#E learning assessment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frannyzooey · 2 months ago

Text

Joel Miller x f!reader

A sequel to Squirming

Rating: E, implied age/experience gap

A/N: Thank you to the beautiful enabler that is @intheorangebedroom ❤️ enjoy!

The hot water tank is small, but functional.

You know this because he used to be a contractor, and he knows things like this. He surprises you sometimes, all deft hands and assessing eyes and facts, the edges of his words rounded with an accent.

In truth, all the explanations in the world wouldn’t make you understand how it works or why it still does, but to be honest, you don’t care. All you care about is seizing the opportunity.

“We could share it,” you offer, already climbing the stairs.

The house is abandoned, just like the rest in the neighborhood. Dust coats everything, the floorboards creaking under your steps and you hear him sigh deeply behind you, his boots a heavy scuff on the worn wood as he follows you up.

“I’ll go first,” he says at the top of the landing.

Your eyes are already on the bathroom door, the reward of a shower beckoning. “You just want to get all the hot water.”

Resting his hands on his hips, he gives you a look. It’s meant to be stern, but just like always, all it does is cause a slide of arousal to pool in your belly.

“I’ll be faster than you,” he reasons. “Then you can take as long as you want.”

“How chivalrous," you tease.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff - his version of a laugh, but only just. You haven’t heard a full one, but it’s been a goal of yours since he let out that first rough huff of air with the corner of his lips turned up to make him laugh, for real. You’ve learned to tease with him, prodding the edges of his silence and restraint. You have to be the one to push forward, because he won’t – but gently, gently.

He shakes his head in amusement, and for now, you’ll take what you can get.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, working open the buttons on his shirt as he turns away from you.

His shoulders dappled with sunlight, his fingers working open his flannel on the bank of a creek.

“Keep your back turned,” you hear from behind you. “No peekin’.”

He undresses in the bathroom, behind a cracked door. You hear the shuffle of his clothing, his soft grunts of movement. The pipes groan, and then the sound of water splashing along ceramic, and all you can think about as you sit on the edge of the bed with your hands under your thighs and the toes of your sneakers lightly scuffing the floor is what he must look like.

You’ve imagined it so many times. You’ve seen glimpses of him for months, slivers of skin that get exposed when you’re traveling with someone: sleeping in close quarters for weeks, bathing when you find water, the changing of clothes with furtive glances when he’s not looking. The vee of his collar that hints at chest hair; the only softness you think is left on him just above the waist of his jeans; a trail of coarse, dark hair that leads beneath his belt.

You’ve felt him too. Felt his solid form behind you in the saddle, felt his lap tucked behind yours when you sleep. Pieces of what you’ve seen and what you’ve felt swirl together, your mind filling in the blanks to form formidable temptation that haunts your every waking moment, your body a live wire when he’s close.

Shameless - it’s what you have to be in this new world. Any hesitation could risk a missed opportunity, be it comfort or supplies or your life. You have to be bold, direct. Blatant in what you want and what you need. Opportunities aren’t given freely, so you take them when offered, without a second thought.

The bare expanse of his back just above the surface of the creek, his skin glistening with water. Too busy washing to catch you peeking, he doesn’t see the blatant hunger on your face. There is so much of him on display: the tanned nape of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the dip of his spine.

Hiding behind the bushes, your heart thunders and your mouth waters, imagining the salt-taste of his skin.

Water splashes down the hall as he moves under the shower, and your opportunity dangles in front of you in the image of a slice of light from a doorway.

Fuck it.

Getting undressed quickly, you sneak light-footed down the hall, gently pushing the bathroom door open. You can see the shadow of him moving beyond the curtain, an aching throb beating between your thighs at how close his naked body is.

The room is enveloped in steam, the rich, decadent smell going straight to your head and the metal rings on the shower curtain drag when you pull it back.

You’re met with a wall of tanned hardness.

“What’re you doin’?” His tone is stern with disapproval, his expression dark.

He’s so…much. So much man, so handsome and thick-bodied, solid and formidable. Your eyes devour the coarse hair that gathers at his sternum and spreads across his chest and down. His skin is marred and nicked with survival and age, and there is something so arousing about the experience his body holds — the years he’s lived, the formation from teen to young adult to a man and beyond.

You bite your lip, thinking of the bodies he’s touched and brought to completion. A man who knows how to use his fingers for more than just pulling triggers – and you know, because you’ve felt them.

