixing with it in a slick, glossy sheen. you linger, savoring the taste, the way it coats your tongue in a sticky film, and he whimpers again, louder, his hand flying to his mouth to bite his knuckles.

your fingers slide to his balls again, rolling them gently, slick with the drool and cum that’s dripped down, making your touch slippery and warm. he arches, a desperate, “please—fuck—please—” spilling from his lips like he’s begging for mercy but craving more.

you don’t rush. your tongue traces every inch, slow and deliberate, swirling around the head before dipping lower, dragging along the vein with a wet, sloppy kiss that leaves a trail of spit in its wake. your breath is hot, teasing, each exhale making him twitch, and you pause to suck at the base, lips lingering as your tongue flicks out, tasting the musk of him through the sticky mess. his hand finds your hair, fingers threading loosely, not pushing, just holding—like he needs to feel you’re real.

you grow bolder, hungrier, your lips tightening as you take him deeper, throat fluttering around him, spit bubbling up and spilling over, coating his cock in a thick, glossy layer. you hum, low and vibrating, and he chokes, a wet, pathetic whimper breaking free.

your hand strokes the base, slick with spit and cum, fingers sliding in the mess, and you slide a finger lower, brushing the sensitive skin behind his balls, now slippery with the drool that’s dripped down. he jolts, a high, keening sound tearing from his throat, his hips bucking as his whole body trembles.

“baby—god—please—fuck, i can’t—” satoru’s voice cracks, raw and whining, as you suck harder, tongue swirling in relentless, wet circles, spit and cum mixing in a frothy mess that drips onto the couch. every noise is desperate—gasps, whimpers, sobs that he tries to muffle but can’t. his body arches, twitching like he’s unraveling at the seams, and you feel it: the moment he breaks again.

he cums with a wail, sudden and violent, hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. it’s messier, hotter, a flood of cum and spit that overwhelms you, spilling out in thick, sticky ropes that coat your lips, your chin, your glasses, dripping onto his thighs and pooling in the creases of his skin.

you swallow what you can, lips still wrapped around him, tongue lapping at the oversensitive tip through the slick mess until he’s twitching, a broken, “n-no more—please—” escaping as he clutches the cushion.

time slips. minutes? hours? you’re tugging his shirt, pulling him closer like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. ten minutes later, he’s gripping the sheets, praying, fucked senseless by every move you make. you flinch when he whines too loud, hands flying to your mouth, eyes wide with guilt—but then you lean in again, bolder, hungrier, chasing every twitch, every broken gasp of your name.

he’s never felt so cherished and so destroyed at the same time.

every touch is careful, but determined. you’re hesitant but thorough, like you’ve read the same passage in a smutty fanfiction a hundred times and are finally getting the chance to test it out. and the worst part? you’re good at it. really good.

your mouth, your hands, the way you watch his face for every twitch of pleasure—it’s enough to make him lose all sense of pride. the way you keep glancing at his reactions, as if adjusting your technique in real time, is insane. terrifying. he’s never been studied so hard. he likes it. he needs it. he’s suffering in the best way.

he’s never had to hold back like this. never had to breathe through it. never felt this fucking sensitive. he’s gripping the cushions like a man possessed. he’s whispering your name like a prayer. he’s not even sure he’s still speaking coherent sentences. you’ve wrecked him. utterly and entirely.

you pull back, panting, your hands shaking as you adjust your glasses, eyes glassy and wide. your lips are swollen, chin wet with a glistening mix of spit and cum, and you lick them, tasting him again, a soft moan slipping free as your thighs press together.

satoru is ruined—sprawled on the couch, shirt clinging to his chest, chest heaving like he’s fought a war. his hand is still in your hair, loose, trembling, and he’s staring at you like you’re a fucking goddess.

“thought you were the innocent one,” he chokes out, breathless, watching you nibble your lip and adjust your glasses with shaking fingers.

“i still am,” you murmur, face tucked into his shoulder. “kind of.”

he huffs out a laugh, dazed and wrecked. he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs. he doesn’t want to move. his hands are still trembling from how hard he tried to keep it together for you—and yet, you’re the one who took the lead. you’re the one who made him forget how to function. you kiss the edge of his jaw, soft and uncertain, and it undoes him more than anything else.

satoru gojo, campus heartthrob, ruined by a shy nerd girl who reads too much smut on her kindle late at night under the covers. who probably has a secret ao3 account and bookmarked folders. who looks like a timid schoolgirl but fucks like she’s been studying him like a midterm exam. and passed with extra credit. honors. valedictorian. summa cum laude of making him lose his damn mind.

he’s never been so obsessed.

and you? you’re already pressing your forehead to his chest, voice small, eyes wide with want and something raw and messy and needy as you look up at him.

“can we… try again? i think i missed a step.”

he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, cry, or propose.

he’s never been more in love. and all he knows is he’s done for.

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tojifiles · 2 months ago

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WHY SHOULD I BE SAD? (WHEN I COULD JUST FUCK HIS DAD!) ★

ꨄ syn. after your ex-boyfriend cheats on you, you show up at his house only to find out his bum ass isn't there. buuut his dad is, and you see the perfect opportunity to get back— its time for you to move along, goodbye!

ꨄ feat. dilf! kento nanami + fem! reader, pwp, piv, unprotected sēx, improper use of a tie, oral f! receiving), age gap, pússy whipped nanami, choking, hairpulling, voyeurism. mdni.

wc. 3.5k

you knock. three sharp, deliberate raps against the door, knuckles grazing the oak.

the porch light flickers overhead, buzzing lowly as it throws shadows across your bare legs. the hem of your pink velour shorts rides high on your thighs, paired with the matching jacket, zipped halfway down to show a sliver of the white tank top underneath.

you shift your weight to one hip, arms folded tight across your chest, blowing a lazy puff of stray hair that stuck to your glossed lips.

pathetic. you think, glancing around the quiet streets. your (ex!!) boyfriend— still living with his parents like the immature man child he is.

some things just never fucking change.

you shift, scuffing the toe of your sneaker against the welcome mat. welcome, it says in clean, cursive letters. bold of it to assume.

you’re ready to just turn your ass around, already thinking how you were too pretty to be standing on the porch like this for a man who can’t even keep his dick to himself— before the door opens with a soft, weighted click.

and instead of the boy you were verbally (and probably physically) going to skin alive, you got his father.

nanami kento.

he stands framed in the doorway, still in half his work attire. the sleeves of his white dress shirt are pulled up to his elbows, the worn fabric stretching a little too tight over the muscle of his forearms. a navy tie hangs loosely around his neck, brushing ever so slightly against the center of his barely exposed chest.

his honey blonde hair is combed back, a stray hair brushing over the rim of his glasses. he blinks at you once, slow, and you can’t help but blink right back.

he’s hot— hot in that “pays his bills on time” kind of way. in that “he’s obviously bee-keeping age” kind of way. you can clearly see where all the good genes went— definitely didn’t stick with his son.

figures.

“can i help you?” he asked, voice worn around the edges, dragging low across the quiet between you— like he’s been talking all day but you’re the first thing he’s actually looked at.

“i was, uh, looking for your son,” you shrug, voice bittersweet. “but i guess he’s out. . spreading whatever new std he picked up this week.”

nanami’s mouth twitches, not enough to be a smile—not enough to be anything actually, but you still catch it.

“he’s not home, i’m sorry.” he finally says, exhaling through his nose, the sigh barely stirring the thick air between you.

“yeah, me too.” you scoff softly, letting a dry little laugh slip free past your lips before you can stop it.

nanami sighs, glancing out at the empty, paved street, then back at you— standing there in your tiny pink jacket, breath fogging in soft little puffs in the cold, evening air.

and he knows he should shut the door.

tell you to go home, and stop bothering him with his son’s antics.

but instead, nanami looks at you one more time, and the words are already out before he can take them back.

“come inside,” he murmurs, and you blink up at him, surprised. your lashes catch in the dimmed lighting, lips parted because, not gonna lie, you really expected him to scold you for showing up on his doorstep at this hour, not invite you in.

he creaks the door wider with one hand, not moving otherwise.

an invitation, plain and simple— yours if you want it.

and you do.

because why the fuck not.

you step past the blonde man, slow enough to feel the heat of his chest. his cologne hits you next, clean with a weight of something smooth, oaky, the kind that just smells expensive.

the door clicks shut behind you, a low, weighted sound as the house hums low around you — dim lamplight blooming gold against taupe walls, books stacked in corners, the edge of a dark whiskey bottle catching the faint gleam from the kitchen counter.

“can i get you something to drink? wine?” nanami’s voice cuts into the quiet, and you flick your eyes toward him.

his hand curls casual around the fridge door, rolex crowned wrist flexing as he reaches for a bottle without even needing to look.

“what, no vodka shots?”

“i have better taste than that.”

he pours slow — the maroon liquid threading ribbons into thin crystal glasses that catches lamplight like it’s flirting. the air shifts when he crosses back to you, glass dangling easy between his fingers, the stem catching a smear of light as he offers it out.

you take a small sip, the wine breathing sweet against your tongue. it's much heavier than what you're used to, warm enough that it drips slow down the back of your throat and settles thick in your stomach.

you hum low without meaning to, the sound slipping out sticky and soft. nanami sinks next you on chocolatey leather sectional, the seat creaking quietly under the shift of his weight.

“i'm sorry, again.” he says softly, his thumb drags absent over the rim once before he speaks once more. “that boy. . . he hasn't been the same since his mother��s been gone.”

“oh.” you lower your glass, words feeling awkward and clumsy on your tongue. “i’m sorry for your, um, loss.”

and nanami chuckles— the kind you’d expect to hear floating down the halls of some members-only country club.

“she’s not dead— she left. divorced me after she decided marriage vows were more of a suggestion.” he leans back, raising the crystal up to his lips.

you laugh before you can stop yourself — the wine buzzing a little low in your veins now, loosening your mouth, making you just stupid enough to flirt with the edge of it.

“ohh,” you purr sweetly, a little slur of silk in your voice. “so you haven’t gotten laid in a while, huh?”

nanami chokes.

no, like actually chokes.

“w-what?” he croaks, brows pulling inward sharply as his glasses shift down the bridge of his nose.

“gootteeenn laaiidd,” you repeat, dragging the words slower this time.

“like, you know, having intercourse.” you wave one hand vaguely in the air, wrist limp. “fucking, if you will.”

nanami exhales sharply through his nose - you’re really starting to give him a run for his money right now. “i know what getting laid means,” he mutters, tone clipped. “m’not that old.”

a brief silence drapes itself between you— not cold, yet slightly singed around its edges, tensed. after what seemed to be the longest three seconds of his life, nanami finally speaks.

“no. i, uh. haven’t been active— sexually.”

you burst out laughing, wine nearly sloshing over the rim of your glass. “oh my god,” you wheeze, setting down your drink before it spills over. “this isn’t a doctor’s office. we’re both adults here.”

“are we really?” nanami mumbles, umber eyes skimming over your doubled-over state.

“uh, i’m twenty, mind you.”

“that’s comforting.”

you shrug, one leg curling up beneath you as you swirl whats left in your glass, the liquid painting lazy rings up the sides. your head is lighter now, the warmth of it blooming low in your stomach, buzzing under your skin.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed.” you murmur, head tilting slightly as your gaze drags across his frame. “it’s juust. . . been a while, right? doesn’t have to stay that way.”

you don’t look at him after that. not right away. just take another sip— letting the remainder of the wine coat your tongue and melt there while your words hang.

nanami doesn’t speak at first. doesn’t blink. hell, doesn’t even breathe.

but you feel it. the way the air shifts. the way his eyes remain hot on you. like he’s trying not to picture anything he shouldn’t— and failing miserably.

you’re half his age— he could be your father, for crying out loud!

“you’re drunk.”

“a little,” you admit breathily, voice slurred around the corners like the alcohol is speaking for you. “not enough to lie though.”

his jaw flexes.

visibly.

nanami’s voice drops lower, steadier.

“you’re my son’s girlfriend.”

“ex-girlfriend,” you correct him. “very important prefix.”

“semantics,” he mutters.

“legalities,” you shoot back. “pretty sure that contract expired the second he chose to be community dick.”

and nanami just huffs, closing his eyes, as if you’ll vanish if once he reopens them.

you don’t.

his jaw ticks again— slow.

“you— you shouldn’t be talking like this,” his voice rasps, eyes darkening— not dramatically, like in the movies, but in that slow, irrevocable way. “flirting. with me.”

you blink up at him, doey eyes feigning innocence with such a foxed grace. “awe, why shouldn’t i, mister nanami?”

and uh,

being slumped over his couch not even five minutes later with your legs hanging daintily over his broad ass shoulders definitely wasn’t on your list of possible outcomes.

“k-kennnn,” you whimper, hips rolling up into his face without thinking. your body moving on instinct now. “oh my god—”

his name rolls of your tongue like pure honey. your hips buck into his face, reflexive and greedy, spine arching off the couch like your entire body was trying to climb into his mouth.

“you taste,” he breathes, voice ruined, mouth glistening with the evidence, “so divine.” his lips kiss the words right into your sobbing cunt, a sticky whisper smudged against your folds.

he’s drenched in your dulcetly sweet juices — mouth and chin glazed in spit and slick. there’s drool trailing from the corner of his mouth, pooling where his lips suck around your clit. it’s loud — shamelessly wet — the kind of messiness that echoes off the walls, mingling with your gasped mewls and broken pleas for more.

you're throbbing so much it aches. your legs can’t even stay open on their own— and they don’t have to, not with the way nanami’s palms are splayed into your inner thighs, keeping them spread wiiiidee like it’s his job.

like this is what he clocked out for.

you fist a hand in his hair, yanking him closer and he moans. actually moans into your cunt.

low and guttural, breath catching sharp in his throat as he sinks deeper into you. his tongue licks a wide, deliberate stripe up your cunt, lathering his entire mouth in the wet sheen of your sweetness.

and god, he’s drunk on it.

like he’s starved, but determined to savor every lick, every suck, every trembling twitch of your hips beneath his tongue. nanami wraps one arm around your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, and stays there — nose pressed deep in your crevices, tongue flicking in tight circles, sloppy little suctions in between.

the last time he's eaten pussy like this, was what? back in college? almost two decades ago. yet it's like fucking muscle memory for him, like he's got PTSD.

“that’s it,” he rasps, voice muffled and wrecked, “don’t run. let me taste you, baby.”

your jaw drops. nothing comes out.

because how exactly are you supposed to say even a word with his tongue dragging figure eights over your clit? with his lips sucking bruises into your inner thighs between every flick? with his hands branding their grip into you every time you squirm?

his lips latch around your clit, sucking slow, heavy pulses while the flat of his tongue rolls wide circles around the swollen bud. his head shakes side to side, desperate now, messy, loud slurps filling the room.

you gasp sharply, hips jerking, thighs trembling around his head. “kento—i’m getting clooseee.”

the heel of your foot presses down against the middle of his back, urging him closer, guiding his mouth deeper into you. he groans again, a low, hoarse sound that makes your stomach tighten.

“hah—not yet, sweetheart,” he mutters into your pussy, words muffled by the wetness slicking his lips. “wanna enjoy you a little longer.”

he coaxes softly, voice low. “h-hold out for me. can you do that, pretty girl?” and you nod frantically, even as your body is begging for release.

“atta girl.”

nanami smiles against your cunt and you can feel it—the gentle curve of his lips pressing against your slick, tickling where he’s sucking and licking you raw. his hands stroke soothing down the backs of your thighs, holding you still, thumbs drawing slow circles into your skin.

his tongue flattens again, and you could've sworn you felt him drawing a slow, dragged K against your clit.

he’s just lost in it. in you.

completely, hopelessly enthralled.

you whimper, breath catching in your throat, fat, wet, tears finally pooling at your waterline before streaking down the flushed heat of your cheeks.

“k-kentoo,” you mewl softly, voice sticky with need, breath coming out in short little pants.

“go on,” he cooed softly. “cum for me, sweetheart. wanna feel it on my tongue.”

coiled tight, ready to snap. but his hands stayed firm on your thighs, his tongue pressing a slow, deliberate stroke over your wetness.

your release hits you violently, crashing over you like a rogue wave and you nearly sob. your toes curl into the soles of your shoes, thighs clamping around his head as your hips bucked against his mouth.

your body spasms in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm, slick soaking nanami's chin, his lips, his tongue—and he just took it. drinking you down with soft, broken groans, never once letting up as he licked you through every little tremble.

“that’s it,” his breath is warm as it's breathed against your core. “good girl.”

your body was still trembling, slack with aftershock when nanami finally lifted himself from between your soaked thighs. he wiped his mouth once but it did nothing— his chin was still slick, lips swollen and glistening, the faintest tint of pink glossed from where he’d devoured you.

his hands swept possessively down your sides. palms wide, calloused fingertips dragging over the curve of your waist as he guided you forward.

you gasp softly as he flips you onto your belly, nudging your hips up. your limbs felt weightless, pliant with a deep fatigue.

your knees slide against the leather, the couch creaking beneath you as he arranged you just right—in your hands and knees, back arched, ass lifted.

the cushions dipped behind you, a subtle shifting of weight as nanami knelt up. you hear the slow, metallic “zrrpp” of his zipper lowering, noticing his belt didn’t jingle.

he’d probably already undone it while his mouth was still between your thighs.

a soft breath hisses through nanami's nose as he fists himself behind you—stroking, just once, the wet sound slick before he presses forward.

“breathe in for me,” nanami enticed, voice steady, one palm braced warm at the small of your back.

his other hand guided himself to your entrance, the tip nudging sweetly between your sobbing folds. “just a little more, sweetheart.”

he eased forward, thick inches dragging into you, stretching you inch by staggering inch.

and it ached, yet in the sweetest way—your hot, slicked walls hugging him so tight, making him curse low under his breath.

“there you go,” he murmured. “such a big girl.”

he wasn’t too long, but god, did his girth make up for it.

a thick, weighted base broad enough to stretch you wide already, the head flaring just slightly as it breached you.

by the time he bottomed out, you were trembling beneath him, hips flush, his pelvis pressing soft against the curve of your ass. stretched full. he paused, both hands gliding down to grip the lush swell of your hips.

his hips drew back, the broad head of his cock dragging slow and heavy along your sensitive walls, before rolling forward again with a deep, deliberate stroke.

“s-sooo, hngh— big,” your voice broke into a sob as your fingers curled into the cushions beneath you. your ass bounced back against his waist, cunt snug around his cock as your moans pitched higher.

the silk of his tie—still looped loose around his own throat, slid free with a soft whisper of fabric. nanami tugged it off carefully, slipping it around your throat instead. the silk hugged the delicate line of your neck as he tied it loosely, gathering the longer end in one hand.

“just so i can hold you steady, heh,” he whispered, almost like he was reassuring himself more than you.

“look at you,” nanami panted softly. “so pretty on my dick— just, hah, imagine what my son would think.”

his breathing was ragged now, heavier with each roll of his hips into yours. the tie pulled snug against your throat every time you rocked back. the next thrust was deeper this time, angling up just right as it punched a sob out of your throat.

“he didn’t know what he had,” he gritted out between strokes, the words dragging rough from somewhere deep in his chest. “i-idiot—threw away something this perfect.”

and if you didn’t know any better, it almost sounded like nanami was angry— jealous even. like the thought of you being mistreated was something he just couldn’t fathom.

his free hand dropped to your waist, steadying you as his rhythm began syncopating. the fog on his glasses was nearly opaque now, slipping low on the bridge of his nose.

and then—

your phone buzzes, followed by your tinny little singsong ringtone, the screen lighting up bright in the dim lighting of the room.

[incoming facetime: 🗑️]

you dazedly blink, barely able to register it through the heat and the fog filling your head.

“p-pick it up,” nanami murmured behind you, voice low, steady, almost too composed. you barely had the coordination, fingers fumbling for the phone. your thumb dragged across the screen, and his face filled the camera.

red. wild-eyed. breathing heavy.

“where the fuck are you? you think this is funny? i’ve been texting and calling all night—”

your face was all he could see at first. hair sticking to your damp temples. your breath shaky. eyelids heavy, barely open.

“answer me,” he barked. “are you with someone? don’t fucking lie—”

you smiled. slow. coy. “oh, i’m with. . . someone.”

“who?” he demanded, voice cracking. “tell me who it is right now, or i swear i'll be both of your asses!”

you tilt the phone. just enough.

the camera catches nanami in his perfect, damning glory— broad chest flushed with exertion, work shirt still open, tie wrapped snug around your throat. his hands heavy on your hips, muscles flexing beneath skin as he fucked into you.

your ex’s jaw dropped. “wait. is that—” his voice pitched. “is that my dad?”

you smiled wider. teeth flashing.

“what the fuck—are you out of your mind?! psycho bitch, you’re fucking insane—”

click.

call ended.

“he’s gonna lose his fucking mind,” you whispered, giggling into your own shoulder.

nanami chuckles deep and out of breath. “let him.”

you feel the way his strokes start to grow heavier, a tremble blooming deep in his thighs, hips snapping forward with less precision now.

nanami’s breath stuttered, grip flexing hard around the tie as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded to your pussy.

“i’m—ah, i’m not gonna last.” he husked, his hips jackhammering into you languidly, making you feel the full thickness of him with every stroke. your slick gushed every time he bottomed out, wet sounds shameless in the otherwise quiet room.

he was so painfully close, yet he wanted to savor this moment. wanted to have this memory seared behind his eyelids long after the night was gone.

your cries were turning breathless, slurred, the pleasure cresting sharp, almost unbearable as you felt that tightness coiling in your stomach once again. “k-kento, please—can’t—”

“don't hold back,” he husked, his breath catching in his throat. “you earned it, sweetheart. let go.”

you nodded frantically, unable to form anything coherent as your release slammed into you hard. violent. white flashes of pleasure detonating in your stomach and ripping through your body.

“fuckfuckfuckfuuck— ” your lashes batted, tiny choked whines spilling from your mouth as his cock twitched deep inside you, swelling thicker, the heavy weight of it pressing into every sensitive nerve as your walls milked him greedily.

nanami's hips faltered, pace stuttering into a sloppy rhythm as he scrambled, releasing the tie from around your throat with a quick, careful tug as he pulled out.

before you could even whine, you feel the heavy weight of his cock dragging up—resting thick and flushed against the dip of your spine.

his breath is broken into low moans, and you barely had a second before the hot, sticky ropes of his release spilled across your back, striping messy against your skin.

just in time.

nanami’s head bowed, blonde strands falling loose from where they’d slipped behind his glasses. you could feel the tremble in his thighs, rolling through his entire body as his climax overcame him.

and for a moment, all you could hear was both of your breaths—deep, messy, syncing. the air smelled like sex. musk. your juices still wet between your legs.

he lingered there for a second longer, hips pressed forward, until he finally exhaled slow.

“shit,” nanami muttered breathlessly. “did i— was that too much?”

his voice cracked gentle now, worried.

your laugh came out light, breathless, sweet—finding his worriedness nothing short of sweet. “no. not at all. felt so good.”

he hummed, quiet relief softening the crease of his brow as he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the back of your neck.

“but i guess uh, father’s day is ruined. oops.”

@ssorenz™ do not, copy, repost or translate anywhere without my knowledge.

#‘ 𝐬𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐳 ୨𝑒.#nanami kento #kento nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #kento x reader #jjk kento

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nanamiskentos · 5 months ago

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NERDS DO IT BETTER ☓. ── ( 呪術廻戦 )

⌗ turns out they're the best you've ever had, and you think you're gonna' have to come back for more!

ᯓ starring ─. jjk ensemble cast : nerd! gojo, nerd! geto, nerd! sukuna, nerd! nanami, nerd! toji, nerd! choso

𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓲. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 x afab!reader ) ─── ❛ cw ⌓. mdni. college au. risky, public séx. handjóbs. óverstím. hate séx. fíngeríng. fiíming (consénsual). édging. vírgin!kuna. óral (m). missiónary. soft séx. brééding kínk. créampíe. backshóts. óral (f). wc ⌓. 3.5k.

﹙ 五条悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ advanced mathematics, physics

"oh, fuck!" gojo's absolutely quivering, throwing back a head of tousled, snowy hair, "that's, ouh, that's way better than i ever coulda' even dreamed of." pale-pink lips snapping sharp around another moan as he shudders, "can ya' do it again?"

you're clicking your tongue, doing your very best to bite back a flushed smile yourself. knowing that you've got the smartest, honour roll student pliant beneath you, his thighs splayed out and bare — the skin spottled with patches of rosy pink, dusted with fine white hairs. he's still got that campus sweatshirt on, rumpled over the askew collar of the dress shirt underneath. where you're eager to run your hands, to slide your fingers up past the low trail of hair on gojo's groin.

it doesn't hurt that gojo's, like, ridiculously gorgeous. thick-rimmed glasses foggy over vibrant blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes. and you can see him gnawing at the inside of his cheek as your hand keeps at a steady pace. pumping him over and over, until thick ropes of seed are coating your hand. it must be the nth climax of his by now, but it seems neither of you are that eager to call it a day.

you smile at how gojo squeezes his eyes shut, glasses skipping askew so you can fondly kiss his forehead. titling his glasses right back into place, all while he bites back a low, rumbled groan, "a-another?" it's a plea, almost hopeful for you to milk his poor, throbbing cock until there's not much else it can give.

