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meowviolet · 6 hours ago

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𝔇𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

summary: a collection of short stories between Knight! Caitlyn Kiramman x fem!princess! Reader for HCW!💙

warnings: smut in the middle of the story. I’ll tell you when it’s coming.

songs: Ethereal by Txmy, Golden Brown by The Straglers, Carnival of the Animals: The Swan

“I swear”

“To protect”

“And to give my life”

“For her highness”

“For her highness.”

“Under any circumstance.”

“With god as my witness.”

“Amen.”

The knight was in full armor, pledging their loyalty and life to you. As princess, you knew you’d receive your own Kiramman night one day. They’ve been protecting your family for generations with skill and dignity. This one; however, she’s different. Starting with the fact it’s a she. The female voice surprised you. A lady knight? Almost unheard of.

You’d see her sometimes, training in the vast field outside your bedroom window, but from such a distance, you never caught this mysterious woman’s face. You’re brought back from your thoughts by the man beckoning you to stand. Like you rehearsed, you stand, receive the sword, and knight her. The crowd erupts in applause, and the knight finally stands.

She’s tall. That’s the first thing you notice about her. You give her the sword, which she receives with two hands and a bow.

After the commotion of the ceremony, you’re escorted back to your bedroom by ladies in waiting to get out of your special gown. “Did you know her highness’s knight is a woman?” One whispers to the other. “I did! I heard it was because the Kiramman’s were unable to produce a son.” So that was it. There was no Kiramman son to protect you, so their daughter would.

You saw no issue with it. Even if she’s half as skilled as her predecessors, you’d be in good hands. Taking the time to rest in your simple silk dress, you pluck a book from your shelves and settle down to read.

Knock knock knock

The wrapping at your door comes around half an hour later when you answer, it’s your new knight. She’s not fully armed anymore, but her helmet is still on. “Good afternoon, your highness.” She bows. “Good afternoon…” you’re so curious about this woman, and why she won’t remove her helmet. “As your personal guard, I’ve come to start my duties today. May I come inside?” You open the door wider and allow her to come inside.

“You’re a woman?” The question slips from your lips before you could think about asking. The knight turns quickly as if it was an insult. “Well- yes, your highness, but I assure you I can protect you as well as any man.” She sounds bitter.

“That’s not what I meant! I just found it to be peculiar.”

“My apologies. I am an only child. There is no son to take on the family name, so I was to instead.” She’s got a pretty voice.

“I have no doubts you’ll make a fine knight. Sometimes, I’d see you training out there.” You motion to your window.

“Really? Yes, I practice out there a lot.” She adjusts her helmet.

“Would you maybe…uhm, remove your helmet? I’d like to see your face.” You can hear her armor shift when she does. You’ve caught her off guard. “My face? I’m not sure, your highness… it’d be unchivalrous.”

“Would it? As your princess I command you.” You weren’t going to let chivalry stop you from finally seeing this woman up close. She sighs, but removes her helmet. Her striking blue eyes avoid your curious ones, and her lips tighten. She’s beautiful. Her dark blue hair is tied into a bun, and her face is perfectly sculpted.

When she notices you staring, her cheeks turn a soft pink. “Is that to your liking, your highness?”

“Uhm…yes. There’s no need to wear your helmet all the time.” You try and brush off the feeling in your chest, and the heat in your own cheeks. “What’s your name?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from your new, beautiful personal guard. “Caitlyn Kiramman.” Caitlyn. It suits her perfectly.

“Can I call you Caitlyn?”

“Of course, your highness.” She finally looks at you. It’s silent. “You’re beautiful.” Caitlyn looks surprised, but catches herself and puts on a stoic poker face to hide it. “Thank you, your highness.” She looks around your room before her eyes settle back on you. You break the silence.“I’ve been looking forward to my personal Kiramman knight.” You giggled. Caitlyn smiles “Were you? I can only hope I won’t disappoint you, your highness. As a Kiramman, and your knight, it is my honor to serve you.” She bows. Maybe you don’t mind the chivalry so much after all.

“My lady!” One of your maids calls. “Tea is ready in the garden for you.”

“Shall we go?” You say to Caitlyn. “Of course, your highness.”

Laughter and music filled the ballroom, as lords and ladies waltzed and drank. You were standing in the corner, sipping idly on a drink, denying suitor after suitor a dance with you. Everyone wanted to dance with the princess. After all, the one who conquered your heart would gain the throne.

That’s what they all thought, but your heart had already been conquered. Conquered by your lady-knight who guarded you fiercely. Her dedication made you swoon. The small gap between her two front teeth made your heart flutter. Her watchful eyes monitoring your every move made you weak in the knees. You were so caught up in your fantasy, you didn’t realize that she was making her way over to you.

“Your highness.” Caitlyn bows politely. “Caitlyn! You startled me.” You dismiss the thoughts of the woman standing right in front of you. She gently takes your hand and kisses it, keeping eye contact the whole time. Her lips are soft. “You look lovely tonight. No wonder all eyes are on you.” Her eyes carry a certain fondness in them. No one’s ever looked at you like that. No one except for her.

“Thank you.” You reply. She stands up straight. “Dance with any handsome suitors this evening?” Her voice sounds a little teasing. “No.” You admit.

“Why’s that, your highness? No one to your liking?”

“Something like that.”

Before you can continue your conversation, a noble from another region comes over to you. “Your highness, may I have this dance?” Feeling bored and unamused, you accept. “Yes. That sounds lovely.” Your voice is devoid of any actual emotion. He leads you to the ballroom floor and you dance. You feel nothing. You had to dance with some men though. You didn’t want to seem impolite.

While you’re lost in your own world as this man whirls you around, you get a glimpse of Caitlyn. She’s staring daggers at the noble you’re dancing with. She looks…

jealous.

You’ve never seen your stoic knight scowl like that. When the dance comes to an end, she doesn’t clap.

When you return to stand by her, she clears her throat and goes back to her poker face. “Caitlyn, are you alright?”

“Quite alright, your highness.” Her voice is sharp. She’s upset. “Did you want to dance?” She looks flustered. “No, princess. Even if I wanted to, this ball is not for me.”

She didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night.

For months now, you have begged Caitlyn to take you on her horse. In truth, you know how to ride a horse, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted an excuse to wrap your arms around your knight and hold her close. ��Please Caitlyn? I promise you won’t be endangering me!” You begged for what felt like the hundredth time. “Well…fine. If you really want to this much.”

You could almost jump for joy. Caitlyn sees how ecstatic you are, and a giggle slips from her usually stoic face. “You’re lucky you’re my princess.” She comments before leading you outside.

“Careful.” Caitlyn warns once she gets you mounted on her horse. “Now, wrap your arms around me. Just so you can hold on..” she’s oddly quiet. Like saying that embarrassed her. You oblige, and even go as far as to lean your head on her shoulder. She stiffens, but relaxes and clears her throat. “Ready?” She slowly urges her horse into a steady canter.

“You can go faster than that.” You say into her ear. “Are you sure, your highness?” She looks over her shoulder at you. “Please?” She sighs, but smiles softly. “I can’t say no to you. Come on, boy” she talks to her horse. Now, she’s going fast. She seems very comfortable on horseback. You’re clinging to her. Not just because of your ulterior motives, but because you feel like if you let go, you’ll fall off.

“Is this fast enough for you, your highness!?” She yells over the horse’s hooves and the wind in your ears. Caitlyn’s ponytail falls out, and her navy hair blows in your face. She’s laughing like she’s having fun. You’ve never seen her act such a way. She’s always so sure to act in accordance to her chivalry. You laugh with her. Caitlyn’s horse neighs, driving her attention to the oncoming thicket. She stops the horse abruptly, making you lurch into her. Loosing her balance, Caitlyn falls, and you follow.

You laugh with her for what feels like hours on the ground. When you’re both done, Caitlyn stands up and offers you her hand to help you up. You take it, and she pulls you up. “Was that enough for you?” She asks playfully. “I can’t believe I almost got you killed.” She runs her hand through her disheveled hair. “Well, let’s head back. Your father will have my head if we don’t get back soon.”

“You can take a break for just a few minutes.” Your arms where around Caitlyn’s neck and she had one gloved hand on your hip. Quite an intimate position for anybody, but one especially unacceptable for a princess. “Princess, your safety comes first every time. I don’t need breaks.” You pouted at her. “Nonsense. It doesn’t have to be a long break.” Caitlyn gently pries you off of her. “I’m sorry, your highness. I’ll have to refuse.” Sitting back on your bed, you ask. “Why do you always work so hard? You almost never take any breaks.”

You see Caitlyn shift around in discomfort. “I have a lot to manage. One princess along with my entire family’s honor. No one expected much of me.” You decide to be quiet. This is clearly her trying to be vulnerable. “Because there was no male heir to the Kiramman name, it was up to me. A girl. I’ve always had to work twice as hard, be twice as strong, fast, smart, just for anyone to take me seriously. Even now.” Caitlyn looks exhausted.

“I…I didn’t consider that. I’m sorry, Caitlyn.” Now, you feel a little selfish for messing with her. Caitlyn looks remorseful. “No, don’t be sorry. I did everything I did to get here. Guarding royalty has always been the pride of the Kiramman family. Being here with you now means everything I’ve worked for was worth it.” She comes close enough to loom over you, and bends to meet your face. “But maybe I could use a break. Having a princess like you to remind me to relax is a blessing in itself.”

She looks beautiful up close like this. You can’t look away. Caitlyn’s eyes soften, and she cups your cheek with one gloved hand. “I’ll forever be loyal to you. Not a single soul can touch you as long as I’m alive.” The intimate moment lasts a little longer before Caitlyn clears her throat and stands up. “Excuse me, your highness. I’ll go take my post now.”

You were sitting outside with your entourage of maids and ladies in waiting, who were all swooning watching the knights spar. You were too, but the only one staring at the lady-knight was you. You’ve never seen her spar, but she’s good at it. After quickly ending a match, Caitlyn notices you. She approaches and removes her helmet. She’s covered in the slightest sheen of sweat. “Your highness,” she keels and kisses your hand. “Caitlyn! I came to watch you you spar.” She looks surprised. “Did you? Well, thank you. I hope I’ve impressed you?”

“Very much so.” Caitlyn giggles.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay and talk very long. After all, everyone’s waiting to joust with the current champion.” She smiles curtly before putting her helmet back on and leaving. Watching her maneuver with such ease and expertise only encouraged your forbidden fantasies. Every so often, you’ll even catch Caitlyn turning in your direction after a match. Almost like she wants to see what you thought of it.

Of course, you clap, smile as you’ve been trained to, and continue to admire her skill. You’d expect nothing less from a Kiramman night, man or woman. What drew you to her even more was the fact that she worked harder than any other knight in the palace grounds. All to finally get the opportunity to stand by you.

The idea was very romantic, but even more so because it was true. You weren’t stupid though, and doubt that Caitlyn feels the same. After all, from what you’ve learned of her, she sticks to the classic rules of chivalry. Opting to ignore the harsh reality, you brushed those thoughts away and returned to observing her.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.” Caitlyn whispered to you again. “It’s fine. You’re with me so I’ll be alright.” You whisper-shouted back. Being that she can’t refuse you, she continues walking alongside you. The cloak you were wearing to sneak into town effectively hid your face, and more expensive clothes. Caitlyn was free to have her face exposed. As long as she wasn’t wearing armor, you looked like a pair of peasant women; normal. Caitlyn of course insisted that she bring her sword. When you refused, she settled for a dagger.