He rests his hand over his crotch to hide it from your view, but you can still see the thick base of his cock and the coarse, dark, wet hair that surrounds it. His hold isn’t quite big enough to cover it everything, and you swallow hard, trying not to immediately reach for him.

Steady, steady.

“You were taking too long,” you lie, ignoring the look on his face when you step in, lest you lose all nerve. Turning your back to him, you feign nonchalance. “I got worried the water would run out.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can feel the heavy weight of his gaze between your shoulder blades.

He sighs, the sound laced with annoyance. “Could’ve waited.”

“Well I didn’t. Pass me the soap?” You keep your back to him, waiting to see what he’ll do. Your voice casual, your face openly vulnerable.

“You can get it yourself. I’m gettin’ out.”

Your stomach bottoms out, both with panic and neglected need. You feel him shift behind you, and you turn, reaching for his hand just as he grabs hold of the curtain.

“Don’t,” you plead. “Please.”

Please.

You’ve never heard him say the word, but you’ve said it plenty enough for the both of you. Your need for him is all encompassing, never relenting. A steady hot weight cradled between your hips, a constant throb of want that he tries his best to discourage. He’s slipped a few times and given into your begging with a hungry press of his mouth before he’s pulled back, or given you the stretch of his fingers if you’re really desperate, but this is the furthest you’ve ever toed the line.

You always say it so helplessly too, please. Like you’ll die if he doesn’t help you. But you can’t help it because sometimes it feels like you will. You’ve found that the sound of it seems to be the only thing that breaks him, the only thing that gives you a glimpse at what’s underneath his calcified restraint.

Afraid that he’ll say no and really mean it this time, you watch his initial look of disapproval slowly give way to something else.

He looks at you for a long time. Assessing, considering. You expect his eyes to sweep down your naked body and back up again, but they stay fixed on yours, holding your gaze. His face is unreadable, your stomach alight with nerves. The air smells of damp warmth, of him, and a muscle in his jaw feathers. You brace yourself for embarrassment, but desperate arousal overrides it. Your body trembles with it, a pulse beating in the empty space inside you.

You watch a stream of water follow a vein down his forearm to where he’s holding himself and biting back a moan, you press your thighs together.

With a sigh, he relents.

“Turn around.”

You obey immediately.

Holding your breath, your body twists with anticipation when you feel him step closer. He crowds you in the small stall, his form exuding heat and though he blocks some of the water, the heat held in your own skin makes up for it. He moves behind you, his hulking form shadowing your own.

When his soaped up hands touch your skin, you let out a whimper of relief.

Relaxing into his firm hold, you melt into the way his calloused hands slide over your back. His hand slides up your spine to massage the nape of your neck, the other one sliding down around the curve of your hip, and your chin dips forward, letting him wash you. His thumb digs into the knots he finds, soap aiding in the glide of his touch. When his fingers knead just along the swell of your ass, you swallow a choked moan.

“Relax,” he murmurs, the honeyed caress of his voice deeper in the small space, richer.

You’re a trembling thing, all want and need, breathless and aching with every touch of his splayed hands. They map the sides of your torso, slide down to curl around the meat of your hips. He lathers more soap on his hands and kneels behind you, his hands splaying wide to wash the back of your thighs and the thought of his face so close to where you need him has your hips squirming, the phantom scrape of his scruff dragging against your skin.

You’re not ready when his hand slides up between your thighs with a perfunctory motion, his fingers brushing over your cunt.

He washes you there, his fingers slipping into the crease of your thighs with reverence, rubbing soap into the dark hair that covers your cunt. Your breath catches, your hips jolting back before you can stop them into his touch, but if he notices, he doesn’t act. Instead, he pulls his hand away to stand, reaches for the soap again and with one hand gripping your hip, he slides the flat of his hand through your cheeks. Your cheeks heat, but all thoughts of shame dissipate into the steam when his fingers brush against your entrance, digging into the needy space between your thighs. A whimper pours from your mouth, the weight between your hips hot and heavy. It’s too much, you need him too much and your hand reaches out to braces on the wall in front of you.

“C’mere,” he soothes, pulling you back against him. “I got you.”