"mhm, i don't know, satoru. it's kinda' risky, don'tcha think?" you're trying to keep your voice down, knowing that anyone could round the corner here. they could move past the stack of chairs littered behind the physics subsection of books and old papers to find gojo spread out so sluttily over this chair, his pants drifting past his ankles while you lean over behind the desk to jerk him off. workshop questions and calculations long discarded as the most intelligent man on campus chases some form of pent-up relief from you, his angel that's solely heaven sent.

gojo's the type of guy that's always moving, whether he's skimming and flipping through pages of glossy textbooks or speeding over the butterfly keys of his steel-grey mac, and right now?

he's still in motion, tapping trimmed nails in staccato beats against the plastic table. drumming his fingers over and over as he does his best to not let you see the crystalline tears of delicious overstimulation pooling at the corners of his eyes. shuddering as you pull back, letting his big cock snap back, smearing a thin line of translucent cum against his blue sweatshirt.

cursing because he knows he's gonna' have to peel that top off before his next class, before anyone can figure out exactly what that stain is, "fuck, we still got 15 minutes before that lecture, yeah? one more, please, baby, jus' one more."

﹙ 夏油傑 : geto suguru ﹚ ─ philosophy, sociology

"what did i say? eyes on the lenses, pretty girl." geto's determined and mean when he's like this, but then again, when is he not a cunt?

that bitchy nerd's always sniping at you, doing dumb shit like taking your seat in class and sucking up to the teacher — batting pretty, dark lashes at the tutor while throwing a nasty look your way when you get the answer right.

but as of this moment, there aren't any right answers in your head. not when geto's got you propped up in his broad lap. right in front of a blinking video camera, perched on a shaky tripod as he swirls his digits as deep as he can into your pretty, swollen pussy.

"s-sugu', feels so good," you moan, sinking your teeth into the plush flesh of your lower lip as geto's face softens for a split second before hardening once more. handsome features crinkling as he shakes his head of choppy, raven hair, "didn't ask if it felt good, geez. i asked for the answer to the question, or are we jus' having trouble following instructions as well?"

"hate ya' so, so much, still, i don' even remember the fuckin' question," you're sniffling, knowing that he's so deliciously knuckle deep within you right now. your clear, glossy arousal coating his fingers as he pumps the digits in and out of your heat with a satisfying squelch!

geto smiles, as though he wanted you to say that while he was rolling a fat thumb over your clitoral hood. berry lips pulling at the corners as he tuts, using the hand that was previously holding apart your thighs to slide a pristine paper over his bed, clicking his tongue before he intones, "tch', let me quiz you, again, 'cause we got that test tomorrow. though, 'm not sure it's much good. now, how would you explain structural functionalism?"

your mind's absolutely turning to incredible, pleasurable mush as you struggle to form coherent sentences. instead, staring at the blinking red light blearing out through the dark haze of geto's form room, and swallowing as he begins pulling at the sensitive ache of your clit, "it's, like, the premise of everything havin' a purpose. like, hahh, society being a well-oiled machine n' people are jus' cogs and — fuck! suguru, can't even focus like this."

your back is writhing against geto's toned chest, and you can feel the dark strands of hair that have escaped his hairtie tickling at your cheek, "i know, beautiful," he coos, almost as though he quite likes you, rather than the loathing that he claims, "now tell me, who's ideas does structural functionalism align with? answer quick, and i'll make ya' cum this time, promise!"

brain whirring on overtime to snap out a rushed breath, "emile durkheim!" your lips pouting as you heave in a candied breath of air, "that's right, isn't it? now you promised, so please! make me cum, sugu', fuck."

you can hear geto chuckle, "you didn't make me pinky promise, though?" and he's revelling in how you huff, and curse him out, "besides, i like watching you squirm all pretty for the camera. helps me remember my notes so much more. y'know that 'm gonna' go back and revise this later."

﹙ 両面宿儺 : ryomen sukuna ﹚ ─ anthropology, history

"you're a virgin?" your mouth parting into a sweet gasp as charlotte tilbury leaves sticky strands of product stringing between your pretty lips. because, there's just no way...

sukuna's rolling his crimson eyes, and shoving his tattooed hands into the ragged pockets of his thick hoodie, "why don't we focus on the project again? y'know that the entire thing is due next week, and this is our last meet-up before we gotta' present?"

the burly, quiet man's clearly flushed — with his tanned cheeks painted awash in some watercolour, blushy hue. muttering something about insolent cheerleaders and how he's refusing to get a bad grade because of you. but you're never one to lose. you just cross your arms over your chest, and a little more firmly on purpose, just to watch sukuna gulp as his gaze drops right down to that shadow of cleavage, "hey, you're the one who asked if i was sleeping with the quarterback."

sukuna's just too easy, because for all his churlish, jerkish attitude, he's not immune at all to your easiest charms. like a pretty red lollipop, or a spritz of your favourite body mist, or when you hike the hem of your skirt up just a little bit higher to doodle faint hearts on your flesh. and now he's grunting, drawing his eyes away from your torso to gulp, training his eyes solely on the project rubric, "yeah. was jus' a question. i don't give a fuck."

"mhm, sure." snapping strawberry gum between your teeth, "because i'm not with him." you grin as sukuna stiffens, almost snapping the poor, thin frame of a cheap lead pencil between his thick fingers.

"no?" he sounds almost, almost sheepish. battered headphones clattering around his marked neck as he jerks, and you almost coo. for it's honestly quiet sweet at how interested he sounds. ironic, considering ryomen sukuna is one of the most surly men on campus. always with his nose buried in some medieval book, always some exemplary paper of his pinned to the student noticeboard about the heian era.

"no," you repeat, scooting just a little bit closer to his broad frame, "because 'm interested in someone else, ya' see. like you, 'kuna."

the pencil snaps, the wood finally giving out to the quick motion of sukuna's fingers clamping down on it. pieces scattering and littering the table as broken lead clutters, the remnants of a man who's just had his world rocked but doesn't want to admit it, "hah, funny," he's muttering, "yer' really interested in me?" all you had murmured was a tempting, alluring little phrase that would remain with sukuna forever, something like, "want me to prove it?"

and that's exactly how you ended up like this. eyes blown wide, little hearts dancing around your pupils as you took in the sheer size and girth of what sukuna was hiding in his faded jeans. lips parting to close over the weeping tip of his thick shaft, and grinning at how there's already sheer, salty drops leaking out.

"fuck, w-wait," sukuna's groaning, with his spiky head of two-toned hair thrown back against your desk chair, "it's sensitive." clacking his sharp teeth around a wanton moan when you tongue at the veins bulging on the sides of his cock, "already feels like 'm gonna –"

"cum?" you offer helpfully, flattening your tongue against him so he throbs, hot and heavy, into your mouth. releasing yourself from his cock with a loud pop! and you're sure glad that your sorority roommates aren't home, for you're not sure how to explain that you're dripping wet yourself, just from sucking off the most infamous, ill-reputed nerd on campus.

"yeah, yeah," sukuna rasps, a heady and low tone that escapes from his chest, "and that would be e-embarrassing, fuck, that's — that's a good spot." sighing as you trail teasing fingers over folded skin, right at the underside of the base of his cock.

"not that embarrassing, 'kuna," you shake your head, loosening the slick strand of saliva that was stringing away from your lips. replacing your mouth with an entirely different type of gloss, and one that you're growing increasingly fond of, "and besides, we got a lotta' time before my roommates come back. plenty of other things we can do, hah."

﹙ 七海建人 : nanami kento ﹚ ─ economics

"but i jus' think numbers are kind of beautiful, wouldn't you say? like they have their own satisfying figure and precision?"

you smack nanami's chest, leaving a small, cherry hue over your boyfriend's pectorals, "your girlfriend is literally under you, and you're talking about numbers being beautiful."

he gives you an apologetic smile, thick waves of golden hair dampened with the sweat of exertion that was to be expected when he was delivering the sweetest, most loving strokes to your very core. thick, bulging tip kissing your cervix as nanami huffs, "sorry, darling. nothing's more beautiful than my girl, and, heh, yer' figure is the one i love the most."

"that's better," you gasp, feeling him rummage through your swollen pussy. girthy shaft bulging past throbbing, dripping folds as he delivers hit after surefire hit against your g-spot. but then, suddenly, you're frowning, "don't you have class, like, right now, babe?"

nanami squeezes his eyes shut, amber lashes kissing peach-flushed skin. "yeah, had some tutorial," he groans, drawing his cock out of you almost entirely before he's snapping his hips back into you with such force that there's a resounding smack reverberating through his bedroom, "but heh, they don't really need me there. i already know all my shit."

"and you won't get in, i don't know, trouble?"

your boyfriend shakes his head, pushing aside the stack of stock market magazines littered near your head, so he can slam his hand down on the soft quilt. all so nanami can steady himself as he has only one purpose in mind, to make you cum. to make you see such stars of pleasure that you squirt all over his cock. and he can already picture your fucked-out form, hazy and littered with the marks of his loving. and drenched down below.

well, anatomically, it mustn't be possible but at the mere vision, nanami can feel himself harden even more. like his cock is responding to the hypnotising grip that you've got him in. hefty balls tightening further and he's rasping in your ear, "can i —, fuck, can i cum in ya', darling?" desperate and falling apart at the mere idea, at the way your eyes flutter shut in bliss, "only if yer' also wanting me to, i swear. but please –"

"yeah. in me, kento. baby, all yours."

that's all it really takes for thick, stringy wads of hot release to spurt out from nanami's weeping tip. cock releasing strands of gooey seed into your cunt in a way that makes your boyfriend press his forehead against yours, littering a thousand kisses against your fucked-out, smiling lips, "thank you, thank you, thank you, darling. i love you so much. can't even put it into words, but i love you —"

﹙ 伏黒甚爾 : toji fushiguro ﹚ ─ physical education, kinesiology

"what the fuck did you jus' call me, ma?" toji's got a blunt nail trailing down your spine, running over the curve of your ass, "a nerd?"

you're writhing, "yeah, yeah. i mean, that's what everyone says," and it takes every cell in your body to fight back the inevitable release that toji's bestowing upon you. for you're determined to delay this just a little longer, to feel toji's thick cock slam into you from behind over and over in a way that you never really expected from the grumpy sports major.

and it seems the idea amuses him, for you don't even need to turn around to imagine how his sharp, jade-green eyes must be narrowing at the knowledge of what everyone calls toji fushiguro behind his back. how toji's sharp, shark-like grin must be widening, sharpening knives to sink into your shoulder, "why? 'cause i don't do that stupid, attention-seeking sports shit like everyone else in my degree? 'cause i don't wanna' waste my time on the field or in the locker rooms?"

"t-toji, it's 'cause you always got your damn nose in a book. and i didn't even know you could —," you shriek, feeling his burly forearm come up in front of you, past your bouncing breasts to support your weight as he presses further into you, "i honestly didn't even know you could fuckin' read."

"suchhh a nasty attitude, ma," toji chuckles, and your ass pleasurably stings at the resounding smacks echoing through the (thankfully) empty gymnasium. your lace panties pulled to the sides as you're balanced over the bleachers right in the very corner where the lonesome toji fushiguro prefers to sit, where no one else can bother him.

but damn, if he's not getting off on the idea of taking you so prettily like this. don't get him wrong, toji loves this position. loves how nasty and filthy your pretty arch is when he's swabbing his cock against your pussy. but fuck, he also wishes you were flipped around for him. just so he could press a thumb to your lower lip, and watch your eyes go all silly and crossed for him. while he tacked the thick curl of dark hair around his groin to your sticky, throbbing clit. battered your pretty cunt with his inches until that feisty lil' attitude melted away into sugar and cream.

you moan, such a wanton sound, when toji's thick fingers are climbing up your throat. past your jaw to settle at your mouth. pushing past your lip so you can drool so beautifully for him as he does his level best to at least regretfully silence the sexy sounds falling out of your lips.

"careful, ma," toji shudders, feeling the tight heat of your cunt snatch his soul away, "wanna' keep the volume down so those rocks-for-brains football players don't hear what's going on here. unless, you want them to see how the nerd's practically plowing your brains out, hah."

the resulting clench of your cunt tells toji all that he needs to know, and he has to bite back the furious blush crawling over him, underneath his faded varsity jacket, "oh? that's how it is? well, okay then. hold on."

﹙ 脹相 : choso kamo ﹚ ─ lab medicine, psychology

you know better than to sass choso when he's like this, the night before the final semester exam. see, because the man's got your thighs splayed so prettily out for him. glistening, and dripping all over his bedspread. and to the side, he's got that damn anatomy textbook flipped open.

choso's frustrated, sighing and flicking the pads of his fingers against his tongue to thumb at the sticking pages. rolling his eyes when he isn't able to find the passage that he wants, as if that's your fault. but you don't miss the hungry gleam in the raven-haired man's eyes, the spiky knots atop his head coming loose as he delves right back into his favourite meal. his favourite study snack being your glossy cunt, for he could munch on the slick strands forever.

"bear with me, my love," choso's cooing, trailing a slender, pale finger up your sticky folds until he comes to rest at your clit. tapping the throbbing bud once, "jus' gotta' memorise this, and you're helping me so much."

he's pressing a chaste, quaint kiss to your pulsing clit. that dark mark stretched across his face twitching as he murmurs, "ah, think, choso! right, the clitoral glans has, hmm, 8000 nerve endings. and it leads up to..." choso's drawing slow, teasing circles on your clit and it makes you whine, bucking your hips, "patience, my love. i'll reward you extra special for helpin' me out like this. now, it leads up to the clitoral shaft — and did i tell ya' what the crura is?"

you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you rut against choso's handsome nose for some delicious friction, and he clearly seems eager to indulge you, though he's still lost in academic thought, "right. i guess, baby, you could say the crura are kinda' like the legs for the clitoris. and they extend allll along the pelvic bones."

choso's marvelling the glossy, sheer slick coating his fingers. licking a flat stripe right against your swollen, eager cunt, "and the glans, well, my extended answer needs to mention how they, uh, damn, baby. you're soaked." he's shaking his head again, "i keep getting distracted. the glans — they're the ones with the alpha-delta, and c-fibres, and that's what makes you feel so good. transmitting sensations y'see, i get extra marks for mentioning that."

you hazard a glance to the shining pages of the new textbook that choso's kept on his shelf all semester, "and the, uh, the pudendal reflex? you got a sticky note on that one, babe?"

choso smiles, slowly flicking your clitoral hood in up and down motions, each movement sending simmering pleasure through your groin, "a spinal reflex, m'love. helps with the involuntary muscle contractions, like when i do this —," flatting the pad of his thumb against your clit to run tighter circles against the aching nub, watching as your hips jolt up further against his face. coating the lower half of his features in translucent arousal.

"now, my favourite part," choso says, grinning as he turns his attentions elsewhere, to your dripping entrance pooling such a mess over his sheets. and your boyfriend's tugging at his grey sweatpants, "the grafenberg spot. i don't think my fingers will be enough to stimulate it properly."

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starryeyed-apple · 29 days ago

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birthday indulgences

the kiss we silently swore never to talk about again...

summary: years ago, on your birthday, you & caleb shared a forbidden moment. it isn't until his birthday that all those hidden desires are finally indulged in.

★pairing: caleb x fem!reader ★wc: 3.5k ★content: fluff & smut. drunk first kiss & grinding in the memory, caleb panics, a tiny bit of angst. sloppy makeouts, spit kink, dry humping, coming in pants, desperate & subby caleb, overstimulation. caleb calls reader pipsqueak, baby, honey and love. reader calls caleb baby. ★a/n: I love that theory that the kiss they don't talk about happened when they were younger, and then I thought ooo I could do a parallel with this. it was supposed to be sweet and it turned smutty, but it's still sweet. I'll probably do a more intimate version of their first time once his card is out! ★masterlist ★read on ao3

You couldn't believe you had actually gotten Caleb to go along with your plan.

When you'd told him you needed a break from your college campus, and that you wanted to go out and get drunk in Skyhaven for your birthday, he was already nodding along on the video call.

"Alright, pipsqueak," he agreed with a grin. "I'll tag along and take care of you. Gotta make sure you're staying hydrated."

"No, no, no." You shook your head, grinning wickedly when he cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy. "You're going with me."

He arches an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Uhh, earth to pipsqueak, did you not hear what I just said? I am going—"

"Nooo," you interrupt, wagging your finger. "You're going drinking with me."

He'd sputtered, complained and argued all he wanted, but he had agreed to every one of your terms by the time you hung up the call.

And here you were, tipsy and laying back on the floor of his Aerospace Academy assigned studio apartment, watching the ceiling fan spin while you both giggled over something you can't quite remember.

You glance over at where Caleb's sprawled out beside you, smiling at the happy, hazy look in his eyes that surely matches your own. It was impossible to see him ever completely loosen up, and this was the best birthday gift you could've asked for.

Then your thoughts immediately take a different direction when he licks his lips.

They're too dry. You know because you'd jokingly held him down as you swiped your own chapstick across them countless times.

And you'd caught him running his thumb over his cracked bottom lip, tongue darting out across the lingering taste of you when he thought you weren't looking.

Your whole face feels too hot suddenly, blood rushing so fast through your ears that you can't even hear the idle sounds of Skyhaven late at night that drift up through the cracked window.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss someone.

To have their lips press to yours, all tentative and sweet. To know that liking them wasn't in vain, that hoping they felt the same way wasn't just a daydream you'd kept hidden for years. To see the adoration in their eyes when they pull back and caress your cheek.

Purple eyes with an orange sheen.

You wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb.

"Caleb," you whine, watching the dopey smile grow on his face at your voice. "Am I too old to have never been kissed?"

Caleb's eyes widen, flashing to yours.

"I—" he blinks rapidly, and you giggle at the rare occasion of having caught him completely off guard. "What?"

"Kiss-ing," you draw out, tapping your lips with each letter you spell out for him, "k-i-s-s-i-n-g."

Caleb watches each tap with rapt attention, so captivated that his own lips slowly part. A bit of drool collects at the corner of them, and your vision goes hazy before he quickly looks away.

"Oh." He sounds breathless, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Uh, I dunno, pipsqueak. I mean, I'm older than you and I've never kissed anyone. Is that weird?"

He gives a little laugh, but you hear the stiff edge to it, can see the uncertainty haunting the façade of his easy expression.

"Really?" you roll over onto you stomach, propping your chin onto your palms.

Your legs kick behind you, and he glances at you and away again.

After a stretch of awkward silence, he turns onto his side, meeting your gaze.

"I mean, yeah," he mutters, shrugging one shoulder. "Why would I?"

You look down at his never-been-kissed lips, feeling your blood rush to your head when he bites them.

Your eyes dart back down, watching his necklace brush against the floor from the angle he lays at.

"Sooo…you've never wanted to kiss anybody?" you ask, trying to seem casual, even as your fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt when he shifts closer.

"I didn't say that," Caleb mutters, and you go rigid.

"Oh."

You flop back onto your back, glaring up at the ceiling fan before he can notice how your brows have pinched, your mouth pressed into a firm line.

"Pips?" Caleb pokes at your cheek, and you pout, turning on your side away from him. "What's got you all frowny-faced?"

"Nothing," you bite out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Uh-huuuh."

He pokes at your back, then your side, until his fingers are lightly tickling at your ribs. You giggle, kicking your feet out at him.

"Caleb, stooop," you whine, pushing back at him as he tries to tug you back over to face him.

"C'mon, pips," he teases, pinching your waist, and you squeak. "Why won't you look at me?"

Flipping over to smack him, you accuse with totally justified, totally sober and coherent anger, "I'm mad at you, dummy!"

He blinks, and you try and not melt at how cute he looks like this—drunk and flushed, with those big confused puppy dog eyes.

"Why?"

Instead of answering him directly, you ask, "Was it the girl in your chemistry class?"

"The—" Caleb blinks again, shifting back in surprise. "What?"

"That you wanted to kiss sooo badly." You frown, crossing your arms again. "The one who copied off your homework, and you were too nice to stop her. Or was it the guy who always tried to beat your track record?"

"Pips—"

"Or the cheerleader captain? Or is it somebody at university, huh? Are you sneaking around making googly eyes at the other pilots?"

"Oh, quit it." Caleb rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand over his forehead with an unamused huff. "I didn't want to kiss any of them. I don't want to."

"Then who?" You push yourself up, and he sits up to match your restless energy. He always rises to that familiar challenge in your eyes, pulling when you push. "Who exactly is just so damn special that you're still saving that kiss for them?"

Caleb's eyes flash, and he leans up and over you until his large frame is surrounding you completely.

"Maybe it's someone I like with a bratty mouth," he snaps, gently pinching your lips shut between calloused fingers.

Your wide eyes meet his blazing ones, and you both freeze.

His fingers loosen on your lips, and your lashes flutter.

He watches your eyes dilate, then looks down to where he gingerly brushes his fingers along the seam of your lips, his breath audibly hitching when they part for him.

Caleb's lids fall heavy over his darkening gaze. Your breath speeds up in your chest. He looks from your lips to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.

And when you glance down at his own mouth, you're both crashing into each other.

Your first kiss with your childhood friend, your best friend, was anything but the magical one you had just been daydreaming about.

This was sloppy and needy, all tongue and spit and teeth. Years of emotion you didn't know how to unpack began to unravel at the seams, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you as you fall back onto the floor.

Neither of you knew what you were doing, only that you were desperate for more. His hands grab at your waist, slipping down to your thighs briefly, and snapping back up when he realized what he was touching.

Then his arms are wrapping around you, corded muscles tightening to hold you close to him as you squirm from all the years of pent up tension.

Your lips meet his again and again, needy sounds filling the air. His own spit dribbles down your chin as Caleb licks into your mouth and moans against your tongue.

Your foot trails up his leg, wrapping around his calf, and he mindlessly grabs at it, hoisting it up until it was wrapping securely around his hip. The fabric of your skirt rides up, and you jolt when you feel the growing bulge in his jeans rub against the thin fabric of your dampening panties.

The sensation is brief, then harder, until you're rolling against each other in a delirious haze of desperation.

He's mumbling something incoherent into your lips, teeth sinking into the soft flesh until you feel it start to break, and you moan his name.

Caleb jerks back, eyes wide and pupils swallowing all the purple except for the thinnest ring around the edge. His chest heaves, kiss-swollen lips forming soundless words.

Lips swollen from your kisses.

You whine, reaching for him as he begins to panic, de-tangling himself from you.

"No," you beg, trying to tug him back as he gently pulls your grabbing hands away. "No no no—"

"Pips, you're—" his voice is ragged, and he sucks in a deep breath.

His eyes are wild, darting around at everything but you, even as he tugs your skirt back down around your waist. His cheeks blaze red when he steals another quick look at the ruined panties underneath, the soaked fabric with a lacy band, before he turns away in shame.

"You're drunk," he breathes, shaking his head sharply.

"I'm not—"

"I'm drunk." Caleb laughs, disbelief coating the sound, long fingers running through his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Shit. Fuck. This wasn't—this wasn't supposed to happen—"

Your body begins to defensively curl inwards, and you blink quickly to try and keep the sudden sting of tears at bay.

Caleb finally dares a glance back at you, going from flushed to shockingly pale in seconds.

"No, no, pipsqueak—"

"No, it's fine," you sniff, pushing yourself up and scooting back against the floor. "I get it. You…you didn't want it to be me. I get it."

"No, no no no," he keeps mumbling the word the entire time you're moving away, and suddenly Caleb's on his hands and knees, crawling after you with those big, sad puppy dog eyes. "No, pips, that's not what I meant—"

"It's fine, Caleb."

"It's not fine," he insists, resting the side of his cheek against the top of your knees. His eyes are wide and wet, begging for you to just look at him. "You heard what I said. Who I said. Who I…wanted."

His voice gets impossibly quiet, and Caleb's honest gaze begs for your attention.

But you're too fixated by the dark indentation your teeth had left in his lips, the shine on them that could've been your saliva or his.

"It's just not a good idea, pips," he whispers, and you flinch, followed by his own grimace. "Shit, no, that sounded bad. It's just because—"

He stops, shaking his head, palm covering his face.

"I can't think straight," he mumbles, peeking at you through his fingers. With a sigh, he drops his hand onto your knee, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. His voice is so gentle, so Caleb, but it still grates at your sensitive nerves right now. "I think we both just need to sleep this off. We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You sniff, still not meeting his eyes completely.

"No, we wont," you mumble, even as you let yourself be gently directed towards his bed.

He's silent as he helps you prepare for sleep, even as he moves to sleep on his little couch, opting for his long legs to cramp up on the furniture instead of cuddling with you. The tension radiates off him at your accusation—because he knows you're right.

"We'll never talk about it again."

But here you are, years later, in the same situation as before.

You're both sober this time. You're older, maybe wiser, and scarred from being torn apart before coming back together.

But the way Caleb looks at you has never changed. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you were the moon the sun chased with every morning.

He doesn't shy away when you look at him just the same. He doesn't pull back now, doesn't keep his longing locked away when your thumb brushes his lips, collecting the residue of the candy you'd fed him.

You wanted today to be a special birthday for him. You wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted.

"Remember when you kissed me?" you breathe, and his eyes flash in surprise at what you'd silently sworn to never speak of again, beautiful lashes fluttering at your exhale across his lips. "On my birthday?"

He laughs, a little quiet huff of air, and his shock melts to something knowing. Something you'd both always known, deep down.

"You kissed me," he accuses, all low and sultry in his teasing, and you shiver.

You smile, your thumb caressing the corner of his lips.

It didn't matter who had kissed who anymore, who pulled back from who. You'd still ended up where you both belonged.

Caleb gazes up at you, awestruck when your eyes darken.

"Then you knew I wanted it," you whisper, nose bumping against his. "So why did you stop?"

You lean in slowly, giving him a moment to pull away if he still wanted to, if he still needed time. He'd given you all the time in the world, after all. You'd happily wait for him, too.

But then Caleb's lips are on yours, and everything finally feels right.

He tastes like sour lemon candy, and you whine, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. He moans, fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck me," he groans under his breath, and you laugh between the kisses that heat up between you.

"If you insist," you murmur, smirking into his mouth when his hips jerk up into yours.

The whimper that leaves his lips is quiet and needy, and you eagerly swallow it down.

"Don't tease me like that, baby," Caleb rasps, and your own hips roll in his lap at that low huskiness to his voice.

His hands tighten on your hips, stilling you. You pause, wondering if you'd taken it too far.