“Let’s go over here!” You grab her hand and drag Caitlyn to a stall selling some strange dessert. “Princess! I can’t let you eat that.” Caitlyn stares at the street food in disgust. “Don’t call me that!” You shush her and buy the thing anyways.“It looks like rubbish.” Caitlyn says. “It tastes good.” You defend the humble treat. “Would you like a taste?” You offer her the side where you’ve been eating from. “Uhm…” She hesitantly takes a bite. Her cheeks are pink again. “It’s fine…” Caitlyn seems a little flustered.

When you finally return, Caitlyn sneaks you back inside without anyone noticing. She helps you climb through the window in your bedroom, and takes the peasants cloak. “There. I really shouldn’t have allowed this. Unfortunately I can never say no to you, my lady.” She smiles at you fondly. “I know.” You reply mischievously. Caitlyn gets close. Her eyes are looking all around. Sometimes away from you. “…Your highness, may I?” Her hand gently grabs your chin, and her thumb is on your bottom lip. If you didn’t feel the same desire for her, she would get in trouble for touching you like this. You nod meekly.

She wraps her arm around you and pulls you closer. “Excuse me.” And then, her lips are on yours. She kisses you slowly, softly, and with passion. She slowly gets your back against the wall, and prods your lips with her tongue. Understanding what she wants, you let her in. The kiss lasts for what feels like forever. The room is completely silent save for the soft, quiet moans coming from you and Caitlyn.

When she finally pulls away, she hugs you tight. “My lady…” She says into your ear yes how many people for his birthday?. “I love you, princess. I swear it.” She caresses the back of your head softly, and sighs. “They’d have my head for this.”

WARNING!!! Smut ahead. Continue at your own risk. There is more fluff/ story afterwards so skip if you want to!

You’re riding in a carriage through town, and Caitlyn is on horseback riding next to you. It’s the night of your birthday ball. Despite the excitement, you weren’t too keen on going. The day had been long, filled with afternoon tea with dignitaries, visits from neighboring kingdoms, and suitors galore. This ball would be the same way.

Once you arrived, Caitlyn dismounts her horse to help you out of the carriage. You take her hand, and step out. She immediately notices your frown. “Is everything alright, your highness? I hate to see you so upset on your birthday”

“It’s nothing.” You insisted, before making your way inside. You can see she doesn’t quite believe you, but escorts you inside anyways.

Caitlyn’s face falls when she sees him, and when his title is announced. Your betrothed. She looks to you as if to ask for an explanation, but you can only look away. She returns to her poker face, and continues to escort you through the ball.

“Let’s dance again? Maybe this next song?” Your future husband asked, as you pulled away after a dance. “Uhm- yes, I just need some fresh air. I’ll come back.” You rush to the balcony to get away from him. Leaning on the railing, you feel yourself getting ready to cry. This is not what you wanted at all. Before you can, you hear the clink of metal, and turn to see Caitlyn has followed you outside.

“Are you alright?” When you just look at her pathetically, she comes and wraps her arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Is it about your betrothed? He seems like a good man. Maybe even fit to be king.”

“Yes, it’s about him!” You whine. “I don’t- I don’t want to marry for convenience. I wanted to marry for love.” Caitlyn pauses, before responding.

“Is there someone you love right now?” Her voice is quiet, and almost a little hopeful. “Yes.” You whisper. You don’t even have to say anything more for her to lean down and kiss you right there.

“Isn’t this going to look suspicious?” You ask as Caitlyn leads you down the hallway. “No. I’m simply a knight leading her lady to her quarters, because she feels overwhelmed by the festivities.” She smiles. “Wouldn’t it be chivalrous of me to assist her in calming down?” What were you getting yourself into right now?

“Sit.” She motions towards your vanity, and you take a seat. You watch in the mirror as she unfastens your corset, and every so often she’ll make eye contact through the mirror. “I knew this would happen one day.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “That you’d be betrothed.”

“I could refuse it. Surely, if I spoke to my father and explained-”

“There’s no way. I really don’t know what’s going to happen, but right now I don’t care.” She kisses your now bare shoulder. “Give me a moment.” She stands, and enters your bathroom.

When she comes out, it looks like she just took off her armor. She’s still wearing a shirt and pants, and her hair is loosened. She sits on your bed, and you go to join her.

Caitlyn has you both down to your undergarments. “You’re even more beautiful without all that nonsense.” She says in reference to the tight corset and pounds of makeup. “I swore my life to this body.” She says quietly while kissing your neck slowly. Her hands explore your every crevice. “My lady…I love you. I don’t care about any suitor.” She whispers in your ear, before licking up the shell of it. She makes her way down to your legs, and parts them. “You’re okay with this?” She asks. “I need you to promise me.” You nod. “No, with words, your highness. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Caitlyn. Please.” You plead. So unladylike. A princess should never beg for anything from someone below her. Ever.

Caitlyn kisses between your legs, but stops when she sees how strangely you’re reacting. “Oh- your highness I apologize. You’re a virgin. After all, princesses aren’t meant to indulge in such pleasures.” she sits up, looking down at you fondly. “How forbidden. A princess being wooed by her knight, and loosing her virginity the night she meets her betrothed. I could be killed for this, you know.”

She comes back down, and gently prods your entrance with her finger. “Just tell me if it’s too much, yes? Your highness?”

Your hands are on Caitlyn’s toned back as she prepares to deflower you. “I don’t know how to get you away from that suitor…He may be able to have you, but he won’t have this.” She gently inserts one finger inside you. It’s a strange new feeling, but one you welcome. Caitlyn kisses your neck gently, but occasionally chooses a spot to suckle on. She’s pumping her finger slowly. When you get too noisy, she shushes you. “Shhh…you can’t be loud, princess. Someone will hear you acting so indecently.” She’ll whisper. “Caitlyn!” She gently bites your ear in response. “Ah ah ah. Shh.”

“I’m serious when I say I could be killed for this. I’d loose everything I worked for.” She adds another finger, making you moan louder. “Shhhh… quiet princess. Can you really no longer hold yourself together? Becoming so weak because of your knight? How unladylike.” She scolds, and goes a little faster.

When you feel yourself starting to climax, it’s almost like Caitlyn noticed first, because she’s moving faster. To muffle your reaction to your own climax, Caitlyn kisses you again, swallowing all your moans with quiet ones of her own. “Beautiful. That was beautiful your highness. You can do it once more, yes?” She coos into your ear. Even when you’ve finished, she doesn’t stop. “Princess, Please, let’s not go back to that stuffy ball with that awful man. I’ll take care of you.” She’s moving again. This time she lifts one of your thighs on each shoulder, and begins to lick and mouth your maiden hood.

She’s keeping eye contact the whole time with her hazy blue eyes. She looks almost drunk off of you alone. You can no longer tell if you’re soaked with your own fluids or Caitlyn’s saliva. Her mouth feels warm against you, and you’re trembling.

You’re already going to climax again. Caitlyn’s tongue is determined to find all your sensitive spots. “Caitlyn..ahh. Please don’t stop.” Her grip on your thighs tightens and she buries herself deeper into you.

After another climax, you feel spent. Caitlyn comes back up to lie next to you and pull you closer. “Was that to your liking, your highness? It certainly was to me. You taste just divine.” She murmurs into your hair. You fall asleep in her arms just like that. Luckily for you, Caitlyn locked the door.

“What now?” You smoothed your hair which was tied back in a bun. You got no response. Who could blame her? Anyone would be upset in such a situation. For the past month, you’d been having an affair. Denying your future husbands attempts to spend time with you in favor of sneaking off with Caitlyn. You couldn’t exactly avoid him now; sitting at your vanity in the while gown and veil. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there. I don’t care if that man is your husband. My loyalty is to you.”

“Caitlyn..” you can’t find the words to speak to her. She sees your sadness and offers you help to stand up. She puts a hand on your shoulder, and uses the other to brush some stray hair from your face.“It’s alright. You look beautiful like this.” She has a strange, sad smile on her face. “Nothing will stop me from loving you, my lady. Please don’t forget that.” She embraces you once more, for what feels like forever. When you finally pull away, she kisses your forehead. “Shall we go?”

Taglist: @child-of-plut0

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meowviolet · 6 hours ago

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POISON.

PAIRINGS: DOM!VI X SUB!FEM!READER

PREFACE: "you are the poison i can't help but addict, baby."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: okayy mega jumbo headcanons about perv + obssesed vi i kept for myself out now! enjoy <3

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) TAGS: perv!vi ;; obsessed!vi ;; stalker!vi ;; jealous!vi ;; possessive!vi ;; filthy thoughts 24/7 ;; clothes sniffing ;; jerking off ;; shrine of your things ;; toxic obesession ;; horny thoughts ;; breaking point energy ;; protective but perverted.

navigation.

1. vi knows your entire daily routine down to the minute—and not because you told her.

she’s memorized what time you leave for class, what drink you always get from the same shitty café, and even how long you spend in the shower. she doesn't just notice it—she schedules her whole day around it. not because she has to. just because it’s you.

"you take exactly twelve minutes to brush your hair, sweetheart. you always skip your bottom lashes on tuesdays. yeah, i pay attention—what, surprised your little stalker takes notes?"

2. she steals your clothes like a sick little habit.

not the cute ones, not the fancy ones—the worn-in ones. your favorite hoodie? gone. that pair of lace panties you thought you lost in the laundry? in her pillowcase. she doesn’t even try to deny it. just smirks when you ask.

*"dunno what you're talkin’ about, baby… but if i *did* have 'em, maybe i'd just be keepin’ ‘em warm for you.”*

3. vi’s phone gallery is 90% you.

you asleep. you eating. you laughing at a meme she didn’t even send. some pics are sweet. some are… well, taken through a cracked doorway while you changed. she gets off to them on lonely nights, biting her knuckles, whispering your name.

“fuck… look at you. you’ve got no idea how bad i wanna wreck you.”

4. she jerks off to your voice.

a voicemail, a saved video, even a muffled recording from a café where you were talking to a friend. vi’s hand’s already down her sweats before she hits play. her forehead pressed to her screen. whimpering like you’re there.

“say my name, c’mon… baby, just one time. fuck—please—”*

5. she fantasizes about ruining you in public.

bent over a sink in a club bathroom. up against a brick wall in an alley. in the backseat of your friend’s car. she dreams of making you cry her name through clenched teeth, knowing people are just a few feet away.

"you’d let me, wouldn’t you? be a good girl, take it all while they pass by, clueless to how fucked-out you are…”

6. vi loves when you wear skirts.

not because they’re cute (they are). but because it’s easier access. she’s touched you under restaurant tables. at bars. even while you were on a zoom call once. and you tried so hard to keep your voice steady—god, she lives for it.

“keep talkin’—pretend nothin’s wrong, c’mon. let me feel how wet you are for me, baby.”

7. she’ll lose her fucking mind if she catches you flirting.

even if it's innocent. even if it's just you smiling too long at someone. her voice gets low, hands on your hips, jaw clenched like she might bite you. jealousy makes her primal. possessive. dangerous.

“you wanna make me mad, sweetheart? you wanna see what happens when you act like you ain’t already mine?”

8. vi dreams about breaking you in.

your thighs trembling. your voice going hoarse from screaming her name. you limping the next day. she wants to be your first thought every morning and the ache between your legs every night.

“i wanna fuck you so good you forget anyone else exists. just vi. just me, in that pretty little head of yours.”

9. she has a list of things she’ll do to you…

a literal list. scribbled in a beat-up notebook, hidden under her mattress. everything from tying you up with her wraps to edging you for hours until you cry. some pages are so smudged from her fingers she had to rewrite them.

“you wanna see my favorite entry? the one where i keep you cockdrunk for a week straight, unable to speak without moaning my name?”