Every wet inch of him presses against your back. He molds himself to you: his solid chest, his soft belly, his strong thighs, dusted with hair. His hips, pressing into the plump curve of your ass and his cock is a solid, thick heft between you. You can feel the shape of it against your lower back, but before you can fixate on it, you feel his hands slide around the curve of your waist. Letting your chin drop with a trembling breath, you watch them.

Large, the two of them covering your whole belly. Nicked and marred, tanned from the sun, and sure in their movement as they slide up, up, up. He cups the weight of your breasts and your knees buckle, your fingers digging into his wrist as an anchor.

His soaped thumbs brush over your peaked nipples, tight and aching. A soft, breathless moan pours from your throat into the steam surrounding you. Your head tips back into his collarbone, and one of his hands slides up to curl around the base of your throat, while the other one slips down to cup you firmly, wholly between your legs.

You let out a whine, trapped in place, your heart thundering in your chest.

“Just this, okay?” he says, his own breathing ragged against your ear. “Nothin’ more. I mean it.”

You don’t know how he can say that when you can feel how hard he is against you, but desperate with arousal, you nod. “Okay. Just – please.”

He hums, a darkly rich sound that rumbles against your back and his middle finger curls upwards, slipping between your soaked folds. The moan you let out is shameless, blatant, and he slides his touch back and forth, collecting the slick he finds there.

“Christ, baby,” he groans, adding another finger. “She’s soaked. How come?”

“It’s you,” the words tumbling out of your mouth, soaked and slurred with want. “It’s you.”

He hums again. “S’that right?”

His fingers slip inside you, filling you with a stretch and his thumb starts to circle your clit, your body trying to curl forward into his hold but his hand on your throat prevents you from moving. You squirm against his cock, the thick crown of it brushing against your wet skin, his heavy balls pressing just under your ass, the drag of his coarse hair sliding between you and you shift your hips backwards to feel more of the solid heft you’ve been dreaming about — but the subtle squeeze at your throat tells you to stop.

“Ain’t about that,” he scolds. “Just stay still and lemme take care of you.”

But you want it to be about that, this thing he won’t give you. This thing he won’t even let you see, even though you’ve felt it plenty. In the saddle, in the sleeping bag, pressed against your body when you feign sleep.

“It’ll help,” you whine, babbling, your body vibrating with need. “It’ll help if you let me just let me touch it, just let me see it —“

“No.” His answer is firm, brooking no room for argument. A small sob pours from your throat, and he clucks his tongue in sympathy, his tone softening. “I know, babygirl, I know.”

His thumb nudges your chin up until your head is tipped back to see him and as he tucks his thick fingers inside you, his dark eyes greedily take in your face, drinking in every minute reaction that plays across it. As if he’s just as hungry to see that as he is to do everything else.

He strokes, his fingers stuffed down to his scarred knuckles, and the combination of the full feeling paired with the endearment has tears watering at the edge of eyes. His thumb adds pressure to your clit, and your thighs tense, a tear sliding down the curve of your cheek.

Maybe it’s how good it feels, or how long you’ve been waiting for it. Maybe it’s how badly you need to come and how good he feels against you, or maybe it’s a blend of everything, born of desperation. The bright release he’s coaxing out of you teeters on the edge, your cunt clenching desperately around his fingers and you grasp anything you can as he plays with you: the thick muscle of his forearm, the solidness of his thigh.

His skin slides against yours, all firm and heat and man, the muscles along his torso bunching underneath the hair that covers his skin all the way down to where he is thick and heavy for you, grinding against the plush curve of your ass. His wrist works higher, and you put your foot up on the edge of the tub to give him more room and he takes it, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. Your hips rock into his rough touch, desperate to come and he keeps his hooded eyes fixed on yours, hungrily devouring every plea pouring from your eyes.

“Come on, darlin’,” he coaxes, the words rumbling from his chest. “Lemme see it.”

The moan that pours out of your throat when you come sounds almost shocked — like you had no idea it could be this good, or that you could come that hard. His fingers coax out everything you’ve been holding inside you down to your bones, a syrupy sticky weight flooding through your hips outwards. Your breasts tingle with it, your heart racing from it, and though your eyes slip shut with drowsy relief, he doesn’t stop.

Growling low in your ear, you feel his mouth open to taste your skin, his heavy, strained breaths following the same pulse as your clit. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t let your body come down. You let out a soft whine, clawing at his hand and he doesn’t budge, instead using the calloused pads of his fingers to circle your clit, faster, harder, pulling another peak from you expertly, efficiently.