But then he's directing you, pulling your legs around to straddle him completely. He guides you into a deeper roll, and you both moan.

You sink down onto him with slow grinds, the hem of your dress hiding just how quickly your panties were getting wet. In the rosy haze of growing pleasure, you wonder how long it'll take to soak that erection he's been sporting since you walked in the room.

"Didn't even try and hide how hard you were when I came in," you whisper into your languid, sensual kissing. "Did you?"

Caleb's hand slips down, cupping your ass easily in his rough palm and long fingers. You moan when he squeezes it, followed by a squeak of surprise at his gentle, experimental smack to it.

"You can't talk like that, pips," he pants, head tilting back against the couch. His voice is that delicious shade of darkness when he adds, "God, you can't make those sounds either. I won't last long if you do."

His eyes are hazy as he watches you lean down, kissing along the elegant slope of his neck. You stop at the harsh bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps, and your teeth graze along it, humming at the moan you feel vibrate there.

"I've thought about that kiss for years," Caleb gasps, hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed to him. His hips lazily roll up into yours, his eyes rolling back into his head when he suddenly bucks up once. "Every time I—"

He cuts himself off, biting at his already swollen lips with a blush.

You smile, devious in your intent, and his mouth falls open when your hidden possessive streak unfolds.

"Every time you—" you leave your question hanging, letting the way you begin to bounce in his lap be the answer.

"You—" Caleb chokes, gripping your hips.

His eyes glue to the motion of your hips flexing under your dress, ass coming up and smacking back down against the strength of his large thighs. You feel him twitch through his jeans, and you moan along with him.

"F-fuck," he groans, mouth hanging open, the tip of his tongue falling out.

You lean forward, collecting the saliva in your mouth. Realizing what you're doing, Caleb tilts his head up and sticks his tongue out, eyes wide and dilated.

You let your spit pool onto his tongue, and he takes it eagerly, swallowing it down with a whine and a thrust of his hips.

"I've thought about it, too," you breathe, and his lidded eyes flicker between your face and where you're shamelessly humping him. "Every single time. Even when I'm not trying to. But when I'm touching myself—"

"Oh fuck—"

"And I'm trying to come, all I can think about is how warm you were and your spit in my mouth—"

"B-baby," Caleb stutters, his head lolling to the side, unfocused eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head with each dry slap and grind of your hips against his. "Please, please—"

"I always think of kissing you when I'm coming—"

"Coming," Caleb gasps, and you think he's just mindlessly repeating you until you notice how rigid he's gotten, completely still and flushed bright red as he moans, "oh, fuck, I'm coming—"

And you can feel it, the sticky warmth flooding into the front of his jeans, seeping into you as you gasp. You grind down against his throbbing cock underneath the stifling fabric, wishing you were taking every drop of his cum instead, not letting a bit of it go to waste.

Caleb whines, crying out softly as you roll your hips, and you swallow every pretty sound with hot kisses until your clothed clit catches on his ruined jeans just right.

"Oh fuck, there—" you gasp, lips messily attached to his. You feel the tears of pleasure and overstimulation streaming down his face as he bucks up into you still. "Caleb, Caleb—"

"Come," he begs, and your eyes meet his. Your hips falter at the unadulterated affection there before you speed up, breath hitching when you feel yourself being to crest over into mind-numbing pleasure. "Come for me, honey, please come for me love please—"

Your eyes pinch shut, and you cry out for him when the orgasm hits you all at once, all your limbs seizing up as you convulse in his lap.

"Oh fuck there, there it is," Caleb grunts, grabbing at your trembling thighs under your dress, moaning when he feels your slick that had dripped down them. "You're coming, you're actually coming—"

Your pussy flutters and tightens in your soaked panties, and you moan, wondering what it would have felt like if you had had the foresight to tug his cock out of his pants, if your precious Caleb had filled you up before you came around him.

Next time, you think in a haze, giggling breathlessly when you realize there was an endless number of next times now.

Caleb's lips meet yours, and you meet each kiss as they slow into something lazy and content. He keeps leaning closer and closer to you, his hand cupping the back of your head, protecting you when you both end up weakly tumbling to the ground, and you laugh.

Your eyes are warm and shining with joy when you look up at him, pulling him down for another kiss, and another, because they were all yours now. Every kiss, every moment.

It was the same messy meeting of tongue and spit and teeth from that unspoken moment years ago, except this time, he wouldn't pull away.

"When do we get to do that again?" you gasp, and he laughs too, bright and happy and maybe, finally at some semblance of peace.

"Whenever you want it," Caleb hums, pulling back to kiss the tip of your nose, then your cheekbone, your eyelashes, all the way up to your temple and back down to your lips again.

"Well," you start, grinning as your loop your arms around his neck. He smiles down at you in befuddled admiration, like he couldn't believe you were really here. "You're the birthday boy."

There's a subtle shift in his eyes, suddenly shining with vulnerability when he asks, "But you want it?"

"Oh," you whisper, brushing at the leftover tears that cling to his long lashes. You kiss them when his eyes shut, your nose nuzzling against his.

Dummy, you think fondly. Worried you didn't want any more when you just had the best orgasm of your life, just from dry humping his lap.

When you'd been dreaming of doing this for years. When you would've been happy if all he wanted was just a kiss.

But his post-nut shyness was sweet, even if coupled with that deep-rooted fear that when he closed his eyes, you'd disappear. And your heart was too full of love not to reassure him.

So you banished the shadows that haunted the corners of his mind with another gentle kiss, pressing all your love for him into it.

"Of course I want it, Caleb," you murmur, smiling up at him. "You're all I've ever wanted."

He sighs, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This one is unhurried, an intimate promise between you.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, and he smiles.

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb smut #caleb x reader smut #lads caleb #lads caleb smut #lads caleb x reader #lads fanfic #lads caleb x you #lads caleb x mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace

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madamechrissy · 1 month ago

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Ebb and Flow

Pairing - Rafayel (LADS) x F! reader

Summary- Rafayel is being a BRAT, as usual, and asks you to just leave after a day out together. But then you realize he just doesn't feel good - turns out, Raf is actually in heat, whoopsie! - (This is from the ebb and flow memory of course, I just started falling for Raf HARD and here I am, making him fuck you during heat) 3.5k wc

Warnings - needy, desperate Rafayel, he has a breed kink like a mf, fingering, oral sex (f receiving) he really really needs to drink you all up, creampie, mating press, rougher sex, pleasure dom raf, but he's lowkey a switch hehe, pwp w/feelingsss

This is my first time writing him hehe, I have brainrot from Ebb and Flow :')

Rafayel is moody, pouty and just outright rude today. After all his antics, you're honestly not even mad he is asking you to just leave him alone. "Just go, ugh," he pouts as he crosses his arms, slouching down on his couch, the breeze of the warm air blowing his hair just so.

"You invited me out you know, I had shit to do today. What's up with you?" You cross your arms right back at him and he glares over at you.

"Well now I don't want to do anything, that place was boring, and it's so hot, ugh!" He collapses back on the couch, glaring over at you some more. "Why are you still here?"

"You're such a brat I swear, why do I put up with you?" You tug at the purse he's laying on now, and he doesn't move, just clicking his tongue and smacking your hand.

"Stop touching me!"

"I'm not you idiot, I need my bag." He pouts again, sighing and sitting up, letting you yank it out from under him. "You know what next time you come over I'm kicking you out."

"As if I want to hang out it your tiny fishbowl of an apartment."

"Rude! We can't all be millionaires." You scoff and sling your bag over your shoulder, shaking your head at the pretty, bratty man you are currently dealing with. He is usually fun and cute in his needy nature, it's off for him to push you away, but he seems to just be so done with everything today and whining about the heat.

"Are you still here?" He says then, shutting his eyes, you roll your own and shake your head.

"Bye then, my god," you turn to leave when he snatches you by your wrist, dragging you onto his lap and burying his face against your neck, making you feel just how hot he is. "Raf you're like a freaking space heater, what's going on?"

"Don't go," he whispers now, you get whiplash from him, sighing and putting down your purse, turning in his lap to look at him. "Stay with me."

"You're the most frustrating man, you know that?" He pouts again, and you instantly feel sorry for him, especially when you see sweat breaking out on his brow. "Are you feeling sick?"

"I'm fine... I'm just cold. I need you." He's got you tugged against him so tightly you're wincing at it, he's so warm you're sweating.

"You're not cold, you're burning. I need the thermometer- let me go, would you?" He's shaking his head now, pressing his lips on your skin, shocking you as he sucks it into his mouth, you feel your nipples tighten, gasping at the sensation.

"Mmm, just stay here, would you? Don't leave me, ever."

"You just kicked me out you know - mnh." He's got his big hands taking over your body, slipping down your waist, as he looks up at you, his eyes all glazed over, lips parted and glossy. You swallow nervously. "Can I get you a towel or something, you're all sweaty."

"Don't leave," he says again, confusing the shit out of you and nuzzling you right over your breasts now, burning your skin, thumbs now slipping right over your ass, and you feel your body react to his touch, his nearness. "You can't leave me again."

"I've never left you kicked me out, remember bratty boy?" You keep the tone teasing, biting your lip and gripping his broad shoulders while his lips decorate your collar bone with feverish kisses.

"I'm cold, need your hands everywhere," he takes one and puts it on his chest, you feel his heart racing.

"R-rafayel? What's going on?" He moans and whines out, rubbing his face all over your neck as you feel his head, burning up, his breath tickling on your neck, fingers brushing down your breasts softly. "You're sick, we need to take care of you."

"Mmm, you're so warm." He whispers, nuzzling against your neck, plump lips brushing your skin as you tremble, thighs pressing together while you touch his forehead with your lips.

"You need something for this fever, let me go get some water or something- ah! Raf!" You try to get up, but he pouts at you, yanking you by your wrist until you're sprawled on top of him, right between his spread thighs, his eyes are a dark violet, narrowed into a glare. "Let me get some!"

"Need you all over me," he's tugging you impossibly closer, wrapping strong arms around you, when you feel just how hot and hard he is under his dark slacks, making your cunt heat up and earning his moan. "Thirsty."

"Then let me get water! Raf what... ah!" He's pressing hungry kisses all along your chest, the two of you have gotten closer but you haven't stepped over that barrier just yet, your body responds to the hot fingers slipping up your skirt, his kisses hungrier as he finds your cunt over your panties. "Mnh!"

"Your heat, need to bury myself in it," his voice is drugged, his elegant fingers slipping under your panties to find your slit, already embarassingly wet. He looks under long lashes, sighing. "So thirsty."

"R-Rafayel, we need to cool you down and get you a drink. Is now the time for- mnh!" He's slipped two fingers deep in your cunt, stretching you and making you gasp, head falling back for more of his messy kisses. "Fuck..."

"Found the perfect source of heat, and so wet f'me, hmm?" you barely register as he flips you on your back, face flushed red from how over heated he is on his cheeks, your thighs are trembling on either side of him as his lips hover over yours. "Aren't you, cutie? gonna admit it? how much you want this?"

"I... you... you're delusional," you press on his chest and he smirks just a bit, lips even closer, pressing his cock against your soaked cunt, you feel how hard he already is, making your cunt throb around nothing. "I'm... you're..."

He kisses you then, while his hands are firm on your wrists, pinning them down and making you whine with just how much you're craving him, hips rolling up for more without even thinking. His tongue slips right into your mouth, possessing it, as your thighs press on either side of narrow hips.

"You're already soaking me," he whispers, the window is blowing in more of that warm, sticky air, the water gently brushing the sandy bank in soft waves as he kisses lower and lower, tugging on your top to reveal a pretty breast. "Look at this art."

"Ah!" You're at a loss as his mouth sucks in a peak, his eyes so dilated they're black as he sucks hard, one hand pinning a wrist while the other brushes down your body, up a thigh. "You really don't feel good, shouldn't we wait-"

"I'm tired of waiting," he huffs, usually so goofy and silly, there's none of that right now, only pure thirst, kissing further as he tugs at your top. "Take it off, now."

You don't expect the commanding tone, you lean up just a bit, but it's him who damn near rips your top off, freeing your breasts that sway just a bit for his gaze. He's slipping your skirt up your hips, licking a trail down the center of your skin, whining out as he gets closer to your heat.

"You're so warm here," he kisses your waist, nipping along your ribcage, finally getting his burning hot lips on your inner thigh, making you moan, the sound just making him harder. He's rutting his thick, leaky cock against the couch now, dying to paint your body in pretty patterns of white.

He can't stand how pretty you are like this, the sweat dripping from your body, leaving you in a pretty sheen, your skin just glistening for him as he eyes your cunt in those panties. You're so wet they're literally pressed up and sucked against you firmly, so he can see the soaking wet outline of your lips.

"Look, so much for me to drink already," he laps at your panties, your hands go into his dark violet locks before you can even think about it, the sensation torturous. "Mmm, you're wet for me, just me, aren't you cutie?"

"Who else you - Raf oh my -" He's yanked your panties to the side, baring your cunt for his eyes to feast on, watching the arousal gush from your hole now. "You're..."

"Thirsty." He repeats, brows low over his eyes as he watches you right as he licks a stripe up your slit, making you scream out, hips jerking up. He pins them down with his big hands, pressing a hungry kiss on your hood, tip of his tongue lapping more of the juices flowing, making your eyes roll back.

"Sensitive there- mmm!" He's honing in on it, lifting your hood with those artist's fingers, exhaling as he spots your little clit, licking in a slow, torturous circle as he watches you wriggle and squirm, your hands yanking his hair even tighter. "Ah!"

Rafayel slips two fingers back in, you feel the callouses pressing right on your spot as he curls them up, lashes casting shadows on flushed cheeks as he laps you up while he's slotting them inside you. You're screaming out now, uncaring as it echoes and carries outside to the private beach, earning his mouth getting even hungrier as he feels how hot your cunt is inside.

"Raf-ngh! There, please, fuck..." You're past caring, yanking on his hair and lifting your hips up for more, earning his groan as his cock starts leaking pre against silky boxers, sticking as your arousal drowns his mouth. "M-gonna- ah!"

"Cum then, let me drink all of it," he leans his cheek on your thigh for a moment, staring right at you longingly, still curling the fingers that your cunt drools on. "It'll make me feel better, cutie."

"You're crazy, I swear," he pulls out his fingers right before you cum, leaving you shaking, breathless and on edge. "Back in, back in, please."

"Now you're so sweet, hmm, fuck you're so warm," he's buried his tongue inside you instead, and you're lifting your hips up for more, as his hands press into your hip bones, lifting you like it's nothing towards his face. "Use me, that's it just do whatever you want to me, I'll let you."

He's too much.

You're done now, his straight nose bumping your little clit as the lavender highlights of his hair brush against your sensitive inner thigh. You're lost in the sensations, in his slurping like he is in a desert drinking you as if you're the only source of water, tongue so long inside your walls when he drags you even closer, letting you tug his head closer.

"Suffocate me, that's it," he's whispering, muffled on your cunt as you feel the pressure built in your tummy, his hot mouth and fingers bringing you even further, until you shatter all over him. You scream out as you gush all over Rafayel's pretty face, but he's drinking it all up so hungrily, slurping and moaning sounds obscene. "Ngh..." you hear him whining right with you, sipping every bit of your juices up in his mouth.

"Oh my god I- ah!" You're shaking as the orgasm washes over you, and he leans up then, face coated in your slick, kissing you with your sweetness on his plush lips, you taste yourself, hands slipping down his hard body hungrily, finding his cock and watching his eyes flutter shut. "Let me make you feel good too-"

"Need to be inside you, now," he huffs, swatting away your hands when you try to touch him, leaning back so big over you, his white dress shirt hanging so you see all of the muscles of his chest. "Need to breed you."

"Need to what now?" You're so disoriented, you barely get a chance to process his naked body, his hot and heavy cock slapping against his flat belly button when he stands, you go to touch him again and he smacks at your hand, making you giggle for a moment.

His glare just gets you more excited, gasping as he picks you up with one arm like it's nothing, carrying you over to the bed now, he throws you down on it, drenched in sweat now, chest heaving up and down as he tugs off your skirt, leaving you bare to him.

"Part of me wants to cum all over every inch of your body," you go to touch his chest but he pins your wrists down again, hands burning your delicate wrists as your breaths come in quick pants, so ready to have him inside you. Though looking at his long, pretty cock you're not even sure how it'll fit. "The other part needs to fill you, now."

"What is going on with you today!? Are you sure you're okay for any of - ah!" He's let your wrists go just to press your thighs up, smushing them against your breasts and looking at you with hungry, dark eyes.

"Fill you up, have to," he's like in some insane trance - a heat - you gasp when he presses his tip in, moaning as you grip it, the pretty pink of him stuffed inside your slutty, eager hole, looking down at you and sighing. "Beautiful."

"Raf you're really big and- oh fuck," you're whining as he gives you inch by inch, so slowly, your hands gripping his fancy, expensive sheets, soft as you crumple them, eyes rolled back in your skill. "So big I..."

"You can take it, all of it for me, hmm? All my cum, have my babies," he's shoved his cock fully in, tip slamming your cervix, you struggle to maintain any sense as it fills you so full, so hot and pulsing as it fills you. He leans on your thighs now, looking down at you folded for him. "Look at me, now."

"Mmm..." you try to open your eyes, so full of him, his hair falling over his brow as he moves then, pumping you so full of his cock, hitting spots in your walls you don't even know exist.

"That's it, fill you up, can you take me, all of me?" His words are hungry and desperate, whines from the back of his throat while he moves, harder and harder, thrusting so deep and losing himself more and more in you, that sweat from his burning hot body dripping onto your skin as his hands press your thighs down. "Can you?"

You manage a little nod as he exhales, fucking into you harder, whining out as his leaky tip presses your cervix, bottoming out inside you. "Rafayel! It's too much, mnh!"

"You can take all of me, can't you?" He lets your legs fall to the side, leaning low over you, the heels of your feet settle into the muscles of his lower back, his hands gripping your face. "I need you," you nod weakly, cunt gushing as she tries to stretch to accommodate, he slows the pace, kissing you again, and your hands slip up his biceps, nails pressing in, making him hiss. "You have claws, hmm?"

"Maybe," you whisper, eyes locking, and he loses it at just how pretty you are, kissing you again as he lifts a thigh, steadily fucking into your cunt deeper and deeper, rolling his hips just so and making you cum all around him.

"All that wetness, all that heat, I need it," his voice is so deep now, husky as he feels your aftershocks, watching your face so fucked out, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back. "Need you to look at me."

"F-fuck..." you hear it, the neediness, cunt pulsing around his cock still, opening them just a bit and slipping a hand up to his face, he takes it with his own, so big compared to yours, sighing.

"You're so beautiful, I wanna put so many babies inside you," you barely register what the fuck he's on about, it all feels too fucking good. He's starting to thicken, leaning up and bracing himself with one arm, the other finding your clit again. "Cum again, need all of you."

You're blinded when you make a mess of him, of his fancy sheets, cunt gushing so much wetness it's ridiculous, all for his eager eyes that are so dilated you no longer see the purple of them. He smiles as he looks at it, pulling that thumb and sucking your juices off it, before slipping up to his knees, grabbing your hips.

"Ready to take it all?" He whispers, you manage a weak nod as he cries out then, his head falling forward as he thrusts so deep inside you, cock pushing ropes and ropes of white filling you.

"Oh my- mmmh!" You're trembling as he fills you, he leans over and rests his head on yours, crying out hoarsely.

"Perfect, so warm, so wet, god I'm never leaving," he's in some fucking insane trance again, but you can't complain, not when he's lapping that cum out of you in just a few moments, not when he's murmuring - "again"

"Again!?" you whisper, he flips you over, nodding as he's fully hard and ready once more, pumping you so full you feel him everywhere, you're gasping as he presses you down into that bed, prone over you.

"Need more," he keeps whispering, lost inside you, feeling you trembling underneath his artist's fingers, painting you with little bruises as his mouth leaves love bites. After that he's got you cleaning up in a bath, but he can't stop himself from having you ride him, cunt so sore you're whining.

"Raf, what is going on... is this normal!?" You whisper after he's hard again inside you, he's cum at least four times and he's twitching inside you gummy, slick walls as he pulls you closer, water splashing all over your bodies and softly undulating as he bucks his hips up. "Ah! Raf..."

"Need you again." He whispers, you're lost in every sensation, curious just what has happened to him.

In the morning however, he's bright eyed and grinning, he's bought every donut known to man, they all like stupidly fancy, and he's got you your favorite boba.

"What... was that last night?" You wince as you stand up with his help, dressed in just one of his fancy silk dress shirts. He brushes fingers across all the marks he left, wondering if you're still dripping his cum. You touch his forehead, finding it cool again. "So weird, you were burning."

"You fixed me right up." He's smirking all adorable and charming, pulling you close. "Ready to eat, cutie? I got your faves."

Rafayel is bratty and silly as usual, pouting when you steal his favorite flavor of donut and leave him none of it, but when you go to leave later he gets really pouty. "I've got to work you know."

"No, don't go, please." He tugs you against him when you try to walk out the door. "I'll pay you way more to hang out with me today."

"Rafayel..."

"You can use me again," he whispers in your ear, smiling when you turn around and glare. "However you want, just don't go."

"You don't have a fever anymore you're fine now," You look back and he slips his fingers down your body, you tremble as all the memories of the night hit you slowly, making you heat up. "Oh fine."

"Yay!" He's all cute until you're right back under him, and he's painting your pretty body with those white ropes of cum, murmuring - Mine - over and over.

okayyy I just started rly getting into Raf so I hope you all enjoyyy <3

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoblue-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #rafayel x reader #lads rafayel #lads smut #lnds rafayel #divider by omi resources #lnds smut #rafayel x reader smut #rafayel x fem reader #lads x reader #lads x you #lads fic #love and deepspace fanfiction #lads x y/n

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inkedells · 10 months ago

Text

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.”

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it.

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again.

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

#hugh jackman #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #hugh jackman x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #x men #old!logan x reader #old man logan #old man logan x reader

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juicykvnture · 1 month ago

Text

LOVEDRUG

Jason Todd x fem!Reader

tags: AFAB reader, established relationship, drug use, intox (dubcon), dirty talk, dumbification, nicknames (doll, baby) manhandling, spit, praise + degradation and not much plot I fear

a/n: IM NORMAL I SWEAR IM NORMAL! (i scream as they drag me away)

wc: 3.5k | masterlist

“That’s it?” Jason’s eyes narrow as he stares at you measuring out the sedative for your upcoming mission, his arms crossed over his chest watching as you crush it up. In true Jason Todd fashion, he always has to give you his two cents.

“Stay in your lane Jay, I know what I’m doing,” you roll your eyes, leaning over the counter to get your half-empty cup of tea, staring down into it and then back to the little heap of powder.

“That wouldn’t be enough to knock a fucking squirrel out.. let alone a grown man.”

He can’t afford this job going tits up, you need to knock tomorrow’s target out cold.

“What’s a half teaspoon gonna do? Make the bastard a little dizzy?”

“Only one way to find out,” you murmur under your breath, dumping a teaspoon of it into your tea, offering a noncommittal shrug to Jason’s utter dismay.

“Excuse me?”

“For science.” you clarify, tilting the cup in your hand to swirl the mixture around a little.

“Cheers,” you mumble before he can even stop you downing the mixture in one go with a grimace before he can reach over and pry the cup out of your hand.

You set it down, empty on the counter with a soft clink, rubbing a hand over your face.

This just has to take the cake for the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. He’s actually fucking astounded at your level of impulsiveness, disregard for your own health and downright stupidity.

He has a lot of very colourful adjectives he wants to call you right now - he could fill a whole dictionary without even trying.

“Is there something fundamentally fucking wrong with you?”

His eyes are wide, his usual lazy drawl now full of concern, confusion.

With the kind of bullshit you pull, you’re bound to send him to an early grave (again)

“What?” You blink, leaning back against the counter with a sigh.

“Worst case scenario I’ll pass out and you have to carry me to bed. I’ll live! You said it ain’t enough to even knock a squirrel out, right?”

That makes him sputter slightly, running a hand through his messy black hair. That’s unfair, you’re using his words against him.

“M’fine, Jason.” you’re trying to reassure him, stepping away from the counter with your hands raised as if in surrender.

But now that you think about it.. the room really is spinning.. just a little bit.

Okay, you aren’t fine.

Maybe don’t test out sedatives on yourself next time?

“Hey-” Jason caught you a little too easily when you face-planted into his chest, his arms tightening around your waist to keep you upright. He let out a low sigh, a mix of frustration and concern.

“You sure about that being fine?” He sighs, his voice a soft murmur as his eyes scan over you again. “You’re about as steady as a baby deer.”

That makes you giggle, your lips slowly curling upwards.

“..baby deers are cute.”

Seeing the grin on your face, despite your situation, was simultaneously endearing and frustrating.

“You’re implying I’m cute,” your words are starting your slur a little, less stable against him than you were moments ago.

Your grin and the flutter of your lashes cause his eyes to narrow slightly, a sense of dread starting to pool in his stomach. He knows that look, even through the haze of whatever you’re under.

He shakes his head, his hands moving down to your hips with a scowl, trying to keep you steady.

“Nope,” he muttered, his grip on you tightening. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, just—”

Before he could finish, your hand shot up and seized a weak fistful of his shirt, planting your face right into his neck with a dramatic sigh.

“Y’smell nice.”

Jason suppressed another eye roll as he felt your grin against his skin. You’re damn near delirious right now and this was what you chose to focus on?

The feeling of your teeth lightly scraping against his neck caught his attention, a flash of something crossing his eyes.

“Quit it,” he murmured, his fingers under your chin as he lifted your face to meet his gaze again. Your eyes were unfocused, clouded with the effects of the drug.

“M’not even doing anything!”

He doesn’t believe that for a second. It’s a miracle you haven’t tried to climb him yet.