10. vi doesn’t just want your body. she wants to consume you.

every laugh, every breath, every little secret you’ve never told anyone else—she wants it all. and once she has it, she’ll never let go. not gently. not softly. she wants to be the reason your legs shake and your trust breaks.

"you're mine. and if i have to fuck it into that pretty head of yours every night to remind you… so be it."

11. vi sniffs your scent like an addict in withdrawal. your pillow, your gym towel, your half-worn sweater you forgot at her place. she’ll hold it to her face, inhale like it’s oxygen, hips grinding down on nothing as her brain short-circuits.

"you smell like heaven and sin, baby. no wonder i can’t fuckin’ think straight around you…”

12. she has a secret playlist full of songs that remind her of you.

some are sexy. some are sad. some she fucks herself to while mouthing your name like it’s a prayer. she’s even written down the timestamps of parts where she imagines you begging for her.

“this part right here—yeah. that’s where you’d be moanin’ my name into the sheets, huh?”

13. vi gaslights herself into believing you want her just as twistedly.

you looked at her once for a second too long? you’re in love. you asked for help reaching something? you’re submitting. she reads everything like a sign.

“don’t act shy, baby. you’re the one who started this… remember? you asked me to come closer.”

14. she watches you sleep.

not in a cute way. in a sick, slack-jawed, pupils-blown way—her hands creeping up your thigh while whispering how perfect you are. sometimes she touches herself beside you. quiet. careful. possessive.

“so sweet… so fuckin’ good like this. you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

15. vi fantasizes about ruining your dates.

if anyone else tries to get close? she's already planned how to humiliate them. show up. drag you out by the wrist. maybe even kiss you so hard in front of them you can’t breathe.

“they can’t fuck you like i can. can’t make you scream, can’t make you cry. you know that, don’t you, baby?”

16. she leaves hickeys where no one can see—yet.

she marks you up under your clothes, down your thighs, on the insides of your wrists. her favorite? right over your heartbeat.

“let ‘em look at you and not know who you belong to. that’s our little secret, yeah?”

17. vi records herself moaning your name.

she’ll send it to you when she’s extra feral. or worse—she’ll play it into your voicemail box so next time you check your phone all you hear is her breathless, whimpering “please, baby… fuck, please let me taste it.”

18. she’s made a drawing of you. naked. and not from imagination. from memory. from every second she’s seen you stretch, yawn, bend over—she pieced it all together in a fucked-up masterpiece she keeps in a locked drawer. sometimes she jerks off to it. sometimes she just stares.

"my dirty little muse. you make it so easy, baby.”

19. vi edges herself to the thought of you crying her name.

no orgasms unless she earns it. that’s the rule. she pictures you tied up, shaking, begging for more. she teases herself until she's panting—then stops. again and again.

“not until she says my name like she means it. not until she breaks.”

20. she’s already imagined your wedding night.

but not the romantic part. no—vi dreams of dragging you into the honeymoon suite, ripping the dress, fucking you face-down until you sob into the sheets from overstimulation.

"you’re mine now, baby. for real. for good. ‘til death do us part—and even then, i’ll crawl outta the fuckin’ grave for you.”

21. vi has a dedicated shrine drawer of your things. not an altar. a shrine. hair ties. half-used chapstick. a receipt with your lip print. your doodles. she lays them out like relics. sometimes just stares at them and murmurs “mine” under her breath.

“it’s not weird. it’s not. you left it behind—you wanted me to have it.”

22. she reads your old texts like porn.

even innocent ones. "hey can u help me carry this?" her brain twists it instantly: "can you help me get off, vi? please? i need you." she scrolls and scrolls, one hand between her legs, the other clutching the phone like it’s a lifeline.

23. vi masturbates with your stuff.

that silky sleep shirt you forgot? wrapped around her fist. that lip balm? on her mouth before she moans against her pillow. she wants you to find out. wants you to walk in and catch her in the act, shameless and slick and ruined.

"c’mon, baby… just stand there. watch what you do to me.”

24. she’s obsessed with your mouth.

the way you pout. bite your pen. lick frosting off your finger. every time she sees it, her brain shorts out. she’s not thinking about kissing you—she’s thinking about you gagging on her strap while tears line your lashes.

“you’ve got no clue what that mouth could be doing, do you, angel?”

25. vi practices dirty talk in front of the mirror.

like some pervy little theatre kid—fingers in her hair, hips rocking, whispering what she’d say while you’re crying under her. she tests out phrases, intonations, smirks. she wants to destroy you, and she wants to say it right.

“nah… not that one. needs to sound meaner. filthier. like i’m gonna break her.”

26. she’s memorized the sound of your moan—even if she’s never heard it.

she imagines it every night. different tones, different pitches. she'll lie back, eyes shut, headphones in, playing some random porn while pretending the voice is yours.

“that’s it, baby. sound so sweet when you’re desperate. bet i could make you scream for me…”

27. vi’s favorite position is the one where she can watch your face while ruining you.

missionary? only if she’s got your wrists pinned. cowgirl? only so she can slap your ass and yank your hair. she needs to see your tears. hear your whimpers. taste your surrender.

“look at me. i said look. i wanna see your face when i break you.”

28. she gets turned on when you cry.

not sobbing. not pain. but when you're overwhelmed—flushed cheeks, trembling hands, lips parted in a whimper? she can’t help it. something about the way you come undone makes her want to kiss your tears and fuck you senseless.

“aw, baby… look at you. so sensitive. you want me to stop? or you want me to go deeper?”

29. vi doesn’t dream about vanilla shit.

her fantasies are feral. you on your knees, leash around your throat. you tied to her headboard, begging to cum. you wearing nothing but her dog tags while she fucks the possessiveness into your throat.

*"say it. say you belong to me. that you're mine and you *like* when i’m fucked up over you.”*

30. vi jerks off to the idea of you getting scared of her.

not in a cruel way. but in the oh god, what did i just awaken kind of way. she wants to watch you realize how deep her obsession runs. how dangerous it is. and how much you like it.

“you don’t even know what you’ve done to me, baby. and now? it’s too late.”

PHEWW PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME IM JUST A GIRL </3

269 notes · View notes

meowviolet · 6 hours ago

Text

“now she’s running from this d*ck, i told her stay with it”

꩜ pairing: caitlyn kiramman x female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 908

꩜ synopsis: you slip up and call your girlfriend “mommy”. the rest is history.

☆ art cred: @/xjdkg89q on twt :3

You're not sure how many times Caitlyn has made you come already.

Reduced to tears and beyond wrecked, your hands move to push your pussydrunk girlfriend away while your core yells at you to let yourself be royally ruined. After all, you did sort of ask for it.

The sheets are damp, your thighs sticky with your glistening slick, and she’s still not done with you. The strap-on inside you is thick and curved just right, pushing in deep with every merciless thrust as her fingers rub tight, fast circles over your clit.

She’s above you, rutting into you hard—strong and controlled like normal, like she knows exactly how you fall apart and has no intention of letting you hold yourself together.

“Such a mess already,” Caitlyn tuts, utterly calm, as if this is another regular day. “But, you’re not satisfied yet, aren’t you? Gods, just look at you. Fucking gorgeous.”

You choke out a high-pitched whine, nails digging into her biceps, as you try to keep up—your head spinning, your body convulsing.

"C-Caitlyn," you breathe out, barely able to process anything. "Hah—don't stop."

“I won’t, baby,” she pecks your cheek, deceptively affectionate and almost ruthless. “You don’t get to run from this.”

She thrusts deep without warning, hard enough that your back arches off the bed. It’s ridiculously obscene that it rips a pathetic sound out of you—half-moan, half-plea.

"O-oh, fuck! Ngh, feels s’ good, m-mommy—!"

Immediately, time freezes.

Your blood runs cold when the haze in your mind clears and reality comes tumbling down.

No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening.

Caitlyn’s hips stutter, her body suddenly heavy above yours as she looms there and gapes at you. The room goes silent except for the rapid thud of your heartbeat.

You hadn't planned to say it. You swear.

It, quite frankly, slipped out, tangled in desperation—your brain too fuzzy, your mouth too loose. And now it flickers between you like something sinfully electric.

Your eyes widen, “I—I didn’t—”

Her hand grabs your jaw and tilts your face up, a squeak escaping you at the sudden movement.

Caitlyn's expression is surprisingly unreadable. Her mouth is slightly parted and her eyes blaze dangerously blue. Not angry, no, but… hungry.

“Say it again,” she whispers, her demand crackling with charged want.

You blink up at her, stunned.

“Caitlyn—”

“No,” she interjects, her words sharper than before. “That’s not what you called me, sweetheart. Say it again.”

Your pulse trips. You don’t even mean to obey, you’re embarrassed for heaven’s sake; it happens naturally.

“…Mommy.”

Once you let the title hang in the air, that’s it. Something inside her snaps.

She nearly growls, low in her throat, and then she’s moving, grabbing your wrists and pinning them hard to the mattress above your head with one hand. The other braces against your thigh as she fucks into you again, this time with real intent.

“That's my good girl,” Caitlyn pants, rough now, feral. “So, so needy you couldn’t help yourself.”

Your legs quiver as she pounds into you, the wet slap of her hips hitting yours echoing through the room. The tip drags hard against your sweet spot, her rhythm relentless.

“You wanted mommy to take care of you, didn’t you?” she hisses, dragging her mouth along your throat. “Wanted to be ruined by her cock, stuffed like a little slut.”

“Y-Yes—” you can’t think. You surrender to the pleasure, incoherently babbling, “I need it so bad, mommy. S-shit, please—”

“Oh, you need it?” she mocks, deliciously cruel. “Wasn’t even meant to come out, was it? But you can’t stop calling me that, can you?”

You shake beneath her, too gone, too broken, too everything.

“I bet you’ve been thinking about it,” Caitlyn continues, grinding into you even deeper, her physique commanding every inch of your skin. “Thinking about mommy tying you down and fucking you dumb. Claiming this pussy like it’s hers. Isn’t that right?”

You cry out, thighs trembling under her grip.

“It’s yours, mommy—mmf—a-always been yours—”

“Fuck.”

Her fingers dig into you harshly. She leans down and kisses you hard, biting your lower lip before pulling back. Her face is flushed and focused, hair an absolute mess, brow furrowed like she’s concentrating on every thrust.

“You want to come for mommy, princess?” she asks, and it’s so filthy the words punch straight through you.

“Yes,” you moan shamelessly, teetering on pornographic. “Please—please let me.”

“Then take it,” she groans. “Be a good girl and take it.”

Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave. You scream, legs jerking, as pleasure rips through you, abrupt and shattering. You don’t even realise you’re sobbing until Caitlyn finally stops moving, letting you breathe.

She stays buried to the hilt inside you, slowly rocking her hips enough to make your oversensitive body twitch and whimper.

Her expression softens to its usual protectiveness.

“There she is,” she coos at your beautifully fucked-out state. “That’s my girl. All spent. All mine.”

You nod, barely conscious, lips swollen and cheeks wet.

She finally lets go of your wrists and cradles your face in both palms, her thumbs brushing away the tears gently.

“You’re going to call me that again,” Caitlyn says in a tone that caresses like fine silk yet cuts like a vicious blade. “Next time, you’ll beg for it and I’ll show you what it really means to be mommy’s girl.”

138 notes · View notes

meowviolet · 14 hours ago

Text

ᰔ Arcane Modern Au: 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜

—Sevika, pt1

Just some random and silly shit cause this woman is way more hilarious than she seems to me

She doesn’t trust banks. She always has cash on her. She has a credit card but won’t use it and she’ll only buy things in store. Online ? She’ll ask you to order it for her after she hands you money in cash for the price of what she needs on the website so you won’t actually pay for it yourself.