Just as the first one ebbs, you start to crest into a second release, your hips locking under his touch, your stomach clenching while your moans echoes in the stall.

“No, I can’t. I –”

“You can,” he growls, demanding it.

You shake your head with a frown of pleading pleasure, and he doubles down.

“You wanted it, didn’t you? Bad enough to come in here?”

You whine, your nipples tightening as shame and arousal flood your body with heat.

“Then let me tire you out. Let me give her what she needs.”

His hand spreads over your belly, big and wide, pinning you in place, a tremor of muscles underneath his hold. He hauls you against him until the tips of your toes balance on the tub floor, and his chest hair scrapes against your back and he cups your cunt with his whole hand and then he’s got you, he’s got you, he’s got you, your eyes clenched shut as everything inside you pulls up tight and aching and wet —

“Joel!”

His name breaks from your throat, an aching throb bursting underneath the skill of his touch.

“Christ.” The guttural sound rips from his throat, rough like gravel.

His hips grind into you from behind, the soapy slide of his thick cock dragging along the cleft of your ass. Every rock forward has the crown pushing against the small of your back, every roll of his hips forcing the stiff heft to slide against you with a slippery slide. You want him to force a hand between your bodies and push himself down, you need him to notch his thick cock at your entrance and force you to bloom open around him.

He won’t though. You know he won’t let himself go that far.

Your hands wind around his neck, your fingers threading into his wet hair. You arch your back, pressing your ass tighter against him, testing the edges of his restraint.

His deep groan reverberates through the stall and wrapping his large hands around your waist, he forces you tighter against him. The way he’s fucking your cheeks flickers and sparks need, blood rushing to your cunt, your body wrung out yet still hungry for him.

“Just put it in,” you beg. “Please, put it in.”

“Goddamnit.”

Groaning as if in pain, his white-knuckled grip tightens on your hips and you feel the first hot spurt of his come splash on your back. Another rope of it hits your skin, his cock a hot pulse between your cheeks, and he keeps grinding against you, the slip of his cum aiding in the slide of his cock. It smears on your back, slips down to collect between your bodies, sticky and thick, and as he works the last dregs out, you wonder if he’d let you taste any of it.

Your mouth waters, your body still a wanting little throb even after everything he drew out of you. Always hungry, just for him.

The sound of the shower slowly comes back to you, and when he steps away, you shiver from the cold.

“Here,” he guides, switching places with you.

Hot water pours over your skin, and he lets you rest drowsily against him as he picks up the bar of soap again. Turning to face him for the first time, you nuzzle the hair that dusts his chest, breathing him in. You hang onto his sides, onto the skin that’s been hidden from you for months now. Solid and firm and warm and wet under your touch and your fingers skim the muscles over his ribs. When your chin dips south to finally get a peek at what you’ve been imagining, his fingers nudge your face back up.

“Hey now,” he murmurs. ”Eyes up here. Right on me, okay?”

You can feel him resting against your thigh. Still thick, still half hard, still out of reach and you wonder if he’ll ever let you see it, just like that full laugh that you’re waiting for.

One day.

#joel miller #joel miller/you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction

980 notes · View notes

duskidolsmut · 3 months ago

Text

Blonde College Slut Fucked in Anal Gangbang

Shin Yuna is a college student living on the edge, a stunning blonde who uses her beauty and provocative attitude to dominate the campus. Known for manipulating others in exchange for favors, she plays a dangerous game of seduction and power, always coming out on top—or so she thinks. When a dorm party becomes the stage for a plot hatched by someone close to her, Yuna finds herself thrust into an abyss of pleasure and chaos that tests her limits. Between betrayals, forbidden desires, and brutal consequences, she finds that the control she once cherished may slip from her grasp. Now, with secrets lurking and hungry eyes following her, the campus will never be the same—and neither will Yuna.