You’re down bad enough for him when you’re in a normal state of mind, but loopy off of your ass? God help him.

“Sure you ain’t.” Jason huffs as he stares down at you, unable to hide the flicker of fondness that crosses his features.

You’re aimlessly mouthing at his neck now, mumbling on and on about how much you love him. He should probably throw you over his shoulder and put you to bed. You clearly need to lie down, you’re off of your head completely.

But he can’t bring himself to.

“You’re a mess,” he murmured, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern - maybe a tiny hint of amusement somewhere in there.

“Nuh-uh,”

Jason couldn’t help the exhale at the sight of you and your attempt at denying the truth. He’s chewing on the insides of his cheeks, trying to hold back the barest hint of a smirk.

Honestly? You do stupid shit all the time, if you feel sick or something.. maybe you’ll learn your lesson for once.

The little bit of drool at the corner of your lips, how you’re shaking a little, the way you’re already starting to look a bit too comfortable in his arms - it’s equal parts adorable and worrying.

But worst of all, it kinda turns him on.

“You really are a mess right now, though..” he leans you back against the counter, one hand staying on your waist to keep you steady. His other hand raised to touch your chin, thumb swiping away the drool at the corner of your mouth, lingering on your bottom lip for a little bit too long.

“Fuckin’ droolin’ all over yourself.”

“You’re mean..” You stare at him for what feels like an eternity in your compromised state, your lips twitching upward into a stupid, shaky grin, leaning further into his hand.

“I’m not mean. Look at you.” He sighs, resting his hand against your flushed cheek.

He feels almost guilty for a split second. He knows you should probably go and sleep this off.

“Try leaning on the counter, yeah?” He lets go of you for a moment, just to check how messed up you really are right now, his hands still hovering around your hips to catch you just in case.

“Right..” you slur under your breath, your knees a little shaky without Jason to hold you.

He tried to ignore the way his stomach coiled at your obedience, at the sight of you looking up at him with those half-lidded, cloudy eyes. You’re trying to prove to him that you’re totally fine - even when you know you’re far from it.

Jason leans closer so can examine your dazed expression, your pupils blown wide like saucers. The effect the drug was having on you even more pronounced now that you were so close. It was hard to ignore the raw desire that was pooling in his gut, the urge to fuck you right then and there.

God, he needs to rein himself in a little bit.

“You still think you’re just fine?” Jason’s mouth hovers over yours, hands finding your hips again, slotting his leg between your thighs.

You’re too out of it to tell if it’s out of concern or if he’s just downright mocking you at this point. All you can do is huff out a small laugh, lashes fluttering.

“M’doin’ great..” You blink slowly, pressed between his body and the cold marble counter, your fingers going to hook into the belt loops of his jeans, trying to grind yourself against his thigh a little harder.

That makes his pants feel tighter than they should, hand moving from your cheek to slide behind your neck, tilting your head around in his firm grip just to see if you’d stop him.

You don’t - you’re letting him just sway your head around with a slurred giggle.

“Dizzy, baby?”

“Uhuhh..” you manage, your head hitting his shoulder with a soft thump, a random giggle leaving you every few seconds until he gives your neck a small squeeze, making you look up at him again.

"Uhuh?" he echoes in a gruff mockery of your slurred words, his mouth a thin line. His hand pushed your skirt up, his fingers grazing over the edge of your panties.

He’s right in front of you but the sedative in your system makes it feel like he’s far away, his wobbly words echoing in your skull paired with the sound of your own heartbeat.

You feel him shift against you, pressing his hips against you firmly. You feel the heat and hardness of his bulge through your skirt hiked-up skirt, leaving no room for imagination as he presses his bulge against the wet patch in your underwear.

Another slurred giggle and your hands are fumbling with his belt, mouthing at his neck since you’re too dazed to tilt your head up and try to actually kiss his mouth.

"Easy there, doll," Jason murmurs as he grabs your wrist, though there was no mistaking the roughness in his voice now as you continued your barrage of messy kisses against his neck.

His fingers press into the soft skin of your thighs as he hoists you up - the action making you squeak slightly as he perches your ass atop the counter.

You seem to forget he’s fully capable of throwing you around sometimes. He makes sure to remind you every now and again.

“..not fair,” You writhe a little against him and he just chuckles at your squeak, his fingers grazing the fabric of your drenched panties. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the dampness staining the soft cotton.

"Not fair?" He taunted, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass for a moment. He pressed his crotch against you, grinding his denim-clad cock against your damp panties, your hips moving out of their own accord to try to press against him too.

What’s not fair is how you think it’s okay to tease him, shameless about it too.

“You’re making a mess of these,” he points out, his voice huskier than usual as he pulls the hem of your underwear taut, releasing it to let the elastic smack against your skin.

You’d normally scoff at that shit and try to get him back for messing with you.

But not right now, it makes your shaky knees fall open actually - teeth pressing into the plush of your bottom lip, drool at the corner of your mouth again.

He can tell you liked that.

Perhaps you’re too out of it to hide what you’re really thinking. You’re usually so composed.

“Slut.” Jason mumbles into your hair, voice deceptively soft.

“..huh?” you slur, managing to frame your head up slightly despite the fact it feels way heavier than it should, lips still in a dumb grin.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry bout it.” he sighs, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, pressing his fingers against your clothed pussy.

“Think you’re too dumb to understand right now, anyway.”

The fact you’re not even questioning what he’s saying, the fact you’re nodding along to everything he says just makes him want to push you a little further.

“M’not dumb..” you frown slightly, your face kinda falling into his hand before he catches your jaw once more.

“You will be.” He applies more pressure with his fingers, circling your clit through the thin fabric, still holding your neck up. You can feel his growing bulge pressing against your thigh, grinding against you hard.

“I mean, that shit you pulled was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?” He grits out, still acting like he’s mad that you got yourself into this state with those drugs.

He isn’t.. not really.

“Little slut like you tellin’ me to stay in my fuckin’ lane.”

“M’sorry..” you slur, barely able to remember why.

He watches your lips curl into an unsure pout, he’s not sure if you’re even able to tell what he’s talking about.

“Sorry, are you?”

Your eyes are getting a little droopy now, grinding yourself against his fingers before the hand that was holding your head smacks your jaw with a small “tsk,” under his breath, the action making you choke out an unintentional whimper.

“Sure you are.” Jason's eyes flickered with a mix of satisfaction and dark desire as he felt your legs spread obediently. His fingers slipped under your panties, his thick fingers wasting no time as they plunge deep into your slick cunt, watching with an almost feral grin as you cry out.

He isn’t even on anything, but he feels just as fucked up as you are right now.

"Jesus," he murmured, his voice rough. "You’re fucking dripping all over my fingers," his thumb soon found your clit, stroking it in quick, rough circles. He’s relentless.

You choke out a small whine and nod barely, his words bouncing from one ear to the other before sinking into your empty skull.

You’re just nodding along to everything that comes out of his mouth. He could say absolutely anything to you right now and you’d take it - with a giggly nod, nonetheless.

Jason's fingers easily pushed past your wet folds, sliding into your tight heat with an ease that left no question of how badly you wanted this.

You can't even form a proper thought, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensation.

He catches your jaw again before your face hits his shoulder, letting out a small “tsk,”

You’re not allowed to hide from him right now. No way in hell.

You whine under your breath as he pulls his hand out from under your panties, smirking to himself at how much of a mess you’ve made on his fingers.

Jason grins at your immediate pout, it’s like he’s mocking you silently, one hand still holding your face up, the other working to free his strained cock from the confines of his pants.

"You want this, doll?" He leans closer, lightly grinding his leaking top against your clit, his hooded eyes not leaving you for one second,

"You want me to fuck you dumber than you already are?"

“..yeah..” your eyes are glassy, your grin lopsided, hips stuttering to try and get him inside you already, you’re truly not in the state for his stupid teasing.

He’d normally take his time with you, but he can’t right now - entering you in one hard thrust, roughly pushing his thumb into your mouth at the same time.

Jason let out a groan as he felt your needy little pussy clenching around him, his thumb pressing down against your tongue - forcing you to meet his eyes since he knows you can’t even manage something as simple as that on your own.

He’s perfectly content to do all the work actually, he’s not gonna miss this opportunity for the whole fucking world.

"Fuuuck," he hissed, his head falling forward as he started to fill you up, almost going cross-eyed at how eager you are, even if you’re too dumbed down to realise it.

He’s borderline obsessed with how your thighs shake on either side of his hips, the fact he has to actually lift your legs to wrap them around his hips cause you’re just too fucked up to do it makes him almost cum on the spot.

“Jay-“ All you can do is whine around his thumb, drooling down his wrist, shiny in the dimly lit space.

You can’t think - you can’t tell left from right and you don’t even need to, your heels digging into his lower back when his large hand comes down in a firm slap against your ass - then another.

"You like being slapped around like a little bitch sometimes, don’t you?"

Each thrust is rougher, harder than the last, his mouth grazing against your neck as his hands explore your body. His grip on your hip is tight, his movements growing more urgent as the pleasure builds between you.

“Jasonnn..“ His name is the only thing that falls from your lips, a mix of plea and curse, moaned out in a desperate, mewling wail.

The sight of you looking up at him with that hazy, submissive expression made his hips jerk involuntarily, driving into you deeper.

Jason's hand moved down from your face, pulling his thumb from your mouth, finding your clit and started thumbing it in hard, rough circles.

"Look at that," he groaned, his movements growing rougher still, "cockdrunk and slurring your words. Is it the drug or did it always take this little to turn you into a needy slut?"

“..jus’ you-“ you manage to whine, your hips stuttering desperately against his.

“Just me, yeah?” Jason grins at your eager nod, his hold on your hip becoming almost painful. His pace quickened, his thrusts deep and hard, making you moan and writhe in his arms.

His strokes were deep and hard, each one punctuated by a sharp slap against your ass.

"You're just a little pain slut, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You love it when things get a bit rough, huh?"

“Jay-“ You whine and nod faintly, once more, and your forehead hits his shoulder. He’s having none of it, pulling at your hair so you look at him again.

The plea of his name makes him smile actually, almost feral as he pulls back before slamming his cock inside you again.

“You still know who’s fucking you then? Maybe there is something left in that skull of yours.”

“..my head hurts,” you’re panting, your thighs still trembling either side of his hips.

“Bet it does, need me to think for you, huh?” He’s almost cooing now, pressing his lips to yours to muffle your little whines.

All you can do is nod faintly, your mouth falling open against his. It’s like you’re trying to kiss him but just can’t seem to manage right now.

“You tryna kiss me, huh? Too dumb to even do that?” There’s that smile of his again, it’s kind of sinister - almost mocking as his thumb presses against your clit to watch your mouth fall open in a shaky plea.

He sees an opportunity and he takes it, his lips hovering over yours. But no, he makes no move to kiss you

“Huh-“ You don’t even realise what he’s at until you feel a glob of his spit land on your tongue, your back arching against him.

You swallow.

What’s worse is you can’t even hide the fact that you like it, not when he can feel your cunt squeezing him even tighter.

“Good girl,” his free hand moves to grab at your tits through your shirt his fingers digging into the soft flesh through the fabric as he finally kisses you.

"You're a mess, baby," he sneers against your lips, his words punctuated with each thrust of his hips, stretching you open on his leaking cock, rubbing at your clit even harder.

"Look at you, taking my dick so good, even when you can’t think, y’gonna cum for me doll?”

Trick question.

You’re not sure if it’s the spit or the way he’s talking or the way he’s slamming his hips but you know you’re going to cum, hard.

You’re barely able to verbalise it, your vision blacking out as you cling onto him, legs all shaky and twitchy when you feel him dripping down your leg, hiding your face in his neck with little sobs.

Your eyes flutter open upon regaining consciousness, the soft spray of the shower filling your ears, droplets clinging to your skin as large hands run up and down your back, working through the knots in your muscles.

“There’s my girl, look who’s back,” Jason murmurs into your neck, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

You offer a tired nod as you tilt your head back against him, one of his hands resting atop your hip to keep you steady - just in case.

You blink, the distinct smell of his body wash fills the small space between your bodies in the shower - clinging to your skin.

Well, that definitely isn’t your strawberry sundae shower foam, is it?

“I’m gonna smell like a man.” You yawn softly, your head falling forward a little, staring down at the soapy suds going down the drain.

Jason just huffs against the back of your neck, pressing a little kiss behind your ear.

“You were slurring on about how nice I smell earlier, shuddup.”

a/n: mama needs a cigarette after this one.. goodnight.

I could write the most bizarre fiction in the world but I try include at least a little bit of fluff/aftercare at the end in 90% of them because it’s EXTREMELY important - be kind to yourself 🤍

thank u for reading!!

Jason Todd m.list

#jason todd #dc x reader #dc comics #dc universe #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood #jason todd smut #batboys x reader #batfam x reader #jason todd drabble #Spotify

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grotesquevi · 1 month ago

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cw # 18+ mdni. deleted the question without knowing lmaooo, but this was requested by @orchidprincesss before my draft was answer privately (lol) this is purely self-indulging knight!vi & runaway!princess, fingering, dumbification, oral sex, the knee thing winkwink, mean!reader, longer than ellie's drabble i lied, wc: 3.5k.

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ music || 1k directory || previous || next part!

"i'm politely demanding you to untie me" the sound of your voice seems to travel around the cabin as vi's busy working in keeping the fire burning, ignoring you like she's been doing the whole day. "did you hear me knight? this is the princess who's talking. show some damn respect, i'm the next in line for the throne."

it's been like that the whole day. whining, throwing empty threats about how you're going to tell everything to your mother when vi's acting under her commands. surrounded by a snow storm, you're lucky she's capable enough to find shelter in the middle of nowhere, cause if it was for your poor choices, you both be dying in the hands of nature.

“is your future majesty hungry?" her tone is laced with sarcasm and it makes you even more annoyed as you curse under your breath once again for your poor lack of choices. you didn't think about it enough to be fair, when escaping the castle. should've brought more money, better clothes, anything that would help you run far away from your royal duties "speak now. cause i don't know if there's going to be enough food tomorrow."

“yes” you reply still annoyed as ever as she's keeping your hands tied in a rope behind your back "i am hungry. thank you for actually thinking once in your life."

patience. vi just needs to be patient. she's getting a medal. she's going to gain honor, a name on her own as she's the only knight who's able to bring you back to the castle, the personal envoy of the regent queen who's capable of taking you back to the place where you belong. you're precious cargo, so when she's giving you some pieces of dry meat, she's careful of tying your hands back together over your front this time, free enough to let you eat in peace but not enough to allow any sudden movements, still in control since you're very good at disappearing without leaving a trace.

"ridiculous." you say as you eat with disgust: meat's too dry it seems "this whole charade. this entire act of bravery. it's ridiculous."

there's at least two more days of traveling back to the castle with you tied up like a prisoner cause vi´s too afraid of having you running the opposite direction anytime (you already did). forty-eight hours until she gains a decent reputation, a name that's good enough to make her sister proud: violet's not letting, under any circumstance ruin this for her. take all of her hard work just because you're throwing a tantrum.

"i'll say it to you again since you don't seem to understand, princess: you majesty gave me the permission to act in my rational behalf" she has dealt with this behavior before as she happens to have a sister, and jinx can also be a pain in the ass similar to your dashing personality — "i tried to do it your way before and you tried to poison me with belladonna. i'm not letting you out of my sight."

"did you saw the snowstorm outside?" you're planning to kill her with the rope around your wrists. how quickly you can wrap it around her neck until she's no longer breathing. it would take a big fight, but you're 60% sure you can take her, gain your desired freedom "do you really think i'm running away when there's no place to go?"

vi's good at ignoring you. so good it makes your skull tickle with anger, mouth dry when both of you eat in silence. stolen glances as you're too proud to keep talking to her, try to change the knight's mind when she's clearly too driven to her own ideas. she's been loyal to the family for how many years now? of course she's stubborn.

so when the night comes in and the mantle of dark blue covers the sky, there's no stars to guide you back to your stolen future, the bright freedom as the cold sweeps under your clothes and makes you shake unexpected. ends up making your plans dissolve as fast as they appeared in your mind when the knight's already sleeping under a thick blanket she found out while lurking around, and you, on the other hand, experience the sharp cold.

you're not asking for help. you refuse. refuse to ask for anything even when you'll die as your limbs begin to hurt in the first thirty minutes, swollen skin, you can barely move your hands as they seemed to be a victim of the frostbite.

and to be transparent with the whole truth, violet's been a knight since she has memory and she knows also when to expect bad behavior. what she doesn't expect instead is the clicking sound that wakes her up in the middle of the night, the chattering of your teeth when you're hugging yourself close to the fire and the knight is hit with a sharp stab of regret — she was going to give you the blanket before falling asleep.

"princess?" vi's voice irrupts in the silence, the tranquility while the fire's almost consuming. makes her jump out the bed cause you don't really move a muscle, the subtle shaking in your body barely visible due to the lack of lights in the cabin. "princess are you okay?" dumb question. holy fuck. she won't be getting any medal if you're not alive by the time she gets you back to the castle.

so vi's quick to reach you, long steps and calculated movements she's like a force of nature when she's standing in front of you, hand reaching down to swipe beneath the scarf you're wearing in nothing but a white linen shirt that covers right over the knight tights, and seems translucent at the pale illumination of the snow reflecting inside the cabin.

"i don't need your help. f-fuck off" the sudden touch makes you flinch. vi's warm and in contrast to the ice cold of your surroundings, it almost hurt for a moment at the direct contact against your skin. "turn the fire back on."

that's not a language for a princess. not a tongue worth of royalty, but vi's too worried about your state to even say something when her hand pushes against your pulse point and she can feel the subtle beatings of your heart as you try to push her away, prideful as ever.

so it comes to her choices, as the queen said. vi acts under her rational behalf, so that would explain why she's picking you from the cold floor you're seated in, untying your hands as your wrists are already sore: when the chimney has burnt out and you have no other choice than to cling to her embrace, take any kind of warmth you can receive as vi's carrying you back to bed, covering you with the blankets up to your neck.

rationality dictates her decisions, the knight's a loyal dog cause vi finds herself thinking in quick ways of making you gain a normal body temperature again, sliding against your side even when she's reluctant to any contact at first.

"what are you doing?" little shit. you can barely speak as you're stuttering on each word, shaking as she's getting closer to you "knight."

"my name's vi, not just knight" how can you be so annoying even when she's trying to save your life? good fuck. "i'm trying to help you make it through the damn night. now shut up and think about warm things."

vi. the name repeats itself multiple times as you can feel her hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as you can experience the temperature of her breathing right over your neck, barely a blow of air that makes you shiver. she smells like ashes, like sweat after all those days without a proper bath and it has all the ingredients to make you grossed out, but instead of that, you find yourself defining it as comforting, as nice even if you’re asked.

ten minutes turn twenty, thirty as you're unable to surpass the cold, until vi’s suddenly moving away and you look at her from over your shoulder only to have your eyes widening in awe: why, the fuck, is she peeling the layers of her body away?

you turn back to the extinguished fire in the chimney, the pieces of wood consumed by the fire at the sight of naked skin, trying to give the knight any kind of privacy even when she’s the one that’s tossing her shirt to the side only to come back again to hug you.

“what are you doing-” is it the only thing you can ask? forever weirded out by her actions? a torment when vi’s hand begins to undress you without a single word of warning—. “can you answer me? what are you doing? i think you’re misreading this. sorry to say i'm not-”

your tone makes vi stop in her tracks for a second, her brows furrowed as she stares at you for a dead minute: are you nervous by any chance? despite the logic of her actions, her desire to keep you alive, are you nervous since she’s exposed right next to you? man. she realizes now that her lack of shame, is the result of always being exposed to the human eye, to the rest of her fellow knights.

“tell me princess, have your fancy teachers ever told you about skin-to-skin temperature?” she makes you feel dumb for a second as you keep you chin up in response — “you’re freezing even when i’m all over you, and i value my life as i don't want myself hanged. am i really the one who’s misreading things here?”

“of course i know what it is. i’m surprised you know about skin-to-skin contact.”

it makes you stay silent as vi keeps undressing you, pretending you understand the logic of her actions as she's leaving your cold clothes outside the bed until you need to hold your breath in, suddenly forgetting how to do something easy as breathe, when you’re naked under a thick duvet of what if must be animal fur, and you're experiencing the warmth of the knight hugging you again, pressing herself against your back and holding you close to her chest.

oh fuck.

it’s insane. the ultimate act of madness when vi’s once again leaning against your neck, pressing her chin right over your naked shoulder, just checking on your body heat according to herself. however, makes her worry when she's getting distracted by the smell of your skin right under her nostrils, how you’re able to smell like a field of recently blossomed flowers even when your gown’s messed up, when your hair is tangled in dirt and you’re covered in the sweat of now exposed to extreme temperatures.

“i’m sorry. for leaving you without anything that offered some sort of cover” vi’s heart’s beating again when she’s able to feel yours against her hands, when her fingertips cant help but caress the skin of your waist in invisible circles, covered in tenderness. “are you better now?”

“i'm okay” you say getting over the shame and finding truth in her words, leaning against her touch as vi’s skin is warmer than usual, makes you feel normal again, cozy. “my mother will still find out about how you almost left me to die, vi.”

"you're so spoiled" there’s no venom in her words more than just teasing. you’re saying her name and its strange how it gets so quickly under her skin, how she can see the way your teeth catch your lower lip when you pronounce the letter v “even when i’m helping you, you find ways of being a disrespectful brat.”

you’d say something. maybe tease her like you've been doing the whole day — but your ass is pressed against her front, her breathing hovers right over your skin, and you're enjoying the relaxed touch of vi's fingers when they go right over your stomach, roaming around like you've always been there to touch, to fit right against her arms.

"i'm not going to say anything" she has the perfect view of your neck, the back profile of your face, the shadows you project against the improvised bed she made up earlier: she's trying so hard not to think about your ass. "i'm just messing with you."

you turn your head to look at her even in the dark and vi's tummy hurt at the need that settles on the lower part of her stomach, the way your eyes glisten under the minimum light that slides inside, silent like a thief thats coming to steal your most prized belongings.

"before, you said i was going to poison you with belladonna" she don't care now before her gaze slipped to see the curve of your chest, the amount of exposed skin already driving the knight crazy as vi can see the curve and the stiffed peak of your breast as the duvet slips off against your sudden movement, the erotic shadow of your figure — "you're mistaking it with wolfsbane. you'd be hallucinating for a while. it was a very small dose."

"so you weren't intending to kill me?" she asks, and it's inevitable at this point, when the knight's lips brush against your back and the tip of her nose grazes against your shoulder, no turning back when vi's pressing a soft kiss right in the zone "is that what you're trying to say?"

"no intentions of killing. nope."

she's kissing the same spot again and it does things to you. makes your body respond to the tingles left in your skin at the contact of her lips, and at the lack of denial, vi keeps going when your breathing turns heavier, when she's making sure you want it too.

"tell me to stop your majesty."

the knight's brain turns into a pile of mush when you're pushing your ass back against her and your back arches almost asking vi to keep going, keep the eager caressing in your stomach now right beneath your breasts.

"i can't tell you that."

"then tell me about how i'm a hound dog destined to only serve and gain nothing more than the pride of the crown" she begs, hands tightening against your side — "how this isn't right for a princess as yourself."

"i don't care about the crown," the words slip like a secret, like an admission you need to make and it stays in the air for a while. "if you wish to serve, vi, serve me."

violet vanderson's the most loyal knight. she has served the royals with blood, sweat and actual tears, bent the knee to your father before he died, to your mother as the regent queen, and with you in a much different context as she's placing her bended knee right between your legs; makes you gasp for a moment as you can feel the warmth of her thigh pressing against your sensitive flesh.

"you're wet," vi mumbles against your ear, and how she's positioned — right behind you, it gives her the perfect path to let her hand previously caressing your skin, slide between your legs and reach its way to heaven, a couple of digits spreading your folds in the most intimate touch. "this turns you on?"

she can feel you nodding your head, admitting over and over again: yes it does. it fucking does. turns you on more than anything you've experienced before when she's touching you like she wants to know you, like she needs to discover what exactly gets you there, where to touch.

how a knight can begin to touch a princess in the way she deserves? she lacks of delicacy, vi's movements are rough, messy and erratic, incapable of keeping a pace as her calloused hands roam against your sex, staining the palm of her hand with what it could be visible arousal if having just a slight more light.

"you were so eager to talk back before, what happened to you" lost, vi's tone wanders in an empty head only to leave your right ear as fast as it enters. "tell me about how i'm misreading this again, how you're not soaked because some skin-to-skin contact to save your life."

mhm. you're breathing a soft affirmation, a humming sound that comes from your chest, an exhalation from your lungs as they seem to hold too much air inside. her free hand forces you to move against her leg using the right amount of pressure to create that delicious circle your hips make, and your cunt opens perfectly for her, parts right in the middle to feel the drag of your folds against her skin, the wet trail it leaves behind making the surface of vi's leg lubricated enough to just slide, to let your knight have the most comfortable reach to your clit who she's doesn't spend much time looking for, to rub at the most sloppy pace.

"please-"

"please what?" the words seem to get lost mid-way, trapped in your throat as her index finger reaches your entrance, and vi's teasing it without fully sinking in, testing for a moment as she keeps trying to hold on to this rationality that lingers in the back of her brain. struggling when your hole loosens up for her digits and she's wondering for at least then seconds, how correct is to fuck a princess using her fingers, how she should be pushing the very tip inside to just tease how tight you are, how good you'd felt enveloping her fingers; sucking them inside until they hit that space you'll learn to love.

"please just- i need to feel you closer, be full of you."

“yeah? do you want me to use my fingers?”