You like using voice assistants like ChatGPT, Siri or Alexa bc it’s like way faster and easy ? Well, she doesn’t. She doesn’t trust this shi either. She thinks -no, she’s convinced- they’re spying on her. But this bitch so lazy to look things up on google she’ll ask you questions instead like you have every answer she needs. And you answer every time, after looking up on google yourself.

She does own a smart speaker but only uses it to play exactly three albums on repeat—

She’s banned from most casino she’s been to. She won’t say why.

Now every time you drive past a casino, Sevika puts her hoodie up and slouches in the seat like they’re being tailed by the FBI??? You’ll never know why and it’s SCARY

Labubus are the ugliest plushies she’s ever seen in her entire life. When you tell her proudly your new one is a limited edition and people pay hundreds for these, she’s SCANDALIZED.

One time you put your labubu on her pillow at night as a joke and just stood in the hallway like: “I’m not sleeping with that shit breathing in the room.” She swears it can blink when you’re not in the same room.

Her apartment is in an industrial style with brick walls and black furnitures, a few very realistic plastic plants cause “she doesn’t take responsibility”. One of em has a name, she talks to it sometimes when no one’s looking. She accidentally made it aesthetic and when you tell her she just rolls her eyes.

She also has a really comfortable couch in any case the bed is too far away when she comes home drunk at 2AM. She calls it a second bed.

If you don’t remind her to drink water she’ll run on black coffee and energy drinks if not alcohol.

She does actually give a fuck about clothes. Girl walks around like she just rolled out of bed and into a knife fight but everything she wears is suspiciously coordinated. Her wardrobe has a color palette, she has diff kind of boots, and she loves layering her clothes— like shirts over tanks, hoodies under jackets. She would call it all a “coincidence”.

That’s all for today that was hilarious I’ll soon make an other part cause I have others ideas 😭

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meowviolet · 16 hours ago

Text

LIKE A CHAMP

CHARACTERS: VI ;; ELLIE WILLIAMS ;; ABBY ANDERSON ;; CHLOE PRICE

PAIRINGS: ALL X SUB!FEM!READER (one for each scenario)

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: nerd!char ;; dom!char ;; oral (r. receiving) ;; they eat like possessed ;; messy ;; freaky oral skill for the first time ♡

navigation.

she’d read so much about it. studied diagrams. highlighted sections. memorized articles. freaking annotated the “female pleasure handbook” like it was a holy text.

but none of it—none of it—could’ve prepared vi for the reality of having you spread out on her dorm bed, legs trembling, slick glistening in the glow of her laptop’s screen saver as you whimpered her name.

"jesus fuck—" she mumbled, almost to herself, as she settled between your thighs, eyes wide like a virgin in a hentai (which, okay, maybe she was, technically). her glasses fogged immediately. she didn’t care. just wiped them on her hoodie sleeve like she was prepping for a boss battle.

"tell me if i’m—fuck, okay—tell me if it feels good," she whispered, breath hot on your inner thigh. but before you could even answer, she dove.

tongue flat and trembling at first, nervous licks like she was still trying to map the shape of you—but vi was a nerd with a damn photographic memory, and the second she found your clit, it was over. she latched on like she was starved for it, making these greedy, wet noises that had your thighs clamping around her head within seconds.

she moaned—moaned—like she loved the way you shook. licked harder.

sucked like a champ.

and it wasn’t just her mouth. her big hands (the ones you’d ogled in class for months) held your hips down with this shaky but determined grip, pinky rings digging into your skin while her tongue circled, dragged, flicked—

"vi—vi—" your back arched. she whimpered into you.

you came. sudden. loud. a mess.

and vi? nearly fucking cried.

because you were still twitching, and she was still going, nose buried, hands tightening like she couldn’t stand to be away from the taste of you.

"fuck, oh my god," she panted against your cunt, voice ragged, flushed pink from nose to chest. "you taste so good. holy shit. did i do that? i did that, right? fuck—"

you tugged at her hoodie, dazed. "vi—baby, i came. you can stop—"

she looked up, glassy-eyed, lips shiny, pupils blown. "no. i-i wanna see if you can do it again."

then went back down like a goddamn legend.

and that night? vi learned two things:

1. she loves eating pussy.

2. she’s fucking terrifyingly good at it.

ellie williams

she’s sweating. hard. not from nerves—well, yes, nerves too—but mostly from being face-first in the wettest, prettiest pussy she’s ever seen in her entire goddamn life.

"okay," ellie mutters to herself, licking her lips as she stares, eyes dark and frantic. "okay. you studied for this. you trained for this. you watched the tutorials with the notebook and the captions on. you're built for this."

“ellie.” your voice trembles. “you okay down there?”

“y-yeah.” she adjusts her backwards cap with one hand like she’s entering the finals of the oral olympics. “just—gimme a sec.”

then she leans in.

her tongue starts off shaky—too high, too low, licking around like she’s still figuring out where to go. but then you gasp. her lashes flutter. she licks that exact same spot again.

and again.

“oh my fucking god,” she says under her breath, then locks in.

mouth sealed, tongue moving in tight, desperate little motions. sloppy. eager. like she’s been dreaming of this moment since junior year bio when you wore that short plaid skirt.

her hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise. you can feel how tense she is—shoulders flexing under her hoodie, hips rocking against the mattress from how riled up she is. she's moaning into you like she’s the one getting eaten out.

every time you whimper, she gets wilder.

when you arch your back, she pulls you deeper onto her face. when your thighs start shaking, she lets out this choked, needy groan and circles her tongue faster, hungrier, like she wants to break the damn sound barrier with how fast she’s going.

"fuck," you cry. "ellie—ellie, i’m gonna—"

she growls into your pussy. you cum so hard you nearly blackout.

and ellie? she’s fucking soaked. jeans wet, cheeks flushed, mouth still moving like she hasn’t noticed you finished.

you tug her up, breathless, heart slamming in your chest.

her face is drenched. chin wet, nose red, eyes wide and frantic like a deer in headlights.

"did—did i do it right?" she pants. “wait. was that too much? do i—can i do it again?”

you don’t answer. you just stare.

because holy shit.

ellie williams is a virgin. a nerd. a dork who plays guitar and stammers during group presentations.

and apparently?

a pussy devouring prodigy.

abby anderson

you knew abby was strong.

knew it when she carried your entire moving box haul up three flights of dorm stairs like it weighed nothing. knew it when her hoodie sleeves tugged tight around those god-tier biceps every time she flexed without realizing it.

what you didn’t know?

is that the same abby—nerdy, blushing, biochem honor student abby—would be so freakishly good with her mouth on your pussy. on her first try.

"is this okay?" she asks, kneeling on the floor while you’re sprawled across her bed, sweat-slick and ruined. her hands are on your thighs, holding you open with ridiculous gentleness for someone with arms like a demigod. her voice is breathy. hesitant.

you nod. more like whimper.

and abby—abby leans in with this reverent look, like she’s about to kiss something holy.

the first lick is soft. careful. a warm drag of her tongue that has her exhaling hard through her nose, eyes fluttering shut like she’s finally found a missing piece of herself between your thighs.

"jesus christ," she breathes. "you’re… you’re really sweet, huh?"

then she moans. loud. feral. like her brain short-circuited on flavor alone.

what follows is mayhem.

this sweet, shy, socially anxious jock girl turns into a pussy-drunk animal in real time—gripping your hips tighter, tongue moving with this wild, instinctual rhythm like she’s starving. her mouth’s everywhere—sucking, licking, messy as hell, nose bumping against your clit as her moans vibrate straight into your core.

she’s fucking losing it down there.

and you? you’re barely breathing. twitching. whimpering. cursing god and biology and everything that led to you being flat on your back getting ruined by a virgin who apparently made oral sex her one true religion.

"fuuuck," you cry out as your hips buck.

abby grunts, arms locking down like steel. "stay still, baby. i need—fuck, i need more—"

you cum so hard your ears ring.

she doesn’t stop.

your hands are in her braid, yanking, nails digging into her scalp, and still—she’s groaning into you, grinding her thighs together, tongue curling around your clit with terrifying precision like she’s been practicing in her head for years.

“abby—abby—please—” you whine.

she pulls back, chin drenched, lips shiny, pupils blown wide.

"you okay?" she pants, voice shaking. "did i… was that too much?"

you can’t speak.

she swipes her thumb across your cunt—gently—then sucks it into her mouth with this fucked-out sigh like she’s tasting honey straight from the jar.

“…can i do it again?”

chloe price

you always thought chloe talked a big game.

all that cocky smirking, the “yeah, i’ve done tons of stuff” energy, the cigarettes and leather jacket and endless flirtation—masking the fact that she’s never actually been between anyone’s legs before.

but now? now she’s got your thighs on her shoulders, face flushed, eyeliner smeared, and her voice cracking like a fucking teenage girl.

"holy shit. you’re so wet. are you—fuck—are you always like this?"

"chloe—"

"wait. waitwaitwait, i got this," she blurts out, slapping her hands to your hips like she’s steadying herself for a rollercoaster drop. her pupils are huge. she’s visibly trembling. still trying to act cool, even as her lips hover a breath away from your cunt.

then?

she dives in.

sloppy. enthusiastic. immediate mess.

chloe groans the moment her tongue hits you—like she’s tasting something she’s dreamed about a thousand times but didn’t think was real. her nose presses deep, her lips drag messily, open-mouthed kisses all over your clit like she doesn’t know where to focus—so she just does everything at once.

you jerk.

she moans.

"oh my fucking god," she rasps against your pussy, voice fucked raw. "this is so hot. i—i think i’m gonna die down here."

her hands are everywhere—clutching your thighs, squeezing your ass, sliding under your shirt like she can’t stand not touching all of you at once. her tongue gets more frantic by the second—circling, flicking, sucking like she’s chasing a high.

and the second you moan her name?

she loses all chill.

grabs your thighs like handlebars, drags you closer, then buries her tongue so deep into you that your back snaps off the bed.

“oh fuck— chloe—!”

you cum screaming.

and she rides it out like an absolute gremlin. groaning, humping the bed, tongue still going, tasting you like she’s tripping on something divine. one hand slips down her own jeans—desperate, needy—messy fingers working as she eats you through the aftershocks.

when she finally comes up for air, her face is destroyed. hair tangled. nose shiny. lip ring wet. and that stupid, perfect, smug little grin already back.

"guess i’m a natural," she pants, voice wrecked.

you try to speak. fail.

she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glances down at you, eyes dark and full of mischief.

“…wanna see if i can make you blackout?”

235 notes · View notes

meowviolet · 16 hours ago

Text

LIKE A CHAMP

CHARACTERS: VI ;; ELLIE WILLIAMS ;; ABBY ANDERSON ;; CHLOE PRICE

PAIRINGS: ALL X SUB!FEM!READER (one for each scenario)

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni)

TAGS: nerd!char ;; dom!char ;; oral (r. receiving) ;; they eat like possessed ;; messy ;; freaky oral skill for the first time ♡

navigation.

she’d read so much about it. studied diagrams. highlighted sections. memorized articles. freaking annotated the “female pleasure handbook” like it was a holy text.

"tell me if i’m—fuck, okay—tell me if it feels good," she whispered, breath hot on your inner thigh. but before you could even answer, she dove.

she moaned—moaned—like she loved the way you shook. licked harder.

sucked like a champ.

"vi—vi—" your back arched. she whimpered into you.

you came. sudden. loud. a mess.

and vi? nearly fucking cried.

because you were still twitching, and she was still going, nose buried, hands tightening like she couldn’t stand to be away from the taste of you.