"yes-" you're so good like this. you forget about the attitude, let your guard down only to let her have you in plain devotion, in a need that makes the knight's hands act on their own. "need you to treat me like i've always been yours."

and vi's kissing you this time cause she needs to feel the gained warmth of your breathing against her lips, your moans muffling against her bucal fat as her tongue pushes right against yours in a messy kiss, one full of shared saliva, teeth and slurred words of praise.

her fingers push slowly at first, you're tight, warm, inviting, swallow her fingers ready for her until vi's knuckles deep and she's biting on your neck to keep her own moans in check.

fails miserably when you're failing miserably too. when you're loud as she's using a couple of finger to scissor them inside your sex, spreading you for what vi would love to be her strap, making room as she rubs against your walls, making you drip down your legs, making an entire new mess.

"keep rubbing your pussy against my leg m'lady" vi encourages you, voice rough, you're entirely sure she's enjoying this as much as you do. "i'm yours to use."

and at this point you can barely move, following the force of vi's hands pushing you back and forth until you're welcomed by the heat, the fire that comes from inside and spreads all over your chest when you're finally spasming over her hand and it's the final cue to your orgasm pouring over like warm water after a long day.

she's kissing on your back again, following the bones of your spine, burying her nose in your hair, keep you as humanly close when your muscles tense and you're leaking all over her leg.

"there you go," vi smiles against your skin when you're stopping on your clumsy movements, when your skin's now burning against hers and you need to uncover yourself from the duvet — "you okay, sweetheart?"

it's actually rewarding when you're giving a big breath before sinking down the blanket, positioning between her parted legs.

"can you hold my hair?" you ask, looking up to the knight as she's holding the cover up to see what exactly your doing when you're teasing her entrance with a couple of fingers seconds before spitting right over her swollen cunt.

she's dizzy already, lost in a haze of a contact that makes her shiver. it's not really necessary cause vi's already dripping, but it makes her skin violently shiver when the saliva's following a path back to her ass, sticking to the shape of her cunt already glistening from before.

"i'm giving you a medal" you reply, spreading her for your pleasure and gaining a suffocated moan — "an special one you cannot get with the rest of my family."

it makes her shut up when her hands grab a fistful of your hair in her hand, as vi can feel the movements of your head when you're going down on her and oh—

she's not tying your hands against your back the next morning.

no. in the next forty-eight hours vi keeps you trapped between her arms, in the same horse as her, riding your way back to the castle and being a victim of her neck kisses, her touchy hands as you comply pleased to her every need.

turns out what the runaway princess needed was being followed around by her most loyal knight — maybe you're ready to the throne. you can clearly use some power to your benefit.

1K notes · View notes

reidrum · 3 months ago

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purple lace bra

A/N: wish y'all could see the explosion that happened when i was listening to purple lace bra for the thousandth time and then saw that tattoo pic on twt. anyways. based on this post. p.s. do we like the new fic color layout pls say yes

summary: in which spencer knows better than to let you go home with a loser, which has nothing to do with his recent discovery of your tattoo. obviously.

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), enemies to lovers, brat tamer!spencer heheh

wc: 3.5k

The condensation dripping down his glass does nothing to quell the white hot emotion rising within Spencer. The death grip he has on it is about a few minutes away from bursting and shattering everywhere if he doesn’t find a way to calm himself down. That’s not in the cards for him however, not for as long as he keeps watching you across the bar talking to Ryan from cyber crimes.

He’s not supposed to feel this way about you. He’s not supposed to feel any way about you. The majority of your time together as coworkers is spent at each other’s necks with no room for logic, only malice.

But he sits at a table in O’Keefes, awkwardly hanging off the edge of the seat listening to Derek and Emily talk about god knows what.

You look very interested in your conversation from what Spencer can tell, your body language certainly shows it. You’re leaning in just a bit too close for comfort into Ryan, laughing loudly—and fakely—at Ryan’s dumb jokes. You don’t move away when Ryan lays a hand on your waist, tilting your head up so it’s a few inches from his.

“Reid,” Derek nudges him, “You’re going to break the glass, man.”

Spencer looks down at his white knuckled grip and instantly loosens up, intently watching the blood return to his hand. Derek’s smug smile doesn’t falter, “Got something on your mind, pretty boy?”

Emily follows his gaze across the bar to where you stand with Ryan and chuckles, “Or someone?”

He immediately looks back at the table, “No. Nothing.”

“Very convincing, but it might be less effort to just you know. Get up and go talk to her.” Emily teases.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” she winks at him, “but in case a small part of you does know what I’m talking about, I’d say you have about five minutes before she goes home with him.”

He attempts to shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t care.”

Derek and Emily share a knowing look and return to their previous conversation, deciding to let the boy genius stew in his stubbornness. Spencer slowly brings his gaze back to you, except he doesn’t find you uncomfortablely close to Ryan anymore. No, where he finds you is arguably much worse for him.

You’d decided your drink needed a refresher he assumes—why Ryan couldn’t be bothered to get you another drink he’ll never understand—but Spencer lets his eyes trail the expanse of the bar top to find you waiting to flag the bartender down. You’re leaned against the counter, bent slightly at the waist and hips jutting outwards. A compromising but seemingly normal position, however Spencer’s eyes catch something from the raise of your top exposing your lower back. His throat all but nearly dries once he registers what it is.

Raised ink on the swell of your lower back, a tattoo.

Lucky you.

It takes all the restraint in him to not get up abruptly and walk over to you, that is not what he wants. That is not how he’s thinking about you—he doesn’t think about you like that. He’ll settle in his own lie and deny that for all his days, but his resolve grows smaller each second he finds Ryan eyeing the same discovery he’s made.

Ryan isn’t even your type, not that he knows or even cares what your type is, he knows it at least isn’t that man. You like to be challenged, to be tested. Spencer doesn’t even need to be within earshot to know that Ryan is playing the perfect ‘yes man’ listener to you in hopes you’ll go home with him.

Spencer is fairly confident you won’t, but your body language hasn’t changed and you lean in much closer to him after your refill.

The breaking point is when he watches Ryan place his hand on your lower back—over Spencer’s treasured discovery—as he begins to guide you towards the exit.

That’s all it took for him.

Spencer doesn’t think when he bolts out of his chair and speeds over to you, barely registering the “Atta boy.” from Derek as he gets farther from their table towards you.

Your eyes widen as Spencer all but crashes into you, “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” he tries to regain his balance, “Fine yeah, um. Sorry, but we just got called in.”

“For a case?—” you question.

“I thought you guys were off. We were just about to head out.” Ryan interjects. Ugh.

“Contrary to popular belief, serial killers actually don’t abide by a schedule Ryan. So if you don’t mind, we’ll just be heading out on our own.”

“But—“

You eye Spencer for a second, trying to figure out the angle he’s playing. Emily and Derek haven’t moved from their seats yet the empty glasses around them grow by the minute. Not to mention you would have gotten a text from Hotch or JJ if there was a case, and your phone hasn’t so much as buzzed in the last hour.

But then you really look at Spencer, and you take note of his clenched fists, the slight heavy breathing. The vein on his neck popping out with pulsations. He’s mad, you conclude. About what, you’re not too sure.

You pull out your phone and fake react to the blank screen, “Oh gosh, thanks for telling me I almost didn’t see this. Maybe next time, Ryan?”

Spencer smirks to himself as Ryan grumbles something incoherently and maybe offensive to the BAU before sulking away while you let out a soft giggle.

“So…I take it there is no case.”

At this point Spencer realizes the consequences of his rash actions, and has no idea how to explain to you why he warded this man off of you like he was an omen of evil.

He clears his throat, “Um, no. No case, sorry you just looked like you needed help.”

You cross your arms, “I find it hard to believe you wanted to help me with something.”

Spencer narrows his eyes, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you never want anything good for me unless there’s something in it for you.”

Caught red handed. “There’s nothing in it for me, I think you’re overreacting.”

“And I think you’re displacing your emotions,” you step closer, your voice dropping an octave, “I could feel you staring at me, you know. When I was at the bar.”

He gulps, “I—I wasn’t…”

You step closer so you’re nearly chest to chest, “So I’m going to ask you again. Tell me what it is you want.”

You’re so close to him he can still smell the spritzer on your lips, the maraschino cherry you ate with it coloring them an inviting hue that Spencer isn’t sure he can hold off not tasting for any longer.

For the second time tonight, his actions move faster than his brain as you’re suddenly being dragged through the crowd and towards the back of the bar. You think you’re headed for the storage closet but he makes a bee line for the bathroom next to it at the w minute, which is thankfully unlocked.

He tugs you inside and shuts the door behind you before pressing you against the back of it, “I know what you’re doing.”

Your confused face morphs into one of knowing, “And what am I doing, Spencer?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Play dumb? I know you don’t think so highly of me,” he presses your hips against the door harder in anger, “If you want something from me, all you have to do is ask.”

“There isn’t anything from you that I could possibly want.”

Oh, he wants you to push his buttons. “Yeah? That’s why you dragged me into the bathroom after lying to Ryan so I wouldn’t go home with him?”

“You wouldn’t have liked it, I know you.”

You grin wickedly, “Oh, you know me? Should I…thank you? For you know, saving me from a treacherous night with Ryan?”

“I don’t care what you do—“

Your hands drag down to the buckle of his belt, the light pressure feeling a million times heavier as Spencer’s breath hitches at the contact.

“You don’t?” you pout, ghosting over the outline of his bulge.

His body stills entirely as you continue to undo the belt loop, agonizingly sliding it out and running your hands down the sides of his hips. Spencer isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t think about you like this, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what it would be like to have you writhing beneath him, hearing you scream his name in ecstasy. The different ways he would fuck the attitude out of you whenever you defied him, how he would shut your little mouth up whenever it ran just a little too much.

Spencer’s eyes darken as realizes the opportunity in front of him, soon to be below him. He gulps, “Y—You know what I want.”

You coo, tracing your lips up hips neck to the crest of his ear, “Oh but Spencer, I thought I was dumb. You might have to spell it out for little ole me.”

Christ help him. “On your knees.”

You giggle and sink to your knees, running your hands up his sides to his belt buckle and pants button to undo them. You peel the fabric of his pants back to expose his boxers, nearly salivating at the wet patch forming in the middle. You slip a hand inside and gently palm him through the fabric, he inhales sharply and grasps the sink counter in front of him for balance.

You finally put him out of his misery and take him out of his boxers, your pout returning again seeing how angry and red his tip is. “Spencer, this looks painful. Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn I could’ve helped you out earlier.”

“If you weren’t always fucking talking nonsense at work, maybe I would’ve.”

“Now,” you tsk, wrapping your fingers around him and gently giving him a single stroke, “that’s no way to talk to someone about to give you head.”

He all but whimpers, “F—Fuck, please can you just…”

“Ask me nicely.” you look up at him doe eyed, lazily stroking him.

You’re going to be the death of him, and it’s starting to look like the most promising way to go out.

“Will you please—shit—please can you just, suck me off?”

You don’t respond but simply lean in close to his base to lick a stripe to the top, swirling your tongue around his tip before you hollow your cheeks out and lower your mouth on him.

“Oh fuck,” he whines, his hand moving to grab your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you take him whole. He can feel himself hit the back of your throat as you gag in response, another guttural moan leaving him.

You continue to bob your head up and down on his length as you feel his hand on your head subconsciously begin to guide your movements on his own.

“Why are you so good at this,” he moans, “It’s because you never shut up, huh? All you do is run your mouth and there’s no one to keep you in check.”

You hum pathetically around him, sending vibrations through his body. He almost misses the hand you’ve snaked between your legs to touch yourself, “Look at you, just couldn’t help yourself? If i’d known this was all it would take to keep you quiet I would’ve had you on your knees for me ages ago.”

He can feel your throat distend in response to his crude words, and like a man depraved he instinctively bucks his hips into your mouth. In any other instance he would feel bad, he should feel bad. But he finds that feeling hard to come by as your eyes water to the tear line and you just look so pretty stuffed in the mouth full of him. Spencer has never heard you be so quiet whilst in the same room as him, and he’s becoming very fond of the new method he just discovered to keep you subdued.

Spencer’s thrusts into your mouth become erratic and sloppy, and you can tell he’s getting close. In no world did you think sucking Spencer Reid off would be this enjoyable, and yet you’re already mourning the moment he pulls out of your mouth. You pull back slightly to be able to speak, “Want you to cum in my mouth, please.”

That’s all Spencer needed to thrust a final time into your mouth and spill himself all down your throat. He’s in awe as he watches you take it whole, making sure you don’t miss a single drop and milk out every last bit from him. You pull him out with a grand sigh, your head leaning back about to hit the bottom edge of the sink counter before Spencer releases the makeshift ponytail he has on you to use his hand to pad the impact.

“You okay?” he pants.

You nod, “Yeah, you?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Come here.”

He helps you up from the floor and doesn’t give you time to adjust before he pounces on you, attacking your lips as he holds your body as impossibly close to him as he can. “Didn’t take you for someone who swallows.” he mutters in between kisses.

“Clearly there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Spencer chuckles, his hands beginning to wander again, “I’ll say.”

His fingers brush over the letters on your lower back, you let out a sharp gasp and pull back as he continues to press kisses down your neck, “How did you know—“

“I can’t believe I didn’t know you had a tattoo here. All this time I’m forced to spend with you, you think I’d notice at some point.” he mumbles.

“Well I don’t exactly show it off.”

“Shame, I think I’d be willing to hear you out a lot more if you did.”

“That so?” you tease, “Is that why you were staring daggers at me at the bar?”

“No, I was wondering why you would get a tattoo there of all places,” he whispers, “then I realized.”

“Why?”

“You want to be bent over and fucked like a whore, don’t you?”

You’re near speechless, “I—I…that’s not—“

He turns your body around with a force and bends you over the sink counter, a smirk forming as it reminds him of how you were positioned at the bar. His hands shrug down your jeans and panties, “Don’t ask for things you can’t handle, princess.”

You look at him through the mirror, “I can handle it.”

Spencer puts his hips out to meet the back of yours, his length imprinting between your ass, “I’m sure you can, baby.” He pushes the edge of your top further up to expose the ink on your lower back, thumbing the letters once again as they glare back at him tauntingly.

Lucky you.

He chuckles to himself before angling at your entrance, “Lucky me.”

The feel of him filling you up causes you both to moan in tandem, you hadn’t expected Spencer to be reaching places you didn’t even know existed.

Your forearms brace you against the sink counter as you try to hold yourself up, with every inch he enters you rendering you more and more defenseless.

Spencer lets out a shaky whimper once he bottoms out, “Fu—uck, you’re so tight.”

“Sorry, it’s um. It’s been a minute.” you breathe out.

“That’s okay, baby. Tell me when you’re ready.”

You squeeze around him subconsciously at his tenderness as he lets out a strangled groan. “I—I’m okay, you can move.”

He meets your eyes in the mirror, “You sure?”

“Please move. Now.” you plead.

Spencer drags his hips back slowly before reentering you at the same pace, soft moans spilling out of you the entire way. Once he feels the resistance inside you fall he picks up his pace and starts thrusting into you like a man determined.

Your hips begin to meet his thrusts back on his hips as he continues to hit deep within you, “Spence…” you babble, “feels so good.”

“Yeah? You think Ryan could make you feel like this?”

You moan languishly, unable to form words as his pace picks up even faster.

He jams his hips into you and stops, “I asked you a question.”

“Fuck, please don’t stop.” you whine.

“Then tell me, could Ryan make you feel like this?” he slowly begins to move his hips again.

“N—No, no he can’t.”

His thrusts become harder and faster, “Who’s making you feel like this, baby?”

“You! You Spencer please, I’m going to cum I—“

He ruts into you even faster, his hand threading around to touch your clit, “Say it again.”

“Only you can make me feel this good, Spence, no one else.” you murmur, “Please.”

Spencer would say that was satisfactory. “Cum.”

Your orgasm hits you like a wave crashing down, hard and moving everywhere into every crevice it can find. Your nerve endings are on fire as he continues to fuck you through your high, endless moans and babbles pouring out of you.

Spencer reaches his high not long after, the incessant clenching around him being his breaking point. He groans loudly as he spills himself into you for the second time this night, making sure he’s fucked every last drop inside of you. His pace finally falters and slows down, gently pulling himself out of you. He grabs tissues from the dispenser nearby and delicately cleans you up.

“Shit, that was—” you say as you try to catch your breath.

“Yeah. That was.” he helps you up from the sink counter, kneeling down to help you put your pants and panties back on securely. He stands up to his full height and holds your face square in his hands, holding you to press a firm kiss against your lips that quickly turns into kisses all over your face.

You giggle, “What, you’re all nice to me now because I let you hit?”

He groans again, “Don’t say it like that, it makes me sound like an ass.”

“You kind of were. An ass, that is.” you joke.

“For a reason that you probably are aware of now.” he jests back.

You pretend to look deep in thought, “I don’t know, I think I might need more convincing.”

“That can be arranged,” he leans in to kiss you soundly again when the sound of both your phones ringing startles you. He pulls his phone out, “Oh my god, we actually have a case.”

“You jinxed it!” you laugh, “Guess we really have to go now.”

Now Spencer looks deep in thought as he turns his phone on do not disturb before taking your phone and doing the same thing, sliding them to the end of the sink counter, “Well, I don’t think they’ll miss us for another ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? Ambitious.”

“What can I say, I love a challenge.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

2K notes · View notes

patrophthia · 2 years ago

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mini skirt | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 3.5k

genre: smut (minors DNI), fluff, best friends to lovers, meddling blaise zabini just coz, they’re in love 🤢🤢, self indulgent im so sorry for the person i am

smut tags: dry humping, coming untouched, (very little) oral sex, come eating, unprotected sex (don’t do this!!), fingering, size kink, breeding kink, bulge kink, cream pie, so much dirty talk oml, big dick theo 😞, reader being shorter than theo, reader wearing a mini skirt, lots of cussing

summary: blaise zabini’s idea of how to play matchmaker might be different from the traditional way of doing it but at least you ended up getting dicked down, so you guess his method works too.

Blaise Zabini's idea of playing match maker is whispering to you —in a not so quiet way, that he'd heard 'Nott's got a big dick' and though you swatted him away. Face disgruntled, mumbling about how you did not want to know about your best friend's private parts. You're terrible enough of a person for your eyes to drop to his crotch when he sat down on the couch opposing yours.

There's a call of your name, once, twice. Before Theodore leaned forward, his voice loud enough for your eyes to tear itself from his thighs to his eyes. You gulped, hoping —hoping that he thought you'd blanked out and just happened to be staring at a very unfortunate spot. "Hmm?"

Theodore's held onto your gaze, lazying back onto his coach. "You okay? I asked if you wanted to head back up but you didn't answer."

"Head back up?" You repeated. "Head where?"

He eyes you suspiciously. "To your dorm?" Theodore gets up from his seat and leans down to crouch beneath you, staring up at you. "Or mine?"

You blink. Mind running in all kind of ideas —save for the ones you knew he meant when he asked you this question. You shift slightly in your side, scanning the Slytherin's common room as the party rage on; it's nothing too big, a get together between all seventh year supplied with alcohol —that Draco definitely did not buy just to impress the golden boy, not at all.

"I'm pretty sure I saw Draco take Harry up to your dorm, and neither of them look like they're exhibitionists." You say off handedly, looking down at him. "Besides, I'm actually enjoying myself here."

And to prove yourself, you get up from your seat; pulling your mini skirt low enough to cover your ass. Theodore, despite having every chance to peer underneath it, remains respectful as he plays with the hem of your skirt. "You are?"

"You aren't?" You ask back, trying not to squirm from the way his finger brushes against your thigh. Salazar this was your best friend for shit's sake, knowing that he could hypothetically have a big dick should not turn you on as much as it was.

Theodore shakes his head, slowly, almost as if he was in a haze as he quietly tells you. "Not really."

"Let's head up then," you tell him, and though both of your voices are low —barely even audible considering how loud Mattheo decided to play his music. Theodore was able to understand you perfectly, picking himself up as he used your waist as his guide. "Come on."

His pinkie finger catches onto yours as he gets onto his feet, him towering over you the slightest bit. And though, Theodore and you leaving a party early to turn in for the night was a sight your friends were used to by now —knowing that nothing ever did came out of leaving the two of you alone to your own devices. Something about how Theodore was looking at you makes them think that that might just change tonight.

But, they regress and bid the two of you goodnight with a few sporting playful frowns on how you never stay with them until the party actually ends.

You only smile, leading Theodore up the stairs to your dorm like every other night. Once in the comfort of your room, you sit yourself down on your bed, patting the spot for besides you for Theodore to take. He did as told, melting into your touch as you brush his hair back. "How much did you drink?"

His eyes are shut, face leaning into the palm of your hand as his own grips onto your skirt, tugging you closer to him. "Just those two shots we took when we first went down."

You hum, letting him pull you to him. "Did you smoke?" Theodore shakes his head slightly, before opening his eyes back up at you. You laugh lightly. "Then what's up with you tonight? I'm always the one dragging us back."

"Just tired, I guess." He murmurs.

"You guess?" You ask him, standing up —letting his hands fall where it'd been trailing up your skirt back to his lap, lingering slightly on what sits above it. "When are you ever not tired?"

Theodore laughs at your words, eyes crinkling as he did so. "When I watch you play quidditch," he says, pushing himself up to press his back against the head of your bed. Watching as you shuffle towards your wardrobe, picking out a pair of sweats along with two shirts he'd left at your room. "Or when you're drunk out of your mind and I'd to have to play pretend as your boyfriend and take care of you."

You snort at his words, picking out a pair of shorts for yourself. "You don't have to pretend to be my boyfriend to take care of me."

"Mhmm," he hums from his spot, lounging lazily as you walk up to his side, the change of clothes in hand. "But it's more affective that way." His hand finds its way to your hips, pulling you closer to him. "And I like it. I like pretending to be yours."

There's a split second where his eyes falters, looking at you almost nervously as he waits for you to respond. "You do?"

"Mhmm," he hums, pushing himself up to sit straight. "More than anything."

It's nauseating to see him look at you —eyes lacking their usual stoic and disinterest to instead be replaced by lust and adoration.

Without thinking twice, you leaned down meeting his lips halfway as your eyes flutters shut. And though seated, Theodore was still tall enough to kiss you back with ease. Letting you melt into the feeling of his soft lips moving slowly and desperately against yours.

"Fuck," Theodore mutters breathlessly, he pushes against your hand; dropping your (mostly his) clothes to the floor. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"What?" You giggle, letting him pull you onto his lap. "Kiss me?"

"To kiss you again," He murmurs, attaching his lips back onto yours; a soft whimper slipping out of his lips when his clothed cock brushes against your core through his swift movements.

Fuck, Blaise was not lying.

In between your legs, underneath beige slacks, Theo's giant cock ruts up to you. You gasp into his mouth. "Ah—" you try to catch your breath. "—fuck, Theo. You've been wanting to kiss me since we were thirteen?"

"Mhmm," he hums, long slender hands gripping onto your waist before he slides one underneath your shirt and lays it flat against your tummy. His free hand, resting on your thigh, guiding you down onto him. "You're the only girl I ever want to kiss."

It's silly, you know it is —especially when his cock was pressing into your cunt, only separated by a thin layer of clothing— and yet you can't help but smile up at him, almost giggling when you ask him. " 's that why you asked me to be your first kiss?"

"Mhmm." He's smiling when he kisses you. "Can you blame me?" His tongue licks at your top lips, quick and gentle, trying to gauge on what you tasted like. "Prettiest girl at Hogswart and she was willing to be my first kiss."

His hand moves grips onto your waist, his touch blazing hot. "... Flatterer," you say, a playful pout prominent on your lips.

He chuckles, pressing his lips back onto yours, hand moving from your thigh to tug at your shirt. When you nod, Theodore pulls away just enough for him to take your shirt off and toss it Salazar knows where.

He doesn't even try to hide his staring, canting his hips upwards as he held you down. "Can you feel that?" He asks breathlessly, almost whining as he humps against you. "Can you feel how hard you make me?"

You could only moan, nodding dumbly as you rolled your hips. "Fuck—" he says against your lips, "—how'd you get even prettier, baby?"

And despite how hot —how nauseating it is to feel his boner pressing onto your wet cunt, you can't help but giggle at his words, at how turned on he got just at the sight of your tits. "It's just boobs."

"It's your boobs." He hand goes up behind you, making quick work at the clasps before kissing your chest, licking at your nipples; his hips not halting in its movement. "So so pretty."

His hand slips down, going underneath your skirt to knees at you thigh. "Shirt—" you roll onto him, breathless each time you feel just how hard he was. "—shirt, Theo."

Though incoherent, Theodore still understood you enough to pull his shirt off of himself before attaching his lips back onto you. His tongue glides against yours, swallowing your moans up when he bucks particularly hard.

It’s humiliating how the simple act of humping, combined with Theo’s hand playing with your tits, pinching and rolling your nipple between his long fingers with his tongue exploring your mouth has you writhing on top of him.

"Theo, ah—" you whine, hands gripping onto his shoulders to steady yourself, a familiar warmth building in your stomach. "— wait, fuck!"

Theodore's hips coming to a halt, as he watch you cum on top of him —in awe, without him even having touched you. "Did you just… ?"

You whine, pressing your face against his bare shoulder to hide just how embarrass you were. Theodore pulls you back, looking at you with what you could only assume was love. "Did you just come, baby?"

You nod bashfully, hands going to cover your face just for him to pin both of them down. "So cute, so so pretty." He kisses you roughly, rutting up to you. "Gonna fuck you nice and full, how’s that sound?"

Theodore only frowns when you nod, always having been the talkative one in your relationship. “Words, baby. That sound good to you?”

“Ah!” Your panties stick to your cunt uncomfortably, feeling all too messy when he grinds his cock onto you. “Good,” you whine, “ ‘s good.”

Theodore smiles, pressing a quick kiss onto your lips as a reward. His hand trails down to your thighs, flipping your skirt up before groaning at the sight of his beige slacks soiled by your slick and cum. "Look at the mess you made, didn’t even have to touch you.”