"fuck, oh my god," she panted against your cunt, voice ragged, flushed pink from nose to chest. "you taste so good. holy shit. did i do that? i did that, right? fuck—"

you tugged at her hoodie, dazed. "vi—baby, i came. you can stop—"

she looked up, glassy-eyed, lips shiny, pupils blown. "no. i-i wanna see if you can do it again."

then went back down like a goddamn legend.

and that night? vi learned two things:

1. she loves eating pussy.

2. she’s fucking terrifyingly good at it.

ellie williams

she’s sweating. hard. not from nerves—well, yes, nerves too—but mostly from being face-first in the wettest, prettiest pussy she’s ever seen in her entire goddamn life.

“ellie.” your voice trembles. “you okay down there?”

“y-yeah.” she adjusts her backwards cap with one hand like she’s entering the finals of the oral olympics. “just—gimme a sec.”

then she leans in.

her tongue starts off shaky—too high, too low, licking around like she’s still figuring out where to go. but then you gasp. her lashes flutter. she licks that exact same spot again.

and again.

“oh my fucking god,” she says under her breath, then locks in.

mouth sealed, tongue moving in tight, desperate little motions. sloppy. eager. like she’s been dreaming of this moment since junior year bio when you wore that short plaid skirt.

every time you whimper, she gets wilder.

"fuck," you cry. "ellie—ellie, i’m gonna—"

she growls into your pussy. you cum so hard you nearly blackout.

and ellie? she’s fucking soaked. jeans wet, cheeks flushed, mouth still moving like she hasn’t noticed you finished.

you tug her up, breathless, heart slamming in your chest.

her face is drenched. chin wet, nose red, eyes wide and frantic like a deer in headlights.

"did—did i do it right?" she pants. “wait. was that too much? do i—can i do it again?”

you don’t answer. you just stare.

because holy shit.

ellie williams is a virgin. a nerd. a dork who plays guitar and stammers during group presentations.

and apparently?

a pussy devouring prodigy.

abby anderson

you knew abby was strong.

what you didn’t know?

is that the same abby—nerdy, blushing, biochem honor student abby—would be so freakishly good with her mouth on your pussy. on her first try.

you nod. more like whimper.

and abby—abby leans in with this reverent look, like she’s about to kiss something holy.

the first lick is soft. careful. a warm drag of her tongue that has her exhaling hard through her nose, eyes fluttering shut like she’s finally found a missing piece of herself between your thighs.

"jesus christ," she breathes. "you’re… you’re really sweet, huh?"

then she moans. loud. feral. like her brain short-circuited on flavor alone.

what follows is mayhem.

she’s fucking losing it down there.

"fuuuck," you cry out as your hips buck.

abby grunts, arms locking down like steel. "stay still, baby. i need—fuck, i need more—"

you cum so hard your ears ring.

she doesn’t stop.

“abby—abby—please—” you whine.

she pulls back, chin drenched, lips shiny, pupils blown wide.

"you okay?" she pants, voice shaking. "did i… was that too much?"

you can’t speak.

she swipes her thumb across your cunt—gently—then sucks it into her mouth with this fucked-out sigh like she’s tasting honey straight from the jar.

“…can i do it again?”

chloe price

you always thought chloe talked a big game.

but now? now she’s got your thighs on her shoulders, face flushed, eyeliner smeared, and her voice cracking like a fucking teenage girl.

"holy shit. you’re so wet. are you—fuck—are you always like this?"

"chloe—"

then?

she dives in.

sloppy. enthusiastic. immediate mess.

you jerk.

she moans.

"oh my fucking god," she rasps against your pussy, voice fucked raw. "this is so hot. i—i think i’m gonna die down here."

and the second you moan her name?

she loses all chill.

grabs your thighs like handlebars, drags you closer, then buries her tongue so deep into you that your back snaps off the bed.

“oh fuck— chloe—!”

you cum screaming.

when she finally comes up for air, her face is destroyed. hair tangled. nose shiny. lip ring wet. and that stupid, perfect, smug little grin already back.

"guess i’m a natural," she pants, voice wrecked.

you try to speak. fail.

she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glances down at you, eyes dark and full of mischief.

“…wanna see if i can make you blackout?”

235 notes · View notes

meowviolet · 1 day ago

Text

i really feel stupid for still needing google translate a bit to communicate in english

6 notes · View notes

meowviolet · 1 day ago

Text

velvet boundaries.

pairings: caitlyn x fem!reader

preface: in a house where she’s your best friend’s mother and you were never meant to be hers, caitlyn makes you unravel one obedient breath at a time.

author's note: alright mama cait is here! enjoy, my girls.

wrn: lowercase ;; age gap (c: 39 ; r: 19)

navigation.

it’s a slow summer afternoon, all clinking glasses and polite laughter in the spacious backyard of the kiramman estate. you’re there because your best friend invited you—of course—but you didn’t expect her mother to look like that.

caitlyn stands by the hedges in a sleek navy sundress that hugs her waist too perfectly for someone "just turned thirty-nine." she’s pouring champagne into a flute, head tilted, soft smile gracing her lips as she chats with a family friend. but her eyes—her eyes are already on you.

she doesn’t smile when your eyes meet. doesn’t look away, either. it’s not flirtatious. it’s worse. it’s clinical. calculating. like she’s just filed something about you away.

you try to ignore it, to keep talking to her daughter like normal, but every time you glance over, she’s still watching you. unbothered. bold. one hand on her hip, thumb grazing the rim of her glass in lazy circles.

at one point, when your friend disappears inside for snacks, caitlyn walks up beside you. doesn’t say hi. doesn’t introduce herself.

“i don’t recall you dressing like this the last time you visited,” she murmurs, voice low and unimpressed, eyes flicking over your outfit.

you blink, stammer something about borrowed clothes, but she’s already turning away.

“i see,” caitlyn says, with that maddening hint of a smirk. “well. it suits you.”

and then she’s gone. just like that.

but her voice? her gaze? the deliberate slowness of her walk?

you feel it burn in the pit of your stomach for the rest of the day.

your best friend’s texting someone on the couch, completely distracted, so she barely notices when her mom walks back into the living room after a phone call.

“it’s going to rain soon,” caitlyn says casually, looking at the window. then she turns to you. “you’ll stay for dinner.”

it’s not a question. you blink.

“oh—uh, only if it’s okay, i don’t wanna—”

“i said you’ll stay.”

you can feel your friend nudge you with her elbow, like yeah, that’s just how her mom talks. but there’s something in caitlyn’s tone that makes you sit straighter.

dinner is tense in ways it shouldn't be. caitlyn sits across from you at the long oak table. you try not to stare, but she’s in a blouse now, crisp and fitted, one button too low. her fingers cradle a wine glass, slow and deliberate, the same way her gaze moves down your face like she’s sizing you up—again.

your friend’s chatting with a mouthful of pasta. caitlyn ignores her entirely. she only speaks when she’s addressing you.

“so, darling—” that word makes you stiffen “—what are you studying these days?”

your voice catches halfway through your answer. not because of nerves, but because caitlyn interrupts, cutting right through the sentence with a soft, “that doesn’t suit you.”

you blink. “what?”

she sips her wine, eyes not leaving yours. “you don’t strike me as the type to follow rules. i imagine you’d get bored.”

there’s a silence. even your best friend looks up, confused.

caitlyn just smiles. “dessert?”

later, as you get ready to leave, your friend runs upstairs to grab her umbrella. you’re alone in the foyer with caitlyn, who’s helping you into your coat.

“you should visit more often,” she says, voice soft against your ear as she adjusts your collar, fingers brushing a little too slowly down your shoulders. “there’s something… refreshing about you.”

you don’t say anything. you can’t.

she opens the door for you, lets the cool air hit your skin before adding one last thing:

“don’t keep me waiting too long, dear.”

your best friend’s in the middle of a meltdown—midterms, boy drama, caffeine withdrawals—and she practically begs you to sleep over for emotional support. you agree. of course. because you’re kind. loyal.

and maybe, just maybe, because you haven’t stopped thinking about her mother’s voice all week.

the house is warm. the lights are low. your best friend’s already curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and deep into some trashy reality show.

“wait, can you grab my charger from upstairs?” she mumbles. “i left it in my mom’s room. top drawer.”

you hesitate.

but you go.

caitlyn’s bedroom door is slightly ajar when you reach the second floor. you knock, soft, but there’s no answer.

and then she says it—from somewhere inside:

“come in. i need a hand.”

you push the door open.

she’s standing at her vanity in a silk robe, back half-turned, one arm behind her trying (and failing?) to zip up a long dress.

her eyes catch yours in the mirror.

“zipper,” she says simply. “would you?”

you step behind her like you’re dreaming. her perfume is soft, sharp, familiar—like amber and velvet. her bare shoulder is warm under your fingers.

the zipper is smooth, but slow. too slow. and caitlyn doesn't move an inch. she just watches you in the mirror.

“your hands are cold,” she murmurs. “nervous?”

you don’t answer.

when the zipper reaches the top, she places her hand over yours, holds it there for a breath too long.

“there,” she says, finally turning around. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

you stammer something about the charger. she smiles and reaches into the drawer behind her, placing it in your palm—slow, deliberate.

as you step back toward the hallway, she speaks again. soft. amused.

“you should knock louder next time, sweetheart. or someone might mistake you for a voyeur.”

you don’t sleep well that night. you dream of silk and zippers and the sharp sound of your own breath.

you show up to brunch with your best friend wearing a soft cream sweater—something new, something that makes you feel… noticed. and you are.

the moment you step into the kitchen, caitlyn’s already leaning against the counter with a black mug in hand, nails polished, gaze unreadable. she looks you up and down once, then twice. the air shifts.

“that color looks good on you,” she says, voice low. “makes you look… sweet.”

you murmur a thanks, trying not to flinch under the weight of her stare. but she’s not done.

“i remember wearing something like that when i was your age.” she steps closer, casual. “though i never pulled it off quite so…” her eyes flick to your lips. “innocently.”

you freeze.

she sets her mug down—soft ceramic on marble—and brushes past you to the fridge. close enough that her shoulder glides along yours. close enough that your skin feels branded.

your best friend walks in mid-tension, yawning and stretching.

caitlyn doesn’t miss a beat. “i was just telling your friend how well she’s growing into her figure.”

your friend blinks. you nearly choke.

“mom.”

“what?” caitlyn shrugs. “i meant it as a compliment.”

but her eyes are still on you. calm. knowing.

later, while your friend goes to the bathroom, caitlyn walks past the table where you sit alone. she pauses behind your chair. one hand settles on your shoulder—light, but unmistakably firm.

“you do like compliments, don’t you?” she whispers.

you don’t turn around. you can’t.

but you feel her smile against the back of your neck before she walks away.

it starts innocently.

your friend’s mom invites you to stay for dinner again—some sort of semi-formal thing, wine glasses and roasted duck and linen napkins. you wear something nice this time. you don’t know why. maybe you do.

but the zipper at the back of your dress? it’s stuck.

your best friend’s already downstairs, yelling about how you’re going to be late, when caitlyn appears in the doorway to your guest room.

“problem?” she asks, tone deceptively casual.

you give her a sheepish look. “it won’t budge.”

caitlyn’s already walking toward you before you finish the sentence. her heels make no sound on the carpet.

“turn around.”

you obey.

her fingers graze your back first—cool and careful. the first tug is mechanical. but the second? the second one lingers.

“poor craftsmanship,” she murmurs. “a dress like this should glide open. don’t you think?”

you swallow. “it’s supposed to.”

“then hold still. let me.”

you don’t breathe as she works.

her knuckles trail your spine like a line being drawn. her breath grazes your shoulder. she doesn't speak again, but she doesn't rush either.

when the zipper finally gives, caitlyn’s hand doesn’t fall away.

instead, she rests her palm flat between your shoulder blades, grounding. possessive. like she’s checking your pulse.

“you should’ve asked for help earlier,” she says, voice so low it curls in your stomach. “it’s what i’m here for.”

you face her—slow, unsure. but she’s already turned away.

“i’ll be downstairs,” she says over her shoulder. “don’t take too long.”

you stand there in your half-zipped dress, heart in your throat, knowing damn well she didn’t just unzip fabric.

she’s unzipping you.

it’s late. your best friend’s gone out—date night, something forgettable—but you stayed behind. said you were tired. said you had studying to do.

caitlyn knocks on your door just past ten.

you open it, blinking at her silhouette. silk robe. bare legs. a glass of red in her hand.

“i made tea,” she says, but she doesn’t offer it.

instead, she studies you for a long moment, then tilts her head toward the hallway. “come with me.”

you follow without thinking.

she leads you into her study. a soft-lit room full of dark wood, leather-bound books, and shadows that feel too heavy for the hour. she sets the wine down, walks behind the desk, gestures toward the chair in front of it.

“sit.”

you do.

she pours herself another glass, deliberate and silent. then she leans back in her chair, crosses one leg over the other, and studies you with those cool, assessing eyes.

“you’re very obedient when it counts,” she says, swirling her wine.

you shift in the chair. “i just didn’t want to be rude.”

“oh, i don’t mind rudeness,” she replies. “but hesitation? that disappoints me.”

you don’t know where to look.

caitlyn takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving yours.

“do you know what i see when i look at you?”

you shake your head.

“i see someone waiting to be told what she’s allowed to want.”

you suck in a breath.

she leans forward now, elbows on the desk, voice velvet-soft. “if you were mine, i wouldn’t make you guess.”

you don’t speak. can’t.

she smiles—small, amused. like she knows.

“still,” she says, standing, walking toward you. “let’s call this practice.”

she sets her glass down beside yours, then tips your chin up with two fingers.

“stay right there. don’t move.”

you stay.

she walks away.

you shouldn’t be wearing the dress.

it’s too short. too tight. too low. your best friend picked it out for a party she’s dragging you to tonight, but you knew the second you pulled it on: it wasn’t about the party.

it was about being seen.

specifically—by her.

you’re halfway down the stairs when caitlyn looks up from the foyer, eyes locking on your legs first, then climbing higher.

her lips part slightly. she doesn't smile.

“going out?” she asks, voice like warm velvet wrapped in glass.

you nod, nerves prickling. “with your daughter.”

“i see that.”

she takes a step closer. you should keep walking. you don’t.

she circles once, slow and precise, her heels echoing lightly against the wood floor. then she stops in front of you, fingertips brushing the hem of your dress. barely there.

“this fabric’s so thin,” she murmurs. “one wrong breeze and—”

you inhale sharply.

caitlyn tilts her head.

“did you wear this for her? or for me?”

you can’t answer. your pulse is hammering. she knows it.

she steps in closer—too close—until her hand is at the small of your back and your bodies are a breath apart.

“show me,” she says softly.

you blink. “show you… what?”

“what it looks like when you beg with your eyes.”

you freeze.

she leans down, mouth near your ear, breath warm. “you already know how.”

then the door bursts open—your best friend yelling something about being late—and the moment snaps in two.

caitlyn steps back, calm as ever. like nothing happened. but before she walks away, she murmurs, only for you:

“fix your lipstick, darling. it’s smudged.”

it wasn’t. until you bit your lip.

it’s another quiet evening in the kiramman house. your best friend’s asleep upstairs—headphones in, lights off. you’re in the kitchen, barefoot in shorts and an old tee, pouring a glass of water and trying to stop thinking about how caitlyn looked at you earlier.

but then—

she walks in.

silk robe. hair pinned up. a glass of something darker than wine in her hand.

“can’t sleep?” she asks.

you shake your head, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. “just… thirsty.”

she walks over to the kitchen island and sets her glass down, slow. controlled. then she leans against the counter and nods at the stool across from her.

“sit.”

you obey. you always do.

she watches you for a long moment. then—

“put your hands on the table.”

your brows pull together, confused. “what?”

caitlyn’s voice doesn’t rise. it doesn’t have to.

“hands. flat. right in front of you.”

you hesitate—only for a second. but she sees it. and that pleases her.

you set your hands down.

she steps closer. walks around the island, until she’s behind you.

you feel her breath at your ear. “you follow instructions well. i like that about you.”

her hands brush over your shoulders, then slide forward until they’re ghosting above your wrists. not touching. not yet.

“but do you know how to stay still?”

you inhale. shallow.

she presses her palm down over your right hand. just one. not hard—but enough to anchor you there.

“i could ask anything of you right now,” she whispers. “and you’d listen. wouldn’t you?”

you nod.

“no,” she corrects gently. “use your words.”

“yes,” you breathe.

“good girl.”

her free hand traces your jaw, slow. her thumb skims your bottom lip. it lingers.

“keep your hands right where they are,” she murmurs. “no matter what i do.”

and then she leans down—kisses the corner of your mouth.

just once. barely there.

but you feel it like heat spreading through your spine.

she straightens, glides her fingers off yours, and walks away without another word.

you sit there for ten more minutes. hands on the table. shaking.

the rain’s falling outside, soft and rhythmic. your friend went to spend the night with her girlfriend, and caitlyn—well, caitlyn said she was staying in. you offered to help her tidy the guest wing before bed.

now you’re here. in her room.

you shouldn’t be. but you are.

you’re holding a stack of freshly folded towels when she steps out of her ensuite bathroom—hair down, skin dewy, dressed in an impossibly sheer black satin nightgown that clings like second skin. the light behind her frames her in gold.

you freeze.

she doesn’t.

“towels?” she murmurs, stepping closer.

you nod. your throat’s dry. “you said you needed fresh ones…”

“i did,” she says, taking them from your hands and setting them aside. “but now i need something else.”

she doesn’t touch you. not yet. but her eyes devour every inch—down your bare legs, up the line of your throat, resting finally on your parted lips.

“you shouldn’t walk around here dressed like that,” she murmurs. “not if you don’t want to be—”

her fingers find your chin. tilt it upward.

“—watched.”

your lips part. you forget what you were going to say.

caitlyn steps in closer, her body brushing yours. “tell me the truth, darling. did you wear this hoping i’d see?”

you shake your head. then nod. then can’t decide. your breath stumbles.

she smiles.

“honesty looks good on you.”

she walks around behind you, fingertips grazing your waist as she passes.

“i’m going to ask you once,” she says, voice velvet over steel. “just once.”

you turn, eyes wide. waiting.

“are you mine for the evening?”

silence.

your heart’s beating so loud you’re sure she can hear it.

then you say it.

“yes.”

she exhales—low and pleased. walks to her nightstand, takes a small black velvet ribbon from the drawer. loops it around her fingers.

“good girl.”

she gestures to the foot of her bed.

“sit.”

you do.

she walks over slowly. takes her time. then bends slightly, ties the ribbon loosely around your wrist.

“this isn’t to restrain,” she says, brushing a kiss over your knuckles. “it’s to remind.”

“remind me of what?” you whisper.

“that tonight, you belong to me.”

it starts with the ribbon.

you still wear it sometimes when you're alone—just to remember. but tonight, caitlyn sees it. wrapped loose around your wrist beneath your sweater sleeve as you help her carry dishes into the kitchen.

she doesn’t comment.

not yet.

later, when the house is quiet and your best friend’s asleep across the hall, she finds you standing at the window in the guest room, moonlight casting silver along your skin.

her voice is quiet behind you.

“you wore it for me, didn’t you?”

you don’t turn around. you nod.

caitlyn closes the door.

you hear the soft sound of her heels across the wood floor. you hear your own heartbeat in your throat.

then her hand slides up your arm from behind—slow, deliberate—until her fingers find the ribbon and tug.

it unravels, whisper-soft.

she pulls it free and loops it around her fingers once more.

“i gave this to remind you who you belong to,” she murmurs at your ear. “but it’s not enough anymore.”

you swallow hard. “what do you want?”

“i want you to say it.”

she turns you around gently, backs you toward the wall until you’re caged between her arms.

“say who owns you,” she says, so close her breath fans over your cheek. “say it with your mouth.”

your lips part. nothing comes out.

so she leans down, kisses your jaw. your neck. your collarbone.

“you want to please me,” she whispers. “i can feel it. i can hear it in every breath.”

then her hand slides beneath your sweater, gliding up your spine.

“be brave for me. say it.”

your legs shake. you’re dizzy with want.

then finally—

“you,” you whisper.

she hums, pleased. but not done.

“louder.”

you blink, dazed. “you.”

she cups your jaw. “say my name.”

“caitlyn.”

she inhales like she’s waited a hundred years to hear that from your lips.

then she kisses you. deep and slow and unforgiving.

when she finally pulls away, your sweater’s wrinkled, your breath’s stolen, and the ribbon’s in her pocket.

“mine,” she says, smiling darkly. “and you’ll keep saying it. every night i make you feel this way.”

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meowviolet · 1 day ago

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professor!caitlyn would just be oh so unruly. so sickly unprofessional that you'd get all queasy from all the butterflies she's given you. who knew there'd be a professor like that in your prestigious, victorian-esque university?

content warning (18+): SOME PROPER FREAKY SHIT, written porn under the cut, professor/student taboo, age-gap, s&m: spanking, power play, dom!caitlyn, sub!reader, degrading, praising.

you were extra bad on purpose today: putting your feet up on the desk so she'd be able to catch a glimpse of your underwear, smacking your gum as loudly as possible whilst blabbing loudly to your friends. caitlyn really had enough of your blatant pleas for attention. it was frankly rather embarrassing seeing you act like a child whilst everybody else was serious about getting work done and building their futures.

which is precisely why caitlyn decides to take a more... hm, let's say, vintage route. she believes these kids today have just got too much smoke up their ass and need to be brought down a notch — to endure the same punishment she had to go through in her days.

so here you are, in all your shame yet perverse glory, bent over the desk whilst she smacks your ass with a ruler again, and again. simultaneously forcing you to repeatedly write down on your notebook 'i will not be a bad girl.'

you've written the sentence three times so far, and each time you're done, caitlyn smacks you with the ruler harder. you flinch and a whimper punches out of your throat, the pen threatening to rip the flimsy paper apart.

'another.' caitlyn commands, her deep voice reverberating through your very core. it's getting harder and harder to write, but you force yourself to scribble the same sentence again. there it goes, smack! and you drop your pen, your head unable to hold itself up anymore.

but alas, caitlyn does not let you remain like that for long: yanking you back up by the hair and smacking you harder.

'keep writing.' her voice is firmer, sharper. your fingers shake, handwriting getting messier and messier within each turn. cait coos in mock-pity, her fingers resting its onslaught and settling in gentle rubbing instead, purposely close to your pussy that is pathetically, pathetically wet right now.

your thighs tremble in anticipation whilst caitlyn explores you with her fingers. a violent shudder rips through you when you feel the tip of her fingers stretch the edge of your cheeks so she can get a better look at your now see-through underwear.