Sliding your panties to the side, Theodore runs two fingers down your slit. "Even your cunt's pretty," he murmurs, bringing his finger up to his mouth to licks at your juices. "You taste even better."

You're pouting as you watch him play with your pussy, fingers pressed onto your clit, going back in for another taste before you finally move down his crotch, just enough for you to palm at his cock.

"Fuck—" he whimpers, hips bucking onto your hand.

Feeling proud you pulled such a reaction out of him, you reach for his belt, lifting yourself up off of him as he helps rid himself of his slacks. Pulling back his boxers, you will yourself not to drool over the sight of his long and thick cock, milky from the precum leaking from its tip.

Your hand moves on its own, wrapping around the base of his hard cock only to find that your hand was too small to wrap all the way around him. "Why didn't you tell me your dick was huge?."

"You want me to —fuck—" Theodore whines, cock twitching in your hand as it begged for you to move. "You want me to tell my best friend about the size of my cock?"

"Yeah?" You move your hands up, thumb running along his tip. "Biggest dick I've ever seen."

"You never told me you had —fuck, baby— never told me you had a perfect cunt either." Theodore moans, the sight in front of him feels like it came straight out of a porno. His best friend and her small hands playing with his cock, tits out with only her tiny skirt stopping him from fucking her into the mattress.

You giggle softly before leaning down to take him inside your mouth. "Fuck!" Theodore choked out, hips roughly thrusting into your mouth. He's too big for you to fit in entirely in your throat and he knows it. And he's too close to cumming in your mouth to keep you were you are.

His hand pulling your head up and away from his cock swiftly. His eyes are shut, head leaning back against your headboard as he breathes heavily.

Your eyes are teary when he opens his eyes back up, and he wills himself not to think about how it's the result of him fucking your face. Theodore brings you up to sit between his legs, kissing you desperately, groaning when he tastes himself on your lips.

Your hand goes back to grab at his length and he whines, pressing his face into your neck and squirms underneath your touch. "Wait, fuck—" his hand goes to stop you, brain going dead as you pumped his cock. "—fuck, fuck wait."

Theodore moves away from your touch, pressing your hand down onto your mattress as he heaves heavily. "Shit— Next time," he whines, "we can do all that next time," he murmurs against your neck, pulling his head away to look at you, he adds: "but I need to fuck you. Please, just let me fuck you. I'll do anything to feel your cunt and fill you up nice and full, please baby."

And when he pleads for you so nicely, who were you to deny him anything? He kisses you again, laying you down on your back, whispering soft thank you’s as he presses open mouth kisses down your body. Slender hands roaming around as he tries to map you out. It's only when Theodore flips your skirt up, ripping away your panties to give himself a full view of your throbbing pussy did you realize what he's about to do.

"Hey, I liked those!"

"I'll buy you more, baby." You're dripping in front of him and he think he might be losing his mind. "Need to eat you out first."

"Thought you wanted to fuck me," you whine, gasping softly when he slides his fingers over your pussy, "why can you play with —fuck."

You pout at him, not expecting him to slide his finger inside you while you talked. "Why can you— ah! —play with me when I can't play with you."

"Not playing baby, just stretching you out," he tells you with a soft smile, leaning over to kiss your pout away. "Not gonna fit unless we stretch you out."

" 's fine," you whimper, feeling him slip another finger in, fucking into you slowly. "it'll fit just fine."

"You sure?" He picks up his pace, long fingers reaching places your own never could. "Don't wanna hurt you."

" 's fine," you moan when he slips a third finger into your cunt, "don't care if it hurts, just wanna feel you."

Theodore pulls out, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you once more. Moving back up, Theodore grabs at a pillow, placing it beneath your lower back to elevate your cunt. Slowly, he guides his dick into you, gasping at the feeling of his thick head stretching you open.

"Fuck—" Theodore pushes in deeper, pausing when he feels you clenching impossibly tight around him "—your cunt's sucking me in so good."

The burn is delicious, his cock tearing you open from within, stretching you out to take him into you. "So full," you whine, pressing your head into your sheets as he slides in even deeper into you. " 's too much."

"I know, baby," he murmurs, rubbing slow circles onto your thighs, "just a little more, I know you can take it."

You whine pathetically, feeling him fuck the last few inches snuggly into you. "Ah!" He hasn't even moved and you're already breathless, feeling him in your stomach. “Fuck me, Theo. Fuck me nice and full.”

“You want me to fuck your small cunt nice and full?” Theodore pulls out entirely, leaving just his tip in your cunt before roughly thrusting back in, hands on your hips as he pounds into you. "I’ll fuck it nice and full for you, maybe even put a baby in you."

And when your pussy grips his cock at his words, Theodore drives into you even harder. “Put a baby in me, please.”

“Yeah? You want that?” He watches as your tits bounce with each harsh thrust. “You want to carry my baby? Have your pretty tits grow bigger? You want that?”

“Yes,” you cry out, eyes screwed shut, the pain of his cock splitting you open mixing with pleasure. “Yes, ah— want it.”

“Fuck—” Having just about enough, Theodore pushes your mini skirt up your stomach giving him a full view of how well he's fucking his thick cock into you. The mound of your pussy bulging as it makes room for his dick to spear into your cunt.

"See that baby? See how good your cunt’s at taking my cock?" He asks, his hand grabbing yours to press down below your navel. "See how good I'm fucking you?"

You can only moan, crying out his name when he presses your hand down onto the bulge in your stomach, pushing his own dick out of your pussy. "Feel how deep my cock is inside of you?"

“Gonna be so easy for me to breed you,” he murmurs, wrapping your legs around his waist to fuck himself even deeper into you. “Want me to breed you, baby? Hmm?”

You nod desperately, too cock drunk to speak. Jolting when Theodore presses a harsh finger to your clit, circling it as he fucked deeper into you. "Theo, I'm gonna—"

"I know baby," he says, his cock getting impossibly harder inside of you. He presses another finger onto your clit, rubbing tight circles as you squirm underneath him. "Fuck— you're pussy's so good. Need you to come on my cock."

Theodore leans down to kiss you, pushing his length even deeper into you. You moan into his mouth, fucking you through your orgasm, your legs trembling as you try to squeeze him in.

Theodore fucks your cum back into you harder and faster, chasing his own high. One quick glance at his cock coated with your cum, followed by the bulge in your tummy was sends has him rutting into your tight cunt, spilling his warm seed inside you.

Theodore thrusts a few more time just to savor the sight of you spread on his cock before finally pulling out of you. "Fuck Theo," you whined, his cum leaking out of you, making a mess all over your bedsheet. "Were you just never going to tell me your dick is huge?"

Theodore only smiles bashfully, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. "We're still on this?"

"You expect me to not be on this?" You say with a slight pout, Theodore only half paying attention to you as he grabbed a random shirt from the floor to wipe at you thighs. "It's almost like you don't even think of me as you best friend."

"Pretty sure best friends don't go around telling each other about how big their dick is, baby," he replies.

"Blaise can know about your dick size but I can't?" You murmur. "Talk about double standards."

Theodore pauses his movements, hand hovering over your spent pussy. "That fucker."

"Hmm?" You're curious now, confused as to why he was suddenly cursing out your friend. Never having been one to use curse words unless —well, unless he's fucking you.

"He told me that you liked guys who begged," he says with a slight front, going back to cleaning you up nonetheless.

"Is that why you begged to fuck me?"

"No, that was all me," he answers truthfully, ears tinging red in embarrassment,"just wanted to fuck you."

"And they say romance is dead," you say playfully before your eye zeroes into what's in Theodore's hand. "What about the whole breeding thing? And ‘s that my shirt?"

Theodore, freezes with his hands between your thighs, feeling you stare him down as he did so. Slowly, he unravels the shirt he'd use to wipe you clean only to realize that yes, that is your shirt.

"You ripped up my panties, messed up my skirt, tried to put a baby in me, and used my shirt to wipe up your cum," you say, frowning, "I'm never having sex with you again."

Theodore's quick to apologize, peppering your face with kisses, mumbling sorry over and over again. "I'll sneak you out of Oxford street, take my black card with you, how's that sound?"

— from bee: this is my first time writing smut be nice to me 😡

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fanfic #theo nott smut #🧳: my writing #Spotify

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sugxto · 9 days ago

Text

electrical storm - volt/eddie/reader

⋆syn: Eddie doesn't do well during storms. You and Volt help give him what he needs for some relief.

⋆wc: 3.5k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, domestic fluff, comfort, explorations of chronic pain/fatigue.

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, entrance, and cunt . no spoilers for any of the routes but it is a more established relationship. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

You feel the smallest shiver run through Eddie’s body at the words, and his eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment before he inhales sharply. You bring your hand to his face, cupping his cheek once again. “Eddie,” you breathe into his mouth, “let us take care of you.”

It’s like your words flip a switch inside of him, relief flooding his body in a surge, and any stress in his shoulders simply melting away. You think, for just a moment, that his eyes might be sparkling with the beginning of tears, but he blinks, and the thought is gone.

“Do you want that, Eddie?” Volt whispers, the bolts of his hair sparking over Eddie’s face, his hand slowly encircling his neck. “Do you need it?”

electrical storm

Soft isn’t a term you would use to describe Volt or Eddie. Or, Volt and Eddie.

Maybe it’s because they are, in their basest form, unpredictable, powerful forms of energy, kept in check by each other’s presence as their essence flows through the currents of your own home. Their very touch sends sparks through your veins, electrifies your heartbeat, all with an unspoken potency that they could be far more damaging if they so choose. They are harsh, formidable, thrilling, alive.

But soft?

It wouldn’t be your first choice.

Except, there are glimpses of it on days when Eddie’s strained himself a bit too far. When the to-do list takes the three of you much longer than expected, or in the late hours cleaning up when last call was ignored, or after a storm, and he tries as hard as he can to hide the way he breathes a little deeper, pauses for a little longer. Maybe he thinks you don’t notice (Volt always does, and it did take you a while to learn what to look for), maybe he thinks it's not a problem. But it makes your heart bleed a little, when you can see the spark dimmed in his grey eyes, as yet another guest asks him for a drink that’s not even on the menu, and begrudgingly, he makes it without a single complaint.

It’s one of those nights, after a summer day where, promptly at 5:30pm by Timmy’s clock, the skies burst open, and lightning streaks through Wyndolyn’s panes all through the night. It’s been non-stop for weeks, the boys can hardly catch a break, and you just wish you could yell at the clouds and make them listen. Force them to understand the discomfort the constant brownouts and flickers do to your partners, to one of them in particular.

A clap of thunder makes the bottles behind you at the bar clink together, and you sigh. Even here, in the recesses of the Breaker Box, it felt non-stop. Miranda, strumming away on the velvet stage, pays it no mind, and it seems like none of the other guests do either.

Volt, mingling his way through the tables, looks up as he claps Dorian on the shoulder, the white light of his eyes immediately finding yours. He senses your distress, you know he does, because he promptly pauses his greetings and makes his way to the bar.

You sigh in relief at his presence, but then gasp at the shock on your skin when Volt’s hand finds your arm. He’s more charged during the storms, you’ve found, like all the electrons in the air swarm to him, powering him.

He tsks his tongue, removing his touch. “Ah, my apologies, live wire.” He doesn’t look hurt, only concerned, as his dark brows scrunch together. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no Volt, not at all.” To prove it, you take his hand again, finding the spark more calming since you’re expecting it.

“What seems to be troubling you then, hm?” He reaches up and runs a silver thumb over your cheek. He studies your face, tips your chin up to meet his eyes, and you see him realize it before you even find the words. “Ah. Our Eddie, hm?”

You nod, relaxing into Volt’s touch. “I just wish the storms would stop, this can’t be good for him.”

Volt tsks his tongue again, a quiet “I know, darling,” leaving his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I know it’s hard. Amps sake, I was created to help prevent his suffering, and it took me a very long time to reconcile with the fact that, much as I’d like to, weather isn’t for us to control.”

“But he’s so tired, Volt.” You know he knows, you know there isn’t anything to be done about it other than wait. But it helps to talk to someone who understands. “And I know you are too.”

“Hmm, maybe. But we’ve been through worse.” His thumb leaves trails of tingles on your cheek. “Remember, say, three years ago, that freak tropical storm that came our way?”

You do - it came with hardly any notice, changing directions and coming straight at your city in the middle of the night. You didn’t have power for almost eight hours, though you do remember it flickering on and off every now and again. “Were you hurt, during that?” you ask, and you start to wonder how the other experiences your home has been through has impacted its (previously unknown to you) residents.

“Not hurt, per say. Thrown through the ringer might be the best term for it,” he says, a hint of a smile as his brows relax. “We worked for every possible moment we could manage. Eddie… I’d never seen him like that before, or since. But then, when it was over, he slept for what must’ve been a week, good as new.” His white eyes go soft, making sure you look into them as he says his next piece. “The storms will pass. And he will be alright, and you and I can do all we can to lighten his load, yes?”

You swallow and bite your bottom lip. You’re still not sure, but you trust Volt. With everything. Of course you do. “Yes.”

Volt’s resulting smile is one of relief, but the concern is still evident in his brow. “Why don’t you go to him, hm? It’s not too busy, and I can manage the bar. Ah ah ah, no arguing, spark, I’ve decided that’s what’s going to happen, and so it shall. Upstairs, to Eddie.”

You know better than to disagree, Volt isn’t one you can easily win against. And, you don’t even want to - you just want Eddie. You turn to go, but Volt holds you still for just a moment more.

“Here, give him this for me?” he asks, before lowering his head and kissing your lips, lovingly, sweetly, softly. It ignites your heart, makes your head buzz, your lips tingle, and he breaks away, whispers against your lips, “and keep this one for yourself,” before kissing you again, deepening his hold on your cheek.

When you part, it’s because applause for Miranda snaps you back into reality, and you flush red at the glint in Volt’s eyes. “I’ll make sure to get it to him,” you say, slipping away up the stairs behind the bar, knowing Volt’s gaze follows you every step of the way.

You find Eddie, a bit unexpectedly, on the floor of the boys’ bedroom, with his head leaning back on the edge of the mattress. His eyes are shut tightly, his jagged brows nearly kissing in the middle of his forehead, jaw set firmly. You glimpse at his hands, relieved when you see they’re not shaking, just balled into fists.

You crouch to the ground, steady yourself with a hand on the mattress. “Eddie?”

He makes a small sound and blinks his eyes open before rolling his head towards you. “Hm. Live wire. You okay?” he asks, his voice haggard and gruff, more clipped than it sounds when he first wakes up in the morning.

“Me? Eddie, yeah, I’m okay.” These men, always worried about you, of all people. “Did I wake you?”

Eddie scoffs, then groans as he stretches his neck. “Not at all. I’m about as far from restful as you can get, I think.” He sighs, extends his legs out to lay flat on the floor. “Just trying not to exert myself too much. Everything alright downstairs?”

“Don’t worry about it right now.”

“Well, I’m a little worried by that answer.”

You roll your eyes, only because you know he says it in jest. “Everything’s fine, Eddie.” You move to settle on the ground beside him. “I’m just worried about you.”

You swear there’s a split second that a corner of his mouth twitches up, and his gaze changes, almost softens, when you reach out to hold his hand. “I know you are. But, I’ve been through worse. Not dead yet.”

You try not to grimace at the phrase. “Yeah, Volt told me about the tropical storm.” You squeeze his hand. “I wish I knew about you back then. I’m sorry you went through that.”

He shrugs, though it’s hardly nonchalant. “S’okay. Nothing you could do.”

It’s quiet for a moment, as he breathes with you. You remember something though, and shirt to face him. “Volt wanted me to give you something.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You cup his face, his stubble rough on your palm, and cautiously dip your head towards his. Gently, you meet his lips, delivering Volt’s message as best you can, and he hums gladly as your kisses deepens.

It’s a moment later when you pull apart, and your foreheads rest together. Eddie leans into your hand on his cheek, his steel eyes finding yours.

“Five star delivery, live wire,” he says, his voice low. “I’ll let Volt know it was received.” He cocks a brow and runs a hand over your thigh. “And what about you? You got anything for me?”

You let out a giggle and move your hand to his collar. “Just my love and devotion. And worries about your stress.”

Eddie nods, and you realize his hand is still making its way up your thigh. Thunder once again shakes the room, and you watch his face for any sign of distress, though it doesn’t come.

“And what if,” he says, his eyes moving to glance at your lips, “there was something I need from you?”

“Name it,” you respond, meaning it with all your heart.

He leans even closer to you, your noses pressed together, your lips only a breath away, and you feel his tough dip into your inner thigh, familiar sparks under his touch. “I need you, on our bed, with my cock inside you. Now.”

You breath hitches, like your brain has momentarily short circuited. You pull away, surprised - soft with his words, Eddie is not. But still, it’s not what you expected to hear. “Eddie, you’re -”

“What?” he cuts you off, and it looks almost like another storm is brewing in his eyes. “I’m what? Incapable of fucking as a distraction to my headache?” His grip tightens on your thigh, and you gasp. “Unable to want one of my partners just because of the weather?”

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, but you’re still worrying,” he says, almost with a laugh in his voice. “And I’m telling you, that right now, what would make me feel better, is fucking you. So,” he’s so close to you now, you feel his breath on your cheek, “you gonna let me?”

Well. It’d be rude to say no to that, wouldn’t it?

Your hand on his collar slides to the back of his neck, holding on tightly. “Always.”

Like lightning, Eddie scoops you up, and the mattress bounces beneath your bodies as you both land. You’re on your side, pressed close to Eddie’s chest, one of his hands cupping your face, the other pulling your thigh over his, making sure no space exists between you and him. He kisses you, but it’s not his usual hunger that you find on his lips, but something you’re not used to tasting. Something calmer, sweeter, softer.

His hand glides from your thigh up to your waist, leaving a current in its wake, and he squeezes your skin, not as hard as usual, almost like he’s grasping at something he expects to disappear. You moan into his mouth and grind your hips into his, and he bites your bottom lip in response.

“Little wire,” he groans after a moment, steel eyes dark and voice low, “I don’t want to wait, I need you, now.”

And you don’t need to be told twice.

You both shed your clothes without a moment’s hesitation, pulling at whatever piece of fabric you can find on the other’s body, and throwing it to the floor. When you come back together, press back to him as close as you can, the charge of his skin momentarily takes your breath away. Eddie’s skin is different than Volt’s, less electric, less shocking - it always brings goosebumps to the surface on your skin, almost hums under your touch, and you wonder if you could follow his veins like currents.

Eddie’s cock rests against the lips of your cunt, rocking gently against you, but he holds your hips still when you try to get even closer, and you whimper his name, your nails scraping at his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathe through gritted teeth. “I may not last long, baby.”

“I don’t care, Eddie.” You find his eyes, deep grey and bursting with love. “I need you too.”

That’s all the permission he needs, and he lifts your leg to angle his cock at your entrance. Your jaw goes slack as he presses his length inside you, your eyes never leaving his, watching the way they shine as he slides inside you. When he stops, your bodies fully combined, he breathes, shaky, and digs his fingers into your flesh.

He waits a moment, a breath, and he kisses you just as he starts to pull out, setting a languid, easy pace. Your body is liquid, puddy under his hands, and when you exhale, he inhales, sharing the charged air between you. You rock together, unhurried, Eddie’s hands roaming every inch of your sides, your back, your legs.

It’s different than usual. It’s patient. It’s soft.

“Mind if I join you?”

You hear Volt’s velvet voice rather than see him, but you can just imagine how he leans against the doorway, hands in pockets, some sort of grin on his face.

Eddie slows, doesn't fully stop fucking you, but his breath is heavy when he speaks. “Volt, you -”

“Already closed up early. Thought it best to soothe our little wire’s worries as quick as I could.” You hear a thud, and imagine it’s his jacket falling to the floor.

Eddie sighs, stills inside you, and his eyes leave your face, flit past your shoulder to the doorway, to Volt. “You can join, I just - I needed them, Volt.”

“Oh, my darling,” Volt coos, “I don’t doubt it.” Finally, he steps into your view, coming behind Eddie, dipping down to kiss his head. His lips brush Eddie’s ear, and silver fingers graze his shoulder. “How about, I give you something else you need, hm?”

“Do you want that, Eddie?” Volt whispers, the bolts of his hair sparking over Eddie’s face, his hand slowly encircling his neck. “Do you need it?”

“Y-yes. Yes,” he manages out, rocking his cock back inside you and digging his fingers into your flesh, making you gasp, making you ache.

Volt chuckles, grinning in a way that shows his teeth, and you notice for the first time that, like you two, he’s naked, his free hand slowly stroking over his cock, shiny with what you guess is lube that coats his fingers too. You feel the bed shift as his weight presses into the bed, effortlessly spooning Eddie so that they perfectly slot together. Made for each other.

You wrap your hand in the coils of Eddie’s hair, holding him steady with the help of Volt’s grip on his neck, and you squeeze the muscles of your cunt to keep his cock warm inside you. He groans, and Volt guides Eddie’s leg to rest atop your own, a jumbled mess of limbs and sparks and sweat.

Eddie gasps, and his eyes fly open, and he grunts something that sounds like Volt’s name.

Volt’s lips kiss Eddie’s ear, close enough to your hand that you can feel his breath, and you feel it when he says, “that’s it, that’s our good boy.”

“Volt, please -”

“Be patient, darling, just -” Volt says, and Eddie groans again, his grip on you tightening so much, you might find burn marks in the morning, “a moment more. And then you’ll have what you need.”

“I don’t, fuck, I don’t need prep, Volt, fuck I need you.” Eddie’s voice tumbles quickly from his mouth, his hips feebly trying to buck up into your cunt, his titanium eyes glossy with want, need.

Volt sighs, mutters an acquiescence, and his lightning eyes find yours over the head of your partner, their usual mischievous shine replaced with something deeper, something softer. Love, you realize it must be, and your fingers curl in Eddie’s hair, giving Volt the smallest nod.

You can’t see his movements as his fingers slip out of Eddie, but his eyes never leave yours as he adjusts Eddie’s legs again, then grasps his cock, finding Eddie’s waiting, needing hole, and presses his way inside. You watch each other as Eddie groans between your bodies, his body stiffening as he takes Volt inside him, and you, in turn, feel him twitch inside you.

Volt waits, just a moment, for Eddie to find his breath, and when you finally glance down at his face, you notice the streak of a tear that has fallen down his nose.

“Eddie,” you say, in the softest voice you can muster, “you alright?”

He exhales a breath that may be a laugh, and it tickles your cheek. “Live wire,” he says, his voice finally sounding relieved instead of depleted, “I’m perfect.”

It’s like the word grants Volt the permission he was waiting for, and he drags his length almost fully out of Eddie, before thrusting back in a flash. Your legs are a mess, intertwined in such a way that you’re not sure whose skin is whose, but as Volt moves, Eddie’s hips move in tandem, and you squeeze your cunt to wrap around him even tighter, wanting, needing him as close as you’re allowed.

Usually, nights on this bed are rougher, with more teeth, nails, and shocks, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. But this… this softness… it warms your heart, livens your nerves like you’ve been plugged into a socket, and you never want to let it go.

Eddie groans, he whimpers, at Volt’s unrelenting cock, the searing grip on his neck. “Fuck, V-Volt, baby, I’m - please -”

You kiss his forehead, kiss his temples, softly, lovingly, as you whisper, “We’ve got you, we’ve got you, Eddie.”

“You’re doing so well, darling,” Volt adds, honey falling from his lips. “Doing so well for us.”

Eddie’s voice sputters just as his body stiffens, tightens, and you know he won’t hold out much longer. His fingers singe the flesh on your waist, your thigh, and his cock ruts into you even faster, chasing his release - before you can even offer him more reassurances, he cries out, louder than you’ve heard from him before, and you feel his cum fill your cunt as he bucks erratically through his release.

“Oh fuck, oh yes,” you whisper against his lips before his weight goes slack.

Volt doesn’t stop, in fact, he fucks him faster, harder, and a few tears fall from Eddie’s eyes at his unabating pace that you swiftly kiss away. Despite that, you know Volt can’t be much further behind, and you reach out your hand to find his cheek, needing to feel his skin on yours.

Just as you thought, soon Volt’s pace becomes more erratic, less precise, and his fingers around Eddie’s neck tightens as he too comes with a groan of Eddie’s name and a bite to your hand.

You stay there, the three of you, in the soft afterglow, until, who knows how long after, Eddie finally stirs, and sighs, a sound of contentment coming from the back of his throat.

“Well -” Eddie’s voice is best described as well and truly fucked - “my headache is gone.”

You and Volt smile, a shared successful mission completed.

It’s Volt that first separates from your pile of legs, returning in a blink with water, towels, a blanket. When Eddie rolls onto his back, his cheeks are flushed red, and the rise and fall of his chest is even for what seems like the first time in weeks. Volt throws the used towels aside and sits next to him, running a finger along his jaw.

“How’s our Eddie?” he asks, and you settle into the crook of his shoulder, throw your arm over his chest.

“Better.” You hear his voice in his chest, and know he has a smile on his face. “I got your message, earlier. Had a very good messenger deliver it.”

“Did you?” Volt glances down at you, sends you a knowing wink. “That’s good to hear. But, I have one to deliver myself, as well.” Eddie hums in satisfaction when Volt kisses him, and your heart flips in your chest at the sight. They separate, and white and steel eyes find yours before two sets of lips find your cheeks simultaneously. They’re soft kisses. They’re yours.

#date everything #date everything smut #date everything x reader #eddie and volt #volt date everything #eddie date everything #eddie and volt x reader #eddie x volt #eddie x volt x reader #sugxtode #breaker box boys

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sixeyesonathiel · 1 month ago

Text

you ever draw someone so hard you ride them?

pairing — star player satoru x broke artist reader

synopsis : after months of being your muse, satoru finally flips the table and makes you his canvas—reverent, hungry, and utterly devoted. you spent weeks capturing his form; now he worships yours, whispering that you are the masterpiece.

wc — 3.5k tags — smut, fluff, university au, pining, finally touching, soft dom satoru, service top satoru, hand worship, oral (f receiving), mirror sex, slow burn payoff, first time, established relationship, emotional smut, he loves you so much it’s sick, you lets yourself be loved, gentle filth, satoru is down so bad it’s pathetic

a/n: yes. this is the smut for free throws & figure drawings. i couldn’t add smut in the original oneshot, but these two never left me alone, the part two which includes their life after college is still in the making!

eight months in.

that’s how long it takes before satoru touches you like this.

not because you weren’t ready. not because he wasn’t. but because he’s a golden-retriever-faced menace who waited—waited—until your need outweighed your pride. he could tell. he always could. and he never pushed, never asked, never made you feel cornered. just circled closer every day like gravity, like fate. one teasing comment at a time. one lazy smirk, one thigh brush, one perfectly timed stretch of his jersey in your face. every moment so casual. calculated. loving. he gave you time to breathe, time to bloom.

he made it a game. but not one he ever planned to win fast.

he’d kiss you slow in the halls, hand in your back pocket, mouth curling into your neck just to feel you twitch. he’d crawl into your bed after practice, shirtless, smelling like sweat and mint gum and expensive laundry detergent. he’d grin like a devil and mouth at your collarbone like he was innocent. always stopping short. always leaving you throbbing, breathless, caught between a gasp and a growl. and he’d laugh when you shoved him away, cheeks pink, thighs pressed tight, muttering something vicious under your breath. and then he'd say something stupid like, "it's cute when you fluster," as if you weren't already melting inside.

satoru gojo is shameless. but he’s also patient. reverent. completely and utterly yours.

he never tried to touch what you weren’t ready to give. not once. not even when you straddled his lap in the studio, thighs framing his hips while you adjusted the light for your latest sketch. not when you fell asleep with your hand in his shirt and your face in his throat. not when your breath hitched the first time he kissed the base of your spine, or when your hips unconsciously pressed against him during a late-night cuddle. he’d grin, yes. he’d tease. but he’d always stop. always wait. because he wanted you to feel safe. he wanted you to choose.

because he knows how much you overthink. how long you spent folding your love into corners, how tightly you hold your own body together, like it’s a project you haven’t quite finished. you’re an artist—your hands are your pride, your purpose. and he knows that too. better than anyone.

he fell in love with them first.

long before you ever let him in, he was already watching the way you curled your fingers when you thought, the way you rubbed your thumb over your pencil before sketching, the way paint smudged the edges of your knuckles like a secret only he was meant to see. he watches them like a man starved. kisses them when you let him. cradles them like they might shatter. memorizes the little freckle on your index finger and the groove of your palm. calls them magic. says they saved him.

"you know you could ruin me with these," he’ll murmur sometimes, his lips brushing the heel of your palm. "all that talent, all that precision, and you use them to paint me?" his smile is crooked. adoring. "no one's ever been so lucky."

and when you look away, flustered, pretending not to care, he kisses the dip of your wrist and whispers, "i’d let you wreck me. just say the word."

but he waits.

days turn to weeks, then months. your sketchbooks fill with him. you pretend they don’t. he pretends not to notice. he starts bringing snacks to your sessions, then full meals. makes you take breaks. kisses the stress from your forehead. lays his head in your lap and lets you draw in peace. he runs errands for you. he fixes your squeaky cabinet. he folds your laundry, badly. he doodles in your margins when you aren't looking and gets scolded every time.

he never asks for more.

and still, he waits.

until one night, you pull him into your bed.

not like usual. not with the intent to sleep. not with your body curled toward the wall and his arm tossed carelessly around your waist.

no. this time, you kiss him first.

this time, your mouth is open and soft and wanting, your hands sliding under his shirt like you’re memorizing the ridges of his stomach. and for one suspended breath, he freezes. just to make sure you mean it. his lashes flutter. his breath stills. his hand hovers above your thigh, waiting.

and you do.

because for once, you aren’t overthinking. you aren’t afraid. you want him. you trust him. more than you’ve ever trusted anyone.

and the moment your back hits the sheets, he’s all over you.

knees planted wide between your legs, hands everywhere, mouth hot and eager as it trails kisses down your body. his eyes are bright and ravenous, that blue burned down to smoke, lips already slick from the kisses he's stolen. his hands shake, just barely. like he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch. like he doesn’t want to ruin anything by rushing.

"took you long enough," he breathes, voice shot to hell as he watches you peel your shirt off. his gaze drags over your chest, reverent. like you’re light. like you’re art. like you’re his. something in him breaks a little, seeing you like this. bare. willing. glowing.

"you’re so annoying," you mutter, breathless, smiling despite yourself.

"mmhm," he hums, nuzzling against your neck. "but you’re still letting me fuck you. can’t be that bad."

your glare doesn’t land. not when he’s pressing you into the mattress, nosing at your jaw, whispering, “been dreaming about this. you, under me, making all those noises you try so hard to hold in.”

he kisses your hands first. of course he does. each finger, with reverence. your palm, with warmth. your wrist, with devotion. he presses them to his chest like they’re sacred. says something about how they’ve built whole worlds. says he wants to earn every touch.

he doesn't just want you.

he cherishes you.

and fuck, you are noisy.

it drives him insane.

satoru hears it before his mouth even touches you. that soft, hitched breath when his hands slide beneath your thighs, calloused fingertips dragging slow and reverent like he wants to learn the shape of your tremble. the little gasp you try to swallow when he kisses the sensitive skin above your knee, letting his lips linger there too long, humming softly as if he's savoring something decadent. the sound that breaks from your throat when his thumb barely brushes over your folds and finds you soaked — it has him swearing under his breath, jaw going tight, shoulders tensing as though he’s barely keeping himself leashed.

his groan is guttural, lodged deep in his chest, like it takes effort to keep himself from diving in right then. his eyes are hooded, lashes clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown wide beneath strands of silver hair that stick to his damp temple. his mouth is parted, a bead of spit catching on his bottom lip—already pink from where he's been biting it raw. his expression flickers, moment to moment: awe, hunger, something like devotion. he looks like a man seconds from prayer and sin all at once.

“mm,” he hums low, dragging a knuckle through your slick. his thumb ghosts over your clit but doesn’t linger yet. “you always get this messy when i just look at you?”

your thighs twitch. your jaw clenches. your hands fist into the sheets, trying not to give him the satisfaction. but your eyes flutter half-shut and your lips part around a breath that catches anyway.

“don’t narrate it,” you mumble, voice shaking, already unraveling.

he laughs into your skin, hot breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh, and his grin is all teeth and mischief.

“can’t help it,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower. “you’re too fuckin’ cute when you try to be mad at me.”

his palms slide behind your thighs, thumbs smoothing over your skin as he eases you apart, spreading you open like you’re something sacred—his. the air hits your wetness and your body jerks, but he’s already lowering himself, settling between your legs like it’s his home.

his eyes roam every inch of you before he even touches. he stares, quiet for once, like he wants to memorize the way you look right now, how flushed you are, how your chest rises with shaky breath.

“shit,” he whispers, licking his lips. “you’re unreal.”

you breathe his name again, soft, tentative. he glances up, and when your eyes meet, his smile softens into something molten.

“shhh,” he says, lips brushing your skin. “just lemme taste you, baby. wanna make you feel good.”

and then he devours you.

no teasing. no hesitance. just tongue, mouth, hunger.

he groans like he’s been starved, like every inch of his body is aching to have this. he buries his mouth in you and licks like he’s drowning and the only thing keeping him breathing is you. his tongue is hot and slow at first, dragging between your folds, mapping out every part of you. and then deeper, messier, hungrier.

his nose nudges the crease of your thigh and he exhales sharply through it, groaning as his tongue circles your clit and flicks just right. your hips jump and he grins, lips curved against your skin.

when you moan, broken and high-pitched, his lashes flutter and his eyes roll back, like the sound of you is enough to undo him. he tightens his grip on your thighs, keeping you still while he feasts. you feel his jaw flex, the sharp edge of his cheekbone brushing your thigh with every movement.

he pulls back just a moment, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes glazed.

“you make the prettiest sounds,” he breathes, voice thick, reverent. “c'mon, don’t hide them from me. wanna hear everything.”

his tongue returns, more focused now, lapping and sucking in rhythm. you twitch beneath him, thighs clenching, and he lets out a low, gravelly noise of satisfaction. his lashes flutter again, mouth working hungrily, jaw moving with purpose.

“mmm,” he hums against you, smirking. “tastes better than any fuckin’ sweet i’ve had. should’ve done this sooner.”

your hand flies to his hair, tugging without thinking, and he groans loud—vibrating straight through you. his shoulders shudder, like he wants to grind himself into the mattress just from your sounds alone.

“fuck,” he breathes, and the tip of his nose bumps your clit again as he speaks. “pull harder. make a mess of me.”

then—without warning, without mercy—he sinks two fingers inside you.

thick. slow. deep. curling like he knows exactly where you need him.

your back bows. your breath stutters. your body arches up into him, and you make a sound he’s never heard from you before—wrecked and raw. his free hand anchors you down, palm spread flat against your stomach like he’s holding you to the earth.

“look at you,” he groans, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “so fuckin’ tight. like you’re made to take me.”

his fingers work a slow, maddening rhythm inside you, knuckles dragging firm as his tongue flicks your clit in sync. the room is too hot. your vision swims. your thighs shake beneath his mouth.

he watches every twitch, every breath you catch, every expression you can’t hide. he looks wrecked—hair damp and curling against his temples, lips swollen and slick, jaw sharp with tension.

he pants against your cunt, voice breaking.

“close,” he murmurs. “i know. i can feel it. fuck, baby, gimme it. let me have all of it.”

you shatter.

legs trembling, voice cracking. your orgasm crashes through you like thunder, loud and bright and soaked, and he moans into it—desperate and unfiltered, mouth still moving, tongue still pressing through every wave. your body jolts with every aftershock, thighs shaking around his head, hands twitching against his shoulders. your fingers go slack in his hair, your voice frayed.

his fingers don’t leave you. they ease, slow, coaxing every tremor from your body with tenderness. his mouth lingers, placing soft kisses now, like he’s trying to soothe you through the comedown.

your hands push weakly at his shoulders, breathless, spent.

and he loves it.

he finally lifts his head, breath warm against your thigh, chest heaving like he just ran through a storm and found peace in you. his pupils are blown wide, nearly eclipsing the soft blue, hair disheveled and damp with sweat, strands sticking to his flushed forehead. his lips glisten, raw and parted, breath shaky as though your taste alone stole every last thread of his composure. his tongue drags across his lower lip slowly, like he’s still savoring the flavor of you, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smug, breathless grin.

he looks wrecked. and radiant. wild with need and dripping with adoration.

“you okay?”

you nod, barely. dazed. lips swollen, eyes glassy, pupils unfocused. your lashes flutter as he kisses up your body—delicate presses, reverent, like each inch of skin is something sacred, like he’s anchoring himself in the world by mapping every place he’s made you feel good. he doesn’t speak at first. just hums, low and satisfied, murmuring quiet praises into your skin like they’re instinct. like worship.

his mouth finds yours again, and he kisses you deep—wet and warm, a slow press that melts into something messier. he lets you taste yourself on his tongue, groaning into your mouth as your hips roll against him without meaning to. when you whimper, he exhales through his nose, kissing you deeper, his fingers slipping beneath your thighs to anchor you down.

“mm,” he exhales, voice syrup-thick as he shifts beneath you. “not done.”

his hands settle at your hips, palms steady, guiding you effortlessly into his lap like you’re weightless. your back meets his chest with a slick press, your sweat-slicked skin sliding against his. his arms coil around your waist, strong and grounding. his chest rises and falls behind you, a little too fast, like he’s barely managing to keep himself from dragging you under.

the mirror is in front of you.

angled just right. angled perfectly. and god, he made sure of that.

his cock, flushed dark and twitching, slides between your folds as he shifts his hips beneath you, letting the tip nudge against your clit before gliding through your slick. the friction alone makes your head tip back, a choked sound escaping you.

he watches your reaction in the mirror, that infuriating smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. you feel it—his amusement, his awe.

“look at that,” he purrs, voice heavy with affection and mischief. “haven’t even put it in yet, and you’re already fallin’ apart on me.”

he kisses the side of your head, nose brushing your temple.

“breathe, baby.”

his fingers dip down again, slow, teasing circles over your clit. featherlight, just enough to make your stomach tighten. your head tips back, body twitching in his lap. your nails scratch lightly down his arms, the only defense you can muster.

then—

he pushes in.

inch by inch.

thick, stretching you open like it’s the first time. because it is.

your breath shatters. your whole body jolts, hands flying to his forearms. your nails dig deep. your thighs strain to close, but his arms hold you open. you gasp—a helpless, breathy thing that breaks before it ever becomes a word.

“shh,” he coos, voice gentler now, lips grazing your ear. “s’okay. i got you. just breathe. you’re takin’ me so good already.”

he groans—low, shaky. your walls flutter around him with every inch he sinks in, the stretch making your whole body shiver. his hand doesn’t leave your clit, rubbing slow, steady circles to ease the burn.

“fuck,” he moans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “you’re squeezin’ me like a vice. gonna make me lose it before i even move.”

you try to speak, to say something biting—but the words collapse into a soft, keening sound as he bottoms out.

his hand finds your chin and tilts it forward.

“nuh-uh,” he murmurs. “don’t look away. wanna see how fuckin’ pretty you look like this.”

your eyes drag open, hazy and wet, and meet the mirror.

you barely recognize yourself—flushed and shining, lips parted in a stunned gasp, your skin glowing with sweat. your brows are drawn, mouth twitching as your walls flutter around the thick weight of him inside you.

he starts to move.

slow. dragging. deliberate.

your breath stutters. your knees twitch, thighs trembling.

“that’s it,” he hums, breath hot on your neck. “just like that. god, you’re makin’ the cutest faces. y’know that? fuckin’ adorable. you sure you’re not the one obsessed with me?”

he rolls his hips deeper. you cry out, barely a sound, just air and heat. your hands tremble where they grip his thighs, too overwhelmed to speak.

“what’s that? no smart little comment now?” he teases, kissing your shoulder, his voice drenched in adoration. “thought you were tough, angel.”

he grinds up into you again. your mouth falls open.

a whimper.

a moan.

and nothing else.

he laughs. delighted. wrecked.

“knew it,” he whispers. “knew i’d turn that sharp mouth of yours to mush.”

his thrusts quicken. deepen. his arms wrap tighter around your waist, locking you in place as he fucks up into you, smooth and controlled. the mirror shows everything. your body bouncing with every roll of his hips, his cock splitting you open again and again, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he moves.

“look at you, baby,” he growls, picking up the pace. “fuck—how’re you this gorgeous and still act like i’m the muse?”

his voice cracks with it. because you are—your expression undone, jaw slack, eyes lidded and wet. your thighs tremble with each thrust, every sound that escapes you more broken than the last.

“don’t hide from me,” he pants, breath sharp and quick. “keep watching. wanna see the exact moment you fall apart.”

you try.

but your eyes blur. your vision swims. your body rocks helplessly in his lap.

your orgasm coils tight in your belly, sharp and violent.

“satoru—please—i’m—”

“that’s it,” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear. “let go. let me feel you, baby. wanna watch you fall apart all over my cock.”

you break. again.

your body collapses against him, your scream breathless, voice cracking. every muscle pulls taut, trembling. your walls clench hard around him, and he groans—deep, raw, as he fucks you through it, chasing his own edge.

“that’s it. fuck, that’s it—”

he spills into you with a strangled cry, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside, thick and so much it spills out around the edges. his arms crush you to him. he moans again, low and broken, like he doesn’t know how else to react. he doesn’t thrust again. just stays buried. trembling. like finishing inside you knocked every last thought out of his head.

his arms wrap around you like he’s trying to anchor himself—like if he loosens his grip, he might float away. his palm is pressed flat against your belly, grounding you, fingers twitching like they still don’t know how to stop touching. his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath ragged and warm, strands of hair clinging to the sweat-damp skin of his temple.

your bodies breathe in tandem. chest to back, sticky with sweat and afterglow. his cock twitches again inside you—a slow, pulsing aftershock—and you feel the lazy, inevitable trickle of his release starting to slip out around him. your thighs twitch. your toes curl. your reflection in the mirror shifts, barely perceptible, trembling like the rest of you.

“you okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing the back of your shoulder.

“no thanks to you,” you mumble, your voice thick and flat with exhaustion. it lacks the bite you were aiming for.

he laughs—quiet and hoarse—and kisses your jaw. “so mean,” he croons, nuzzling against your cheek. “and here i was, giving you the best night of your life.”

“shut up,” you whisper. your eyes are half-lidded, unfocused. “i can’t even feel my knees.”

“that’s a good thing,” he says, smug now. “means i did it right.”

you groan, shifting just enough to smack his thigh with the back of your hand, weakly. “you’re insufferable.”

“you love it,” he replies, kissing your temple. he still sounds dazed, too satisfied to be cocky for real. “gonna run you a bath soon. hot. lavender oil. bubbles.”

“don’t make promises you’re too tired to keep.”

he exhales a breathy laugh, the sound low and melted. his hand trails up your stomach, then down again, soothing, thoughtless. his thumb traces just beneath the curve of your ribs.

“give me five minutes,” he murmurs. “then i’ll carry you. princess treatment.”

“mm. better.”

he adjusts his hold on you slightly, only so he can tuck his nose into the crook of your neck, exhale slow and deep like he’s trying to memorize the way you smell like skin and sweat and everything he just did to you.

“but not yet,” he says, the words nearly lost in your skin. “just let me stay like this. hold you a little longer.”

and he does. he stays wrapped around you like he was carved to fit there.

like if he lets go, the world might stop.

a/n : i missed writing them—missed how individual they are, and how their chemistry feels like a natural consequence of who they are, not just the romance. free throws & figure drawings is still the piece i’m proudest of, and this feels like a little love letter to that <3 also: i toned down the explicitness in this one—not because they aren’t filthy, but because i really wanted to center the intimacy over the porn teehee :3

#gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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bloomiize · 2 months ago

Text

i'll be watching

pairing → jay x yn

warnings → smut, THERES A PLOT KINDA, stalking behaviour, he is OBSESSED, hes still a """"gentleman""", dom jay, fem reader, dubcon, reader gets drunk, coercion

wc: ~3.5k

synopsis → One smile was all it took. The moment your eyes glanced at him, he knew. Jay had already found your full name, your age, where you worked, and exactly where you lived. You just didn’t know you loved him yet and that's okay. He was going to make sure you felt it, too.

You were always quiet, minding your own business and in your own world. It was peaceful, unbothered and drama-free. Juggling a full course load and working at the cafe, you didn't have the time to care about all the guys who tried to get your attention. A compliment here and there, maybe a little note slip on the counter with a phone number on it.

"I have work."

"This assignment is due tomorrow."

"My schedule is packed for this weekend."

You say over and over again. Some would nod their heads understandingly and leave. Others got upset, accusing you of being a tease, wasting their time. But it was always the truth. You just didn’t care to date. It wasn’t a priority. Never was.

The cafe became a soft space for you, and it was a routine you enjoyed. Coffee, latte, baked goods and the warm hum of happy customers filled your days when you weren't busy daydreaming or studying.

"Hi! What can I get you?" You asked, voice light and shining with infinite possibilities. The greeting rolling off your tongue like a script. You didn’t glance up this time, opting to refill the cupcake stand that was being sold at a pace faster than you could keep up with.

"Coffee. Black." The voice was low. Rushed, like he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary.

You finally looked up, and what a sight it was.

Neat, dark hair. Sharp features that didn't look real. His hands fiddling with— what looks to be— an expensive watch. He didn’t look like the usual customers who came in between classes or after lectures. He looked out of place. Cold, quiet and probably had way too much money.

Then he looked up, staring right at you.

You gave him a warm smile, polite and practiced— the same one you offered to every customer. But his gaze didn’t soften. It stayed locked on yours, curious, unwavering, like he could see past the surface. Like he was trying to figure something out about you that even you didn’t know yet.

When you called out his order, he grabbed it from the counter and left with a quick "Thank you" slipping from his lips. What an interesting guy, wasn't he? And you continued your shift, forgetting all about the strange man. But he never forgot about you.

Jay hated cafes.

Overpriced coffee. Pretentious menus. The same recycled “minimalist” aesthetic with fake plants and Instagrammable drinks that tasted like burnt water and regret. He took his coffee seriously—dark, rich, and brewed with precision. Not watered down through shit using a machine that's probably already rusting.

But today was different.

His morning meeting had been moved earlier without notice, and he didn’t have time to grind the beans himself, didn’t get to hear the satisfying sound of it being poured, didn’t get to take that first quiet sip in the dark comfort of his kitchen. Instead, he was running late. Annoyed. And in desperate need of caffeine.

What a waste, he thought bitterly, eyes scanning the ugly brown exterior of a small cafe on the corner. The obnoxious chalkboard screamed “OPEN!” and jutted out onto the sidewalk like it was begging for attention. Tacky.

Still, he stepped inside, the little chime above the door making his eye twitch. The place was warm, smelled faintly of cinnamon and espresso. Surprisingly, he didn't find bright lights or fake plants or Instagrammable murals. He joined the short line, checking his watch every few seconds.

This better be quick.

He was already thinking about how he’d never let Heeseung schedule his meetings again when something shifted.

A voice.

“Hi! What can I get you?”

You.

The barista behind the counter.

Eyes that shimmered with something— curiosity? Joy? Maybe it was just the reflection of the morning sun, but it caught him off guard. You had a warm smile, a soft voice that was so effortlessly kind it almost irritated him. No fake chipper tone. No forced customer service greeting. You looked real.

His mouth moved before he could think. “Coffee. Black.”

And for the first time that morning, he thought about something other than killing Heeseung.

He kept visiting after that. The cup you made him didn't taste disgusting, he was pleasantly surprised. But it wasn’t the coffee that brought him back the next day. Or the day after that. At first, he sat by the window, pretending to scroll through emails or read a news article. Something to excuse the fact that he hadn’t taken a single sip of the drink cooling beside him.

He was watching you.

The way you tied your apron without thinking, the way you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear when you were focused on something. The soft laugh you gave when your coworker said something stupid. It annoyed him how much of your attention everyone else got.

So he listened.

He learned that your favourite pastry was the chocolate croissant, that you hated oat milk, and that you were taking some brutal university class you always complained about on Mondays. He would do all your work for you if it meant you never had to lift a finger. Anything for you to smile.

He learned you only worked mornings on weekdays and full days on weekends. He picked up the rhythm of your schedule with unsettling ease, pretending as if it were his own. Jay started telling his assistant he'd be working remotely more often—from home, he said. But home wasn’t his apartment anymore. It was the window seat at the café.

Your café.

It was a calm morning, he was still watching— still listening. As he sat at his usual corner table pretending to answer emails, he heard your name.

"Y/N, can you grab another box of lids from the back?"

Y/N. It echoed in his head like a siren's curse.

His fingers twitched around his cup. How could your coworker say something so sacred without a care in the world? It annoyed him. But that was all he needed; Jay had a name now. A real one. The moment he heard it, something settled deep in his chest. Like he unlocked a new level. As if knowing it gave him some invisible thread that tied you to him—whether you realized it or not. You let him know your name.

You hadn’t looked at him since that first day. You didn’t remember him. He was just another customer, a regular who always ordered a black coffee. You smiled politely like you did to everyone else. That irked him more than he expected. How could you show that to everyone? It was only supposed to be for him.

But it was okay. He was patient. He'd wait for you forever.

You didn’t know you were his yet. But you would eventually, he’d make sure of it.

You were already running late to class—your shift had dragged longer than expected, and your manager needed help with the register changeover. You said yes, of course. You always did.

Then the kid happened.

Sugar-high, giggling, and sticky-handed, he barreled straight into you as you stepped out from behind the counter. Your drink slipped from your fingers, crashing against your front, staining your white t-shirt in a swirl of espresso and foam. You laughed it off with his mom as she scolded him for being a handful, apologizing profusely while dabbing at your clothes with napkins.

Back in the kitchen, you tried scrubbing it out with soap and water, but the mess clung to the fabric like it belonged there. You were soaked. And the coffee smell followed you like a curse. You had ten minutes to make it to your lecture, barely enough time to breathe, let alone run home and change.

You stepped out of the café with your head down, already mentally preparing your apology for walking into class late and causing a scene. Suddenly, you hit something solid. No, not something. Someone.

You stumbled, arms flailing slightly as the impact caught you off guard, but before you could trip, two hands grabbed your arms. Steady. Warm. Strong.

A chest. Broad. A body, hard with muscle beneath his shirt. It was hard not to stare for a bit.

“Careful,” a low voice murmured above you.

You looked up. One of the regulars at the cafe— Jack? Jake? Jay? His name was something along those lines. His eyes flicked down to your soaked top, his brows pinched together, like he was in pain. How odd.

You scrambled for words. "I'm so sorry!" you blurted, looking up and meeting his gaze with wide, apologetic eyes. That nearly killed him.

"Your next cup is on me, but I really have to go! Point me out next time at the counter," You say, embarrassment taking over your face. You back up, getting ready to sprint across campus.

He almost let you go. Almost.

“Do you… need a sweater?” he called after you, his voice lower, more careful. “For the stain. On your shirt.”

Suddenly, you're standing in front of him and he's taking off his sweater. A neat navy blue quarter zip, as he lifted it over his head, you got a glimpse of his midriff. Tone, perfectly sculpted abs. You ripped your gaze away, masking the awkward silence with a cough. He handed it to you with care and told you to keep it.

"I'll give it back next time i see you I swear!" You said running off waving at him with a smiling. There it was, that smile. Only for him.