'what disappoints me the most is how you find this arousing. what a sick girl.' she tuts, moving your panties aside and shamelessly smacking the raw flesh. you yelp, a weak 'i'm sorry' somehow leaving your lips. a passionate alone-time with professor kiramman will leave you like that fortunately unfortunately.

you hear the sweet sound of caitlyn's chuckle behind you. 'good pet. that's all i wanted to hear.'

only then does she allow you to properly get off: slim, nimble fingers easing into your sopping heat like a landslide: three fingers at a time. she whistles at how well you take them, whilst you writhe and mewl in pleasure: fingers scrabbling at the desk and knocking over a few papers.

caitlyn sucks in a breath, as she leans in real close and whispers sweet little endearing terms into your ear, ones like 'i wish you could see how well she's taking me' and 'you seem like you're enjoying it, hmm?' whilst you can only moan and drool out your words in response.

such sweet punishment, and if it's always going to end like this then you can't help but fleetingly think what other things you can do to get on caitlyn's bad side again.

note: today i watched bloodsisters (1995), a lesbian documentary about s&m and got seriously inspired, i recommend you guys to watch it! it's really good ( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩) this is sauurrrr freaky i hope it's not too controversial or anything lolololol

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meowviolet · 1 day ago

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i need her tongue in my *****

Guys is this too freaky be honest 0_0

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meowviolet · 1 day ago

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some of sevika’s kinks

overstim

she absolutely loves to overstimulate you. forcing so many orgasms out of your tired body that your brain starts oozing out of your ears, the room filled with your whimpers and sobs

loves to see the drool running down your chin, tears staining your cheeks, and sweat coating your forehead. she adores making a mess of you

and it fills her with pride when she see you trying to calm yourself down, wanting to take more. she’s so proud of her girl, always wanting to obey. no matter how draining it is

“aww sweetheart, is your poor little clit all sensitive?”

orgasm control

on the contrary, she also loves to make you beg to cum

“c’mon baby, cumming is a privilege not a right. you know that.”

if you’ve been bad, there’s nothing she would rather do. laying you down and bringing you right to that edge before she takes her hand away, watching your reaction as the sensation fizzles away

and finally after a couple hours of the torture; she lets you cum, just not properly. taking her hand away just as she feels your orgasm washing over you, and watches you twist and turn to try and get some type of friction

but she holds your legs open so you can’t even rub your thighs together

“where’s my thank you? i let you cum didn’t i? say thank you”

impact play

love love loves giving you little taps across the face. never fully slapping you because she’s too scared to hurt you, just bringing your attention back to her if she sees your mind wandering

but your ass? omg it’s covered in faded bruises and belt shaped welts from past punishments that are going down. and whenever she brings her hand down, you know that the rings on her fingers will be leaving marks

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meowviolet · 1 day ago

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velvet boundaries. [ii]

pairings: caitlyn x fem!reader

preface: in a house where she’s your best friend’s mother and you were never meant to be hers, caitlyn makes you unravel one obedient breath at a time.

author's note: smut scenarios is here rahhhh.

wrn: lowercase ;; age gap (c: 39 ; r: 19) ;; explicit content (minors & men dni) list: bratty!reader (at some scenes) ;; dom!caitlyn ;; mentioning another man (just a dream dw!) ;; orgasm denial, edging ;; punishment ;; soft threats & possessive praise ;; jealousy jealousy ;; toy use ;; fingering ;; orgasm denial ;; edging ;; teasing ;; power play ;; dirty talk ;; overstimulation. [lmk in the comment if i missed anything]

navigation.

it was supposed to be innocent. a surprise visit. a sweet gesture. you wore the dress she left for you on the bed that morning—angelic white lace, soft and sheer, cut just a little too short. no bra. no panties. just her.

you knew she had a meeting at her home office. you knew she told you to wait upstairs. but you wanted to bring her a fresh cup of tea—something gentle, thoughtful, obedient.

and yet when you walk in, barefoot and glowing like temptation, her jaw clenches behind her wine-red lipstick.

the other woman in the video call chatters on through the speaker, unaware.

you place the tea on her desk gently. “thought you might need this…”

her eyes trail from your thighs to your trembling hands. she mutes the call with a click.

"did you look in a mirror before walking in here like that?" caitlyn's voice is low, razor-sharp velvet.

you nod, quietly. “i wanted to look good for you.”

her chair scrapes back. slowly.

"you wanted to look good?" she murmurs, circling the desk. one hand ghosts up the side of your thigh. “you wanted me distracted. you wanted me starving.”

she presses you down, suddenly, hands firm on your lower back, bending you over the polished mahogany surface. your breath fogs against the grain.

"cait—someone might hear—"

“let them.”

she pulls the lace up and over your ass, and hums deep in her throat at what she sees.

“no panties,” she whispers, voice honey-slick and filthy. “you knew exactly what you were doing.”

you whimper, trembling as her fingers ghost along your folds.

“mmm. wet already?” she chuckles. “of course you are. my girl gets needy the moment i breathe near her.”

the call resumes in the background. a voice says something about quarterly projections.

but caitlyn’s only focused on the way your thighs shake.

she pushes your legs apart with her boot and leans down.

“stay quiet,” she says, mouth brushing your ear. “or i’ll put you on camera.”

then two fingers press inside you, slow and deep. curl.

you gasp—muffled by the back of your own hand. her pace is cruel. rhythmic. taunting.

“you wanted attention,” caitlyn breathes, curling her fingers again. “you’ll take what i give you.”

her palm slaps your thigh sharply.

"arch for me. let me see."

you do—body trembling, lace twisted around your hips, her name a prayer on your lips.

and when you finally break—soft, desperate, clenching around her fingers with a choked cry—she pulls away and presses a kiss to your spine.

“good girl,” she purrs. “now run along before i decide you’re not done.”

you shouldn’t have worn that dress. not the silk one with the plunging neckline caitlyn specifically told you to save for her eyes only. but you had a point to make.

the gala was in full swing—champagne flutes clinking, high-society laughter echoing, and you glowing on caitlyn’s arm like a secret she was barely keeping. every time you leaned in to whisper something in her ear, your breath brushed her jaw. every time you laughed at someone else’s joke, her hand on your waist tightened.

she was calm. polished. still the perfect woman of power. but her hand never left your lower back. and her eyes? boiling.

you knew she was seething when you bent just a little too far over the hors d'oeuvres table.

so when she caught your wrist in that cool, steel grip and murmured, “come with me,” your heart jumped.

she led you into the marble bathroom—silent, elegant, deadly. locked the door behind you with a quiet click.

then she turned. slow.

“i warned you,” caitlyn said, stepping forward like a predator. “and yet here you are. dripping down your thighs in a room full of strangers.”

she yanked you forward, lips ghosting over your cheekbone. “are you that desperate for me to ruin you in public?”

“cait…” you breathed. “i didn’t mean—”

“yes, you did.” her voice was ice and velvet. “and now you’ll get exactly what you wanted.”

she spins you, palms flat against the cool marble countertop, your chest pressing into it. the slit in your dress parts, revealing your thighs—and the fact you aren’t wearing any underwear.

she exhales sharply.

“of course. my filthy girl.”

her fingers slide between your legs without hesitation, stroking once—slick and shameful.

“you wanted to be bad?” she whispers, dragging her hand up to your mouth. “then taste what bad girls get.”

she presses your own wetness to your lips. you open without thinking, obedient.

she groans—deep, guttural. “that’s it. now stay quiet.”

her leg nudges yours open further. the sound of her belt unbuckling echoes louder than anything in that gilded bathroom.

she doesn’t bother undressing you. just shoves the dress up, pulls your leg onto the counter, and sinks inside you with her fingers—hard and fast.

your hands scramble for something to grip. but she’s already pinning you down, her palm at your throat, her mouth at your ear.

“you’re going to come for me right here,” she hisses. “where anyone could knock. where anyone could hear.”

and you do. pathetically. silently screaming into your wrist while your body convulses around her hand.

when she finally pulls away, she straightens your dress for you—combs her fingers through your hair.

kisses your cheek softly and whispers:

“now behave. or i’ll take you over the dinner table next.”

it was supposed to be a quiet dinner.

caitlyn’s family estate was vast and proper, full of silver cutlery, fine linens, and tension buried beneath polite smiles. you were seated beside her at the long oak dining table, across from distant relatives who sipped aged wine and exchanged dull conversation.

you played the part well. sweet. silent. polished.

but caitlyn knew what you were really like under the surface.

because under the elegant blue dress she’d chosen for you, nestled deep inside your soaked cunt, was a toy—small, pulsing, and entirely under her control.

and the remote sat silently in her palm beneath the white linen napkin.

you thought she’d forgotten about it.

until halfway through her father’s monologue about politics, the toy jolted to life inside you—sudden, strong, and sinful.

your fork clattered against your plate.

caitlyn turned to you, calm as ever, placing a gentle hand on your knee under the table. “careful, sweetheart,” she said, brushing her lips against your ear with the tiniest smile. “you don’t want to make a mess, do you?”

you shook your head, legs trembling under the tablecloth, trying to keep your expression blank. but her hand slid higher.

you bit your lip hard.

she clicked again. stronger.

your thighs squeezed shut. your stomach tensed. you could feel the slickness starting to trail down, and there was nothing—nothing—you could do.

across the table, someone asked, “are you alright, dear?”

“she’s just a bit warm,” caitlyn answered smoothly, stroking your thigh with careful, possessive tenderness. “but she’ll be good for me, won’t you, darling?”

you nodded, barely breathing.

her hand slid up, beneath the hem of your dress, fingers grazing over the toy. she tapped it twice.

the vibration grew violent.

“keep your voice down,” she whispered against your temple. “or i’ll set it to max and have you excuse yourself to the powder room alone—and you’ll come all over your fingers, crying for me, without even getting to taste mine.”

your breath hitched.

and that’s when it hit—your orgasm, brutal and silent, rolling through you as you clenched your thighs under the table and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning out loud. your shoulders trembled. your fingers curled into your lap.

caitlyn never looked away from her glass of wine.

when you finally slumped forward, dazed and ruined, she leaned over and murmured: “you’ll thank me later with your mouth, sweetheart. but for now, finish your potatoes. don’t be rude.”

it started with a pout.

caitlyn had been busy. long work days, late nights, and endless meetings. so tonight, when you sashayed into the bedroom wearing nothing but a silk ribbon tied around your chest and a smirk, you expected to get her full attention.

but she didn’t even look up from her laptop.

“mmm. cute,” she murmured, barely glancing at you. “go warm up the bed. i’ll be there soon.”

your pout deepened. she didn’t even touch you. didn’t even flick her eyes to your bare thighs, to the way you purposely shifted your hips with every step.

you lay back on the bed dramatically, legs spread, touching yourself slowly—loudly—moaning her name just enough that you knew she could hear.

she didn’t come.

so you called out, “maybe i’ll take care of it myself. since someone’s too busy.”

that’s when the chair scraped back.

you barely had time to blink before she was standing at the foot of the bed, sleeves rolled, expression calm—cold.

“oh, is that what we’re doing tonight?” she asked softly, closing the laptop with a quiet snap. “you want to act like a little brat?”

your breath caught.

“cait, i—”

“no. no more words.”

she moved with quiet command—dragging your wrists above your head and securing them to the headboard with her silk tie. you could pull free if you really wanted. but gods, you didn’t want to.

“since you clearly need to be reminded who owns you,” she whispered, crawling up over your body, “we’ll take our time.”

the first orgasm she gave you with her mouth. gentle. slow. just enough.

you came with a whimper, already wrung out.

but when she reached for the toy from her drawer—the wand you loved—you shivered.

“wha—cait, i already—”

“oh no, sweetheart.” her voice dropped. “you don’t get to decide when this is over.”

the toy pressed to your clit again, low setting at first. you arched.

and then she began to edge you.

again. and again. and again.

she brought you to the brink until your toes curled and your legs trembled—then pulled away.

you whined. cried out. begged. but she only smiled.