He replayed the moment multiple times in his head. How you smelled of vanilla and dark roast. How you felt so warm and soft, his mind often wondered if you would feel the same under him. Jay palmed his dick night after night. How your shirt clung so tightly to your chest. He could see everything. And the way you smiled at him had him unravelling on his sheets. Moving up and down, breathlessly saying your name like a chant.

Life was a blur— assignments, lectures, shifts— and the sweater ended up in your closet. You wore it to work the next week, not thinking twice. At the cafe, Jay stood in line ahead of you. He turned, eyes landing on the sweater, a slow smile spreading. “So, you’re still wearing it.”

You spew out apologies and explanations but he let out a chuckle. Low. Deep. It vibrated in you.

“Keep it,” he laughed. “Looks like it’s yours now.” His gaze lingered. “Let me take you out, I'm sure you're tired of coffee by now.” His tone was light, but his eyes were focused on you. He was handsome, kind, and you basically stole his sweater, this was the least you could do to make up for it.

“Sure,” you smiled and wrote your number on his cup with a small smiley face beside it.

That date turned into hours of talking. Jay was funny, attentive, remembering tiny details like your love for plants and how you refused to allow any fake ones in the cafe, fighting the manager if you had to. You didn’t know he’d studied you online, memorizing your posts, your likes, the plushy bear you’d mentioned wanting. He knew you more than you knew yourself.

The second date was perfect: a park walk, dinner at a cozy bistro. The third was a movie night at your place, laughing together with his arm around you. He never crossed a line unless you wanted him to, always checking if you're okay with whatever he's doing, whether it be a hug or a light kiss on your lips. Jay was a nice guy; he would never do anything weird, maybe that's why you were so comfortable with him. He liked everything you liked. He listened to you rant about your professors and classmates. It was like he was made for you.

By the fourth, you knew you liked him. Jay was perfect—he opened doors, never let you pay, always drove you home and walked you back to your door. When he handed you the plush bear you’d mentioned offhandedly weeks ago, your eyes lit up.

“You remembered,” you beamed, pulling it into your arms.

“Of course I did,” he said, watching you like you hung the stars.

You didn’t notice the glint in the bear’s right eye, a tiny lens tucked behind the button. He wanted to keep seeing you smile. Even when you thought you were alone.

At night, when you changed, he was there, on his screen, heart racing. Jay sat in his darkened apartment, the laptop screen casting a sickly glow across his face. The plushy’s camera feed showed you in your room, taking off your shirt after a long day. His breath caught, uneven, as you unhooked your bra, your breasts spilling free, soft and perfect under the lamp’s dim light. He licked his lips, imagining his tongue swirling over your nipples, sucking hard until they pebbled, leaving wet trails and purple marks across your chest. He wanted to bite, to claim every inch of you.

“God, Y/N,” he growled, voice thick with lust, leaning so close his nose nearly brushed the screen. If he stuck out his tongue he could taste it, he could taste you. His eyes devoured you—your delicate collarbone, the maddening curve of your waist, the way your hair draped over your shoulder like an invitation for him to hold your hair up. His hand was already in his pants, gripping himself, the ache unbearable, so needy. Your body was a fucking altar, and he was a starving worshipper.

He groaned as you bent to grab a tee, your breasts swaying slightly, the view sending a violent jolt through him. His strokes were frantic now, sloppy, his palm slick with precum. He pictured pinning you to the bed, spreading you open, licking every curve until you screamed his name. The thought of anyone else seeing you—your classmates, those café creeps—made his gut fill up with rage. “Mine, mine, mine,” he gasped, hips bucking as he came, hot and messy, splattering across his hand. He panted, eyes still locked on you slipping into bed, oblivious, his perfect obsession.

He wiped himself off, breath uneven, knowing you curl up with the plushy. His plushy. His eyes. He’d never let you go.

Jay invited you to his place for dinner, and you couldn’t say no. His apartment was stunning—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The table was set with candles, a spread of homemade pasta, and a bottle of red wine. “You cook?” you teased, impressed and honoured.

“Only for you, angel,” he said, pouring you a generous glass. His smile was warm, but his eyes burned with something darker, a need. He kept refilling your glass, his hand lingering on yours. “You deserve to take a break, Y/N. You work so hard.” He cooed.

The wine hit fast, warming your limbs, clouding your thoughts. Jay was charming, leaning close, his smile growing bigger. You giggled, head fuzzy, his voice smooth and low as he talked. By the third glass, the room tilted, your cheeks flushed, your body uncontrollable. He moved to the couch, patting the spot beside him. “Come here love.” “You’re so… nice, Jay,” you mumbled, head lolling slightly, cheeks flushed. By the fourth glass, the room spun, your body heavy, limbs loose. Guilt clawed at you—he’d done so much, the dinner, the plushy, the sweater. You owed him, didn’t you?

You stumbled, and he pulled you into his lap. His scent wrapped around you, intoxicating. He looked at you like you were his everything, and it felt too good, too warm, even as a faint voice screamed to leave. His hand slid to your thigh, squeezing, inching under your skirt. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured, voice thick. “All soft and sweet, just for me.”

“Jay, I… I’m really drunk,” you slurred, trying to push his hand away, but your fingers were clumsy. Your head felt like clouds, the wine drowning out your senses. “Maybe I should… go home.”

“Shh, angel,” he cooed, fingers tightening, ignoring your weak protest. “You can’t leave me after all this, can you? You’re my special girl tonight.” His eyes locked on yours, intense, needy. “You trust me, don’t you? I’ve been so good to you.”

Guilt twisted harder. He had been good—perfect, even. The sweater, the bear, the way he always showed up at the cafe with a smile. He was so kind and caring, always attentive to your needs. He never pushed any lines; you owed him this, right? Just this once. “Okay..” you whispered, voice small, embarrassed, your body betraying you as his touch sent shocks through you.

“Good girl,” he said, kissing you deeply, his tongue and yours mixing perfectly, tasting the wine off your lips. He pushed you back on the couch, hands roaming all over you, tugging off your clothes with a rapid pace. “So fucking cute,” he murmured, unhooking your bra, lips grazing your collarbone. He smiled, sliding your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and pulling them down. “Look at you,” he whispered, playing with your folds, finding you slick despite your confusion. “So wet for me, aren’t you? And you wanted to go home like this?” He circled your clit slowly, teasing, watching you squirm. “Yeah? You like that?”

“S’good,” you slurred, hips twitching, embarrassed but unable to stop the heat building in you. His praise felt like a drug—cute, perfect, his angel.

“Aw,” he teased, slipping two fingers inside, pumping gently, his thumb on your clit. “Do you think of me when you wear my sweater?” he asked, voice low, eyes glinting as if he didn’t already know the answer. He’s watched you do it countless times by now.

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, voice shaky, picturing the cozy navy quarter-zip and how many times you’ve touched yourself while wearing it. He groaned, fingers curling. “So dirty,” he whispered, voice thick with approval. “My dirty little angel, thinking of me like that.” He moved faster, but when you whimpered, close to the edge, he stopped, pulling his fingers out, licking them clean while staring at you. “Not yet. I want to play with you longer.”

You whined, needy, head too foggy to argue, the alcohol was making everything feel lighter. “Jay, please,” you begged, barely coherent.

“Patience,” he chuckled, spreading your thighs wider. He didn’t wait long, his need overtook him. He shoved his pants down, freeing his cock, thick and heavy, the size making your eyes widen even through the drunken haze. “Jay, wait,” you slurred, panic flickering. “It’s… too big.”

“It’ll fit angel, it’ll fit,” he soothed, voice dripping with false gentleness, his hand rubbing your stomach as he lined himself up. “I’ll make it fit.” He pushed in, slow but relentless, stretching you, the burn making you cry out. You were wet, dripping even, yet he was still too big. “Hurts,” you whimpered, hands pushing weakly at his chest.

“I know, love,” he murmured, kissing your forehead, his hand pressing your stomach, feeling the bulge where he filled you. “You’re taking me so well. My perfect fuckdoll.” He thrust slowly, savouring your whines, each whimper and gasp fueling him. “So cute like this, whimpering for me,” You were gone. Your head was dizzy and all you could do was moan his name out, gripping onto him like he could save you.

You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, your head lolling as the pain mixed with pleasure. “Too much,” you’re slurring, but your body arched into him, betraying you.

“You’re doing so good,” he said, thrusting deeper, still slow, watching the bulge in your stomach move. “My perfect girl, letting me have you like this. You owe me this, don’t you? After everything I’ve done for you.” His words sank into your drunken mind. You really did owe Jay everything. You nod barely understanding, just wanting to please him.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, picking up the pace slightly, his hand stroking your hair. “You feel so good, Y/N. Made for me.” He groaned, voice tightening. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You blinked, a flicker of clarity cutting through the fog. “Jay… condom?” you mumbled weakly, too drunk to care fully, the question more curiosity than concern.

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he whispered, hand cupping your cheek, thrusting harder. “We’re gonna have such a good family. I’ll take care of you, always.” His hips snapped forward, and he came, hot and thick robes flooded inside you, groaning into your neck as he filled you, no hesitation. Like he planned this.

You whimpered, too fucked out and drunk to process, your body limp beneath him. He held you close, kissing your forehead, murmuring, “My perfect girl. You did so good.” You drifted off in his arms while he cleaned you up. What a gentleman.

a/n: jay being devious is my new favourite thing I fear... anyways I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! sorry for not posting for a bit I've been super busy so let me yap for a bit. i started my summer courses KILL ME and I just started my new job YAY! I have wayyy too many drafts rn LOL pls lmk what you think! comments and reblogs are appreciated I LOVE YOU GUYS! <3

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caitlynsrighteye · 6 months ago

Text

Our Secret

G!P Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

Heir to the high social status name, Kiramman, should only be paired within the same class standard. Yet, she's fallen for (reader), a girl that is, let's say, not upper class.

Contains: Modern AU, fluff, smut with plot, secret relationship, basketball!G!P!Caitlyn wlw, fem!reader, cunnilingus, couch sex, car sex, almost getting caught, characters are 18+, in 4th year high school (old enough to fuck, but young enough for parents to still have control of their lives lol)

wc: 3.5k

Masterlist Part 2

Born into generational wealth with high status due to her parents' success in business and entrepreneurship. Caitlyn is expected to live up to the same fate, whether it's from her own success or married into another rich family.

That is what Caitlyn planned in order to please her parents.

Until her eyes landed upon you. Beautiful, nonchalant. The sway of your hips as you roam the halls of Piltover High. You were simply walking to your next class before the bell rang, but to Caitlyn, why did time seem too slow when her gaze averted to you?

You, on the other hand, did not bat an eye or spare a second glance. You paid no attention to snotty rich athletes. Especially one as popular as the navy-haired girl. Whom always seemed to have a new girl wrapped around her slim finger every week. She wasn't just the school's top basketball player she WAS a player, and you had no interest in being used.

She noticed you around more. During the passing period, the library, even sitting in the stands as you watch her team, play on the court.

Vi, your best friend. Practically grew up with each other along her sister and brothers. The redhead was also on that team you were cheering for. The game was going well with Piltover in the lead. Each shot Caitlyn took, she always looked your way to make sure you were watching (show-off) and surprisingly didn't miss a single one, like you were her goodluck charm (or maybe just being a try hard to impress you).

The team of Piltover Blue jerseys ran onto the other teams side, ready to score again. Vi passed up all opponent team players, dribbling the ball with skilled precision, ready to pass to Caitlyn. The tall athlete was ready for the pass, yet subconsciously glanced your way, and the ball being passed to her hit her straight in the head. The impact created an embarrassingly loud boing sound. While you watched too.

After the game, Caitlyn walked out of the lockerroom, icepack in hand was placed on her black swollen left eye. She saw you talking with your strong built friend. Before Caitlyn could walk away and sulk, Vi looked over her shoulder and called the girl over.

"Oye! Super star, come over here," said Vi. The blue-eyed player sighed and turned around slowly before walking in your direction. Her face was flushed. Not a clue if it was from the recent game or the embarrassment of you looking at her in her current state.

"We won, but at what cost?" The redhead laughed, patting Caitlyn on the shoulder. Caitlyn usually had this confident demeanor in her stance, but now her back was slightly slouched, and the hand that wasn't holding onto the icepack was cluthing onto one of her backpack straps.

"There was something in my eye, wasn't ready to- " she was interrupted by vi, "Yeah sure, Cupcake," Caitlyn scoffed at the nickname. Violet's phone dings as she gets a text message. "Oh, Powder's waiting for me in the car, gotta go, see ya later, pirate," she says, teasing Caitlyn. She nods in your direction as a fair well, leaving you and the tall player alone.

All was silent until you broke it. "Don't mind Vi, are you alright?" You chuckle in between your sentences. Her gaze leaves the floor where she is staring down at her untied laces. "Yeah, totally. T'is no big deal, didn't even hurt," she tried to play it off, even knowing that her eye throbbed against the coolness of the bag.

Looking back, you never actually talked to the girl, nor did you know that she had an accent. It was quite cute if you were being completely honest.

"So, uh, nice to meet you... cupcake?" She sighed before speaking. "You can just call me Caitlyn, please," you bit your lip, surpressing a laugh, ready to burst out.

"Alright, Caitlyn," the sound of her name rolling off your tongue sent butterflies to her stomach. "I'm Y/n-".

"We had bio together 2nd year," she blurted out, unaware of how she just happened to remember that in that moment. You stared at her with wide eyes as she let go of her bag strap to scratch behind her neck that didn't even itch, tugging on the small hairs that couldn't be pulled into a ponytail.

She stood there even more embarrassed. Where did all this awkwardness come from. It was usually so easy for her to talk to girls, but something about you made her knees buckle and stomach turn.

There was some small talk between the two of you before you realized it was getting late and you're still standing in the halls of the school. Caitlyn offered to walk you back to your car, and you obliged in appreciation.

For the next few weeks, the only messages Caitlyn waits and picks up for are yours. The both of you had grown fond of each other. Hanging out, at first, it was with Vi, but soon ended up with just the two of you alone. She would walk you to your classes, not bothering about the time she had left for passing period. Jogging towards your spot in the bleachers after games.

All the girls she was once in contact with were blocked on her phone. She only had eyes for you.

Months pass, and you finally give in to her flirtatious gestures. One study night at her place, you both laid on her queen sized bed. Your backpacks are sitting on the floor of her bed, binders and papers cover the end of her matress as you both were making out on her freshly cleaned sheets. Legs tangled with each other as you and her laid on your sides. Your arms around her neck as she has one hand behind your head, pulling you impossibly close, and her other roaming the curves of your side. You were both lost in each others grasp.

For so long, she dreamt of finally being able to touch you as she palmed herself late at night in her bed. And here you were, tongues exploring each others mouths, saliva strings connecting your lips to her plump ones.

So lost in each other that you almost missed the knock at her bedroom doors. The handle turned, and the door creaked open. You both pushed off each other. Your push was accidentally too aggressive as she fell off the side of her bed with a thud. The bed was angled enough from the door so that when Caitlyn's mom, Cassandra, entered the room, the blue-haired girl was out of sight.

"Hello, Y/n, do you happen to know where Caitlyn had gone off to?" Her poor mother, so polite. You are sat up on her comforter with homework placed in front of your lap. "She's in the restroom, Mrs. Kiramman," you say, hiding the fact that you're out of breath and your face is bright red like a tomato. "So, I see. When she comes back, please let her know to come to my office for a moment," The older woman closes the door behind her after you say, "Of course, maam".

After a long minute of waiting for her mother to leave down the hall, you crawl to the side of the bed and see Caitlyn on her back with her arm slung over her face, holding back a silent laugh. You both begin to laugh as you asked, "Are you okay?" You grab her arm to remove it from her beautifully sculpted features. Her deep blue eyes meet yours, and you're mesmerized. "I'm alright, thank you," she sits up, and before you can say another word, she pulls you from the back of your neck and pulls you into a kiss.

Soon after, she takes you out and asks you to be her girlfriend, but with a boundary of keeping it a secret. The more people are aware of the newfound relationship, the more likely her parents would find out. It didn't bother you to the core, but it was different.

As if luck wasn't on your side, her parents almost always managed to catch you both barely while you work at each others bodies.

One evening, she invited you over for a movie night, and the next thing you know, you're pushed deep into the plush couch of her living room with your thighs squeezing around her head tightly, as she's kneeled on the floor with your fingers tangled into her luscious navy blue hair and your other hand gripping the cushions behind you. The Kiramman heir is talented with her tongue. Swiping up long stripes from your entrance to your aching clit. The sounds were lewd, wet and loud, of her ravaging your pussy that needed her mouth so badly. You've ever felt such ecstacy before meeting her. Feels as if the moment you two began being intimate with each other, she knew where to please you and knew what would feel good.

Your irises rolled back, and your toes clung to the fabric of her shirt. Your moans were like music to her ears, wishing she could have you like this always. Both her hands grabbed at your flesh. One giving special attention to the mounds of fat on your chest and the other thrusting two fingers into your pulsing heat, curling them at a certain angle that drove you over the edge.

The air felt hot and heavy. Caitlyn's dick was out free and soaked in your spit from your ealier oral attention, her tip rubbing against the cloth of the couch. She humped against it, creating friction she needed. All was well till you saw silhouettes of a man and woman outside the window curtains near the front door.

Through broken moans you panick, "Ah- Fuck... Cait," you tug her hair and she looks at you confused before turning to the door. She quickly, but carefully picks you up off the couch. As soon as your feet hit the cold floor, you felt like jelly. Bad timing for Caitlyn to take your ability to walk. She brought you over to a nearby closet filled with hanging jackets and shelves of shoes and shoved your clothes into your arms before giving you a quick peck to your lips.

She practically jumped into her sweatpants and tucked her spit-slicked cock into the waistband to hide her hardened length. Her parents' keys could be heard as it worked to open the large door. When the noble couple stepped inside, their daughter sat on the couch watching where you and her left off on the movie.

"Hello, Caitlyn," her mother greets. Her father was about to say the same before he sniffed the air and tugged to loosen the business tie around his neck. "Darling, what is that smell?" He says, looking around the room. Caitlyn, with a nonchalant look to her face while she lights a candle on the side table next to the couch. "Im not sure," Sweat threatened to slide down her temple. Her blue eyes darted to the closet door that you hid in. Mr. Kiramman walked in your direction to put his coat away. She never stood so fast in her life she thought she'd pass out. Walking over to her father, she guides him to a small table where she had put the mail. "Dad, I saw this envelope from earlier, looks important," she put the pile of mail in his hands. "Oh well, thank you, Caitlyn," he says before heading towards his office where his wife followed after him.

"Phew," she sighed, hurrying towards your hiding spot where you had your hand covering your mouth to shield your heavy breaths. She opened the sliding doors to your shocked state, worried that you had been caught. You were still naked, legs shaking with arousal dripping down your skin. She gently caresses your cheek, comforting a soft smile from your lips. You take her hand as she helps you out of the closet, bringing you to the closest bathroom where she had you sit on the counter and helped you back into your clothes. Unfortunately, you both blue balled that night.

There was one place where Mr and Mrs. Kiramman couldn't catch you and your super hot girlfriend, the backseat of her car in a dark empty parking lot being lit by the tall light polls. Being the offspring of two rich, important people, she drove a huge murdered out cadillac escalade. The windows were tinted, and the interior was expensive leather. The backseat was large enough and had room for you both to lay.

The sun had gone down a few hours ago. Caitlyn had taken you out to a nice dinner after her team had won a basketball championship while being mvp on the court. The gym was filled in cheers from the crowd, and her teammates shouted in victory. Vi ran up to Cait and lifted her off her feet to congratulate the star of the game. The restaurant was dimly lit by glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles placed on tables. The navy-haired woman was cleaned up, wearing a black pant suit with her hair down resting on her broad shoulders.

As you sat down, she wanted to be extra fancy by ordering wine, but she got ID'd for not being 21 by the waiter (buzz kill). She was romantic and knew how to bring your face to a bright red. Knew how to make you laugh and overall make you want to bend over for her. Dinner was good, yet unbearable with the ache between your legs. The two of you basically hurried out of there, almost forgetting to pay.

Now, here you are, both sat in the backseat, straddling her bare lap as you bounced on her hardened cock. Your bodies fully exposed to each other with goosebumps along your skin. Hands on her shoulders, as hers gripped your hips with bruising strength. Your lips were attached to her neck, sucking and biting the flesh, turning it purple. Her head was thrown back on the seat with her eyes closed tightly. You watched in awe how undone you've made her. Her face wincing from the squeezing pleasure you've given her. Causing you to gain the stamina to bounce harder on her.

Caitlyn was lost in the deep red sea of your pussy as you tightened around her shaft. Each bounce stroked her from tip to hilt repeatedly. Her cock was so deep inside, it kissed your cervix painfully, your clit making contact with her pelvis as you landed.

The windows were completely fogged over, with handprints scattering its area. Her car rocked with each movement. Both your moans overcame the music playing on the bluetooth. The claps of your skin colliding with hers rang in your ears.

"Ha- fuck," you moaned. Caitlyn was not paying attention. Her head was still thrown back as she just sat there enjoying as you rode her. You took one of your hands from her shoulders to tug at her ponytail, bringing her face towards yours. Her eyelids drooped, looking fucked out and exhausted. She crashes her lips onto yours, kissing you hard. The kiss was messy, and your tongues danced together. Saliva strings connecting you both together.

Your movements began to slow as you grew tired. As if energy was transferred over, her kiss became brutal. Tongue dominating yours to explore the inside of your mouth. Her body leaned into you to get closer. If getting closer was even possible at this point. She pulled away from the kiss to watch as your body moved.

Grinding down on her, her erection rubbed against your sweet spot deliciously. Her sapphire eyes stared onto your perfectly round boobs, taking one nipple into her mouth sucking it hard like a hungry babe. "Fuck baby, you're so good," she said, mouth full of your chest mounds. The grip on your hips started to get rough as she helped you move, getting your body to continue bouncing. The sounds of your moans against her ear and your wet cunt swollowing her long cock whole was obscene. Straight out of a porno.

She had never felt this good before. Never with any other girl she's fucked for her own enjoyment made her feel the way she feels in this moment. Never had one of those girls made her fall head over heels. She was in love with you and wanted only you.

Her mouth left your boob with a pop. With the remaining strength and endurance she had left in her, she lifted you. Without pulling out of your cunt to pushed you down onto the center console. Your body getting stuck between the driver and passenger seat. With a shocked expression on your face, you watched her smirk stupidly before her hips took off. Pounding into you with such speed and force behind each thrust till her thighs burned from the awkward position. Your body moved upwards with each stroke she gave you, and you winced in pain when your skin skid along the leather seats. Your fingernails dug into her shoulders, creating scratch marks ready to bleed.

Your moans grew louder, and her balls slapped against your ass. You felt evey thick vein of her cock rubbing your inner walls. The head breaking through you made you feel like you'd be split into two. "Ahh Cait! You're gonna m-make me fucking cum," you lifted your head to watch her dick disappear within you. Your eyes almost rolled back at the sight of her thrusting into you. Her forhead slick with sweat, bottom lip between her teeth, her boobs bouncing with each pound of her hips onto yours. She gasped, close to her nut bust she watched her dick print on your lower tummy. It turned her on so much more. Her palms pressed down onto where she could see her dick going in and out of you, tickling your g-spot from the outside. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and your velvet walls clenched onto her girth. She moan in unison with you. "Shit so tight. Wanna cum in you," her jaw tensed as you were clamped down hard onto her.

"Fuck fuck Cait!" You screamed. Squeezing her member hard, her balls tightened. You squirted all over her. Your hot fluids coating her pelvis. White cum burst from her tip and into you. Her strokes were slower, riding out both your highs. Long and deep strokes. Your body shook from the intense orgasm. Her eyes were glued to you the whole time while she took control. She craved the faces you made while she fucked you into a mindless sack of flesh. Regaining consciousness from your high, your eyes locked to hers. She stood awkwardly over you, trying to catch her breath before pulling her sore cock out of you.

It's as if the whole world went silent, and you and her were at the center of it all. Your gaze lingered onto hers before following a bead of sweat down to her swollen glossy lips. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you pulled her in to taste the sweet padding of her lips. She sighed into it, feeling relaxed and loved within your grasp. Something she felt safe and vulnerable in.

The kiss broke, and she nuzzled her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sent of your perfume and sweat. She placed soft pecks to the hickeys on your neck. Kisses that lead up your jaw to your cheek, then reached your forhead. After one final peck to your hairline, she looked up to see the time on the dashboard screen.

She sighed, "It's 3am," she watched as your eyebrows rose and your forhead wrinkled. "Oh shit," you say. A smile widened across your face as you do your best not to giggle. Yet, failed once she began to laugh with you. It wasn't a hilarious laugh it was more comfortable and soft sounding. Like, 'Oh my gosh, we were so caught up in the moment we didn't realize how late it had gotten'.

"Mum and dad are going to kill me," she rested her forhead against yours. You chucked and said, "We'll come up with an excuse."

"I love you."

You stared into her eyes blankly. Surprised by the sudden confession. Her body lifted, just as shocked as you were before taking a deep breath to keep eye contact with you.

"I love you, Y/n," she said it more confidently. It's been months since you both began dating, and you've gotten to know each other for almost a year by now. Confessing love was bound to happen sooner or later.

Your expression relaxed, and a sly smile spread on your lips. "About time, cupcake," you teased. "Oh, you shut up," she laughed.

"I love you too, Caitlyn Kiramman"

_________________________________________

Note: IT IS SO HARD FOR ME TO WRITE SMUT BC I JS WANNA WRITE BACKGROUND AND PLOT TO ITTTT AHHHH!

Also ps: i keep seeing hcs of Caitlyn loving to have reader ride in cowgirl position... and never see it in fics like i eat up that hc sm ugh, need to save a horse so bad🧎🏻‍♀️

Thanks for reading♡ lemme know what you think :)

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