“my girl wants to be greedy now?” she murmured, licking a stripe up your thigh. “you want to brat? then you’ll suffer for it.”

her fingers replaced the toy, teasing—just shallow thrusts, just soft flicks to your clit while you writhed and gasped under her.

by the fifth denial, you were pleading. tears glistening. voice hoarse.

“please, cait, please—i’ll be good, i swear—i need to come, i need—”

she shushed you with a kiss.

“good girls ask,” she said sweetly, positioning herself between your legs again. “but only my good girls get rewarded.”

then she fucked you with her fingers, firm and unrelenting, mouth on your clit, and you shattered—sobbing, back arching off the bed, stars behind your eyes.

when you finally collapsed, trembling and spent, she crawled up beside you and pulled you into her arms.

“such a filthy little brat,” she whispered, brushing hair from your face. “but mine. all mine.”

it was 3:21 am when you woke up to the weight of caitlyn’s body sliding over yours.

at first, it was subtle — the heat of her skin behind you, her arm slipping around your waist, the shift of the sheets. then you heard her breathing: deep, controlled, trembling like she was barely holding something in.

“cait…?” you murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

“i had a dream,” she whispered against your shoulder, lips brushing your skin. “you were smiling at someone else.”

you blinked. “wha…?”

“some stranger had you bent over a table. calling you ‘good girl.’” her voice sharpened. “you let him touch you. kiss you. you let him see everything that’s mine.”

she didn’t sound angry. she sounded shattered. desperate.

“cait, it wasn’t real—”

“i know it wasn’t,” she said, her voice breaking into something almost feral. “but i still need to remind you.”

and before you could say another word, she pushed your thighs apart beneath the sheets, hands gripping your hips like they were handles, mouth hot on your neck.

“let me remind you, sweetheart,” she whispered, voice trembling with possessive fury. “let me show you who you belong to.”

you gasped as she dragged the lace panties you’d worn to bed down your thighs. she didn’t even bother to take them off all the way — just enough to expose what she needed.

“you’re dripping,” she hissed, running two fingers through your folds. “gods, you’d let anyone see you like this? let anyone take what’s mine?”

“n-no,” you whimpered.

“that’s right. because this cunt,” she growled, pushing her fingers in hard enough to make you cry out, “belongs to me.”

your legs shook. you weren’t even fully awake and she was already fucking you—fingers deep, rhythm brutal, her body covering yours like a shield.

and when she pulled her fingers out and replaced them with the toy—thicker, crueler, buzzing right up against your g-spot—you bucked against her.

“stay still,” she ordered. “i’m not stopping until you forget that anyone else exists.”

she held you down, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other pressing the toy deeper and harder into you with each wave of pleasure. your moans were strangled, gasped, muffled into the pillow.

“you’re mine,” she panted against your ear. “mine to touch. mine to break. mine to keep.”

when you finally came—loud, shaking, completely undone—she didn’t let up. she kept going. over and over. forcing you through another orgasm, and another, until you were sobbing her name and clinging to her with trembling fingers.

only then did she stop.

only then did she pull you into her arms and whisper, “i’m sorry. i just… i can’t lose you. even in a dream.”

and you kissed her salt-slicked cheeks and held her just as tightly, whispering again and again, “you won’t. you won’t.”

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meowviolet · 1 day ago

Text

JEALOUSY

wc: 1.8k ish

smut!!

a/n: first time trying this so let's see how it goes! also this isn't proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

9:30 PM

“Your relationship is so boring, ugh.”

Your friend lune drawled lazily as you two got ready together for a party a classmate had thrown later that night. Summer was just around the corner, which meant there would be lots of parties.

“It’s healthy, so what?”

You retorted, a bit defensive. You and Caitlyn had the healthiest relationship. No fights, no toxic red flags, just complete and utter perfection. It was the happiest you’d been, and everyone around you was happy for you as well. You were never really the dating type, but since Caitlyn came in… it all changed.

“Sorry, I meant that like.. nothing spicy ever happens between you two, if you know what I mean. Come on, it’s just a prank anyway. I already told Janessa you were doing it! I’ll give you 50 bucks too. Only if you do it.”

She said, before grabbing her keys.

“Whatever. If anything happens, I'm actually gonna kill you. For real.”

You spoke, following behind her. As you got into the car you were met with one of lune’s friends. Janessa. The whole ride there all three of you bonded and sang songs. The plan was to make Caitlyn jealous and see what happened. That was the prank. You had been nervous because you were scared it was gonna ruin everything, cause again, it was perfect between you two.

It didn’t, but you’d definitely get punished. You didn’t know that though.. not right now at least.

10:00 PM

Once you arrived at the party, of course, you first found Caitlyn. She had arrived beforehand cause she lived much closer to the classmate then you and your friend did. It started off great. People were dancing, the music was actual party music instead of some boring hip hop music, lyrics were shouted, and bodies were moving.

It was quickly getting heated, sweat beads rolling down everyone's forehead.. but nobody stopped. You and Caitlyn had chugged down your drinks, trying to refuel. The party was just getting started after all. The music was bumping loudly, and not a single person in the room had a frown on their face.

“I’ll go get us some more drinks. What do you want, baby?”

Caitlyn asked. When you told her, she was quick to nod and head off. She eventually disappeared in the crowd to go head to the cooler area where all the drinks were. It wasn’t too far from the hustle bustle.

Your friend had suddenly nudged you while Caitlyn went to grab some more sodas from the cooler, gesturing towards Janessa. It was time for the prank. Janessa had walked over and began flirting with you, asking for your number. You knew Caitlyn was nearby, but had no idea how long she was watching you for.

So? You gave Janessa your number, adding fuel to the already started flame.

Caitlyn was watching the whole interaction, the soda long forgotten in her hands. As soon as you thought you were good, Caitlyn spun you around. Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows furrowed as she glared down at you. Her grip on your arm was tight.

“Who the hell is she?”

She asked, her tone leaving no room for excuses. Of course, since it was a prank, you were about to tell her. You guys were gonna laugh it off and enjoy the rest of the night at the party. That’s how the plan went.

“It was jus-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Caitlyn was quick to interrupt. She wasn’t playing around, and you then realized that maybe this prank was a horrible idea. She didn’t even let you speak because she was so mad.

“Get in the car, now. We’re going home.”

She said, her voice calm.. but you knew. She was hiding the venom in her tone. As you were practically dragged out of the party, you shot your friend a desperate look. That 50 bucks had better be worth it, cause honestly? You were scared. Horrified even. You’d never seen Caitlyn so jealous.

The drive home was absolute silence. Not a single word uttered. Her gaze was steely as she fixated on the road, her grip on the steering wheel tight. What made it worse? She walked inside without a word too. She went upstairs to the bedroom, knowing you were following after her like a kicked puppy.

She had already begun to take off her clothes till she was only in a bra and panties. Once that was done, she grabbed her strap from the drawer, fastening it on her hips. Her movements were tense and quick, her body feeling like it was on fire from how mad she was. How could she not be? The prank had certainly gone too far.

“Strip. Lay back and spread your legs.”

She spoke, her voice low and void of any emotion as she pointed towards the bed. You knew she was pissed though. Once she got the strap hooked to her hips she climbed onto the bed and crawled over. She aligned the strap with your core, rubbing it up and down. It was surprisingly easy. You got off on her being mad? That was new.

“You’re already wet? Wow. Pathetic.”

She muttered as her head shook. Once she aligned the strap with your entrance, she thrusted the strap into you, her body pressing your legs above your head in missionary and her hand wrapping around your throat. Your knees rested by your ears as she loomed over you, her presence intimidating. Her free arm rested on the sheets beside us as the strap slid in and out of you, soft grunts filling your ears. Her hips rolled against yours, her pace beginning to quicken.

"You wanna act like a slut? Then get treated like one."

She snapped as her strap dug deeper and deeper inside of your core, hitting all the right spots. Her pace was relentless, her thrusts fueled by rage. Everyone in this university knew we were dating, so all she could feel was resentment. Resentment for that blonde headed bitch who got your number knowing you were my girlfriend. She had the audacity to flirt with you too.

And the (not so) funny thing? You let her. Just at the thought her pace quickened once more, her hands gripping the undersides of your legs as an anchor.

"Keep your eyes on me. Giving other people your number like you don't know who fucks you so good."

She rasped. She tried a few different angles with her hips, listening intently to see which ones made you scream. Once she finally found the sweet spot she gave herself a victory. Her head fell against your calves, face contorted in pleasure. The headboard of the bed slammed against the wall from her powerful thrusts, grunts continuing to leave her and sounds of skin slapping together filling the room. She heard your phone buzz and scoffed. She grabbed the phone as she thrusted into you, finding the blonde bitches contact. Janessa.

Her hand gripped your phone tightly, nearly crushing it as an idea popped into her head. An idea that would make her back off of what was hers. She pressed onto the girl's contact, before pressing the ‘call’ button, putting it on speakerphone as she pounded into you.

"Tell her who your girlfriend is."

She spoke roughly, grunting in satisfaction as you screamed her name. You tried to pick up what Caitlyn said to the poor girl afterwards, but with the way she was slamming into you, even trying to listen was impossible. She was fucking you senseless. She eventually hung up the phone and tossed it across the room, feeling you clench around her.

She knew you were about to cum. She was still mad though, so of course.. you don’t get that right. Not yet, at least. She was gonna make you work for it because you had the bright idea to pull this prank on her.

"Hold it."

She commanded, watching your face contort into an expression of desperation. She saw you use every ounce of energy you had left as you held it in. It was certainly a sight, your nails clawing at her forearms, your eyes squeezing shut, and your moans escaping through gritted teeth.

"That's a good girl. Cum for me."

She watched your body writhe in ecstasy as the release finally took hold of you, the sight reminding her of heaven on earth. She slowed the thrusting to a stop, slowly slipping the strap out. She then dove in, her tongue swirling around your entrance and dipping in. Her head bobbed as she thrusted her tongue in and out of you, before moving to write her name on your clit with her tongue.

She felt your thighs shaking against her head, her hand reaching down to slip into you and curl. She lapped at you perfectly. Your taste on her tongue made her moan. You tasted delicious. She pulled away to look up at you, her fingers pumping in and out of you mercilessly. Crawling up as her fingers stayed driving into you, she marked your neck and chest with hickeys.

It began to get harder to thrust as your walls clenched around her fingers. She doubled her efforts, wanting to make you scream again. She curled and twisted her fingers, lips latching onto your clit once more. It wasn’t long before you were squealing again, her fingers coated with your juices. She went to reach for a rag so you both could clean up.. until she caught sight of your phone.

She took a photo of you and sent it to Janessa. Your hair was wild, hickeys all over your neck, utterly ruined. In the best way possible, of course. After she felt like you’ve done enough for her tonight, she spoke as she cradled your cheek.

"You did so well. Are you okay? I wasn't too rough, was I? I love you baby, I'm sorry if it was too much."

She murmured, her voice the softest it had been all night as she wiped your body and her fingers clean with a rag, pressing gentle kisses against your body like she was worshipping you. She gave your thighs a small massage afterwards for being held in the air so long, her touch loving.

After she double, triple, and even quadruple checked you were okay, she pulled you into her arms and put on a movie. She murmured sweet nothings in your ear as she ran a hand through your hair, watching you slowly doze off from exhaustion.

"You're so beautiful. Sleep well, angel."

She never found out that it was a prank, and once you woke up you couldn’t help but smile. Janessa’s contact had been deleted from your list, blocked by Caitlyn.

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