Tags: Hardcore, Anal, Deepthroat, Creampie, Facial, Spanking, Slut, College Girl, Cheating, Cuckold, Big Dicks, Threesome+, Party, Dorm Room, Drunk, Stoned, Revenge Fuck, Public Humiliation, Screaming, Crying, Begging, Slutty, Broken, Cumslut, Virgin Anal, Forced, Aggressive, Dirty Talk, Cum Everywhere, Sweaty

The sun was beating down on the college courtyard, but no one there seemed to care about the heat. Not when Yuna strutted past as if the world were her own private stage. At 1.70 m tall, her long legs cut through the air like knives, highlighted by a short black skirt that barely covered the bare essentials. The cropped top showed off her tiny waist, and the generous cleavage gave a teaser of what she knew everyone wanted to see. Her blonde hair, now straight and shiny, swayed with each step, and her large, slanted eyes seemed to be hunting prey in the crowd of college students. Her fair skin glowed as if she had stepped out of an Instagram filter, and her full lips, painted a shocking pink, curved in a little smile.

Yuna wasn't just pretty — she was an admitted slut, the kind who knows the power she has and uses it without mercy. It wasn't about love or passion; for her, everything was a game of trade. A quick blowjob behind the library building? Sure, but only if the guy bought her a snack afterwards. A little help in the hallway bathroom? Great, as long as it was a little favor like "give me the answers to the test." She didn't give anything away for free, and the guys at college had already learned that — or at least they tried to learn, because Yuna was too good at stringing people along.

Today, she was in hunting mode. She stopped near a group of freshmen who were smoking e-cigarettes, leaning against a bench. The strawberry smell of the vape mixed with the sweat of the hot day, and the guys stopped talking the moment she arrived, their eyes glued to her like flies on honey.

"So, boys, how's your day going?" Yuna tossed her hair to the side, leaning her body just enough to let her cleavage speak for itself. Her voice was sweet, but with a tone of someone who was always in charge.

One of the guys, a skinny guy with a backwards cap named Riku, choked on his vape and coughed before answering:

— O-okay, Yuna. What about yours?

She laughed, a short, mocking sound, and took a step closer, almost touching him.

—It’s boring, you know? I need someone to cheer me up. — Her feline eyes roamed the group, stopping at each one as if assessing their potential. — Who here has something to offer me?

Another guy, Kenta, braver and with a piercing in his eyebrow, gave a crooked smile and lifted his chin.

—I have an energy drink in my backpack. I’ll give it to you if you… I don’t know, let me film you dancing a little.

Yuna arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms in a way that only highlighted her bust.

— An energy drink? Do you think I’m cheap, Kenta? — She giggled, but approached him, lightly brushing her shoulder against his chest. — Give me the energy drink and another twenty dollars and I'll dance for your camera. But just for a minute, okay, I'm not a free stripper.

Kenta hesitated, but her look — that mischievous glint that promised more than she was going to deliver — made him give in.

— Okay, okay, I'll pay! — He was already reaching for his wallet, his fingers shaking with anxiety.

— Good choice, kitty — Yuna winked, taking the energy drink from his hand and opening it with a snap. She took a slow sip, letting a drop run down the corner of her mouth just to tease, and wiped it with her finger while staring at the group. — So, where's my stage?

Riku, still a little dumbfounded, pointed to the bench.

— This is fine, right? Just... do it, Yuna.

She climbed up onto the bench with the agility of someone who had done it a thousand times, her skirt riding up dangerously as she moved her hips to a rhythm that didn't need music. The guys were drooling, Kenta already had his cell phone in his hand filming, and she laughed inside at how easy it was to dominate them. A minute later, she jumped down, reached for the money and pocketed the twenty dollars without even saying thank you.

— Thanks, guys. It was good, but I have other things to do. — She turned her back, already aiming at the next target in the courtyard, but not before throwing one last comment over her shoulder: — If you want something more… special, just bring something worth it, okay?

Later, in the hallway of the humanities building, she pressed a senior named Hiro against his locker. The guy was tall, with messy hair and an air of someone who thought he could take anyone to bed. Yuna knew he had a reputation as a player, but she also knew he had a new motorcycle — and she was dying to go for a ride.

“Hey, Hiro,” she purred, playing with the string on his sweatshirt. “I hear you’ve got a brand new Kawasaki. Take me for a ride?”

Hiro gave a smug smile, clearly thinking he was in control.

“It depends, Yuna. What can I get in return?”

She got closer, her chest almost touching his, and whispered in his ear:

— I'll make you cum so fast you'll think you're dreaming. But only after the ride, and you have to let me lead the way.

He laughed, but the sparkle in his eyes gave away that he was already hooked.

— Deal, you bitch. But you're not going to string me along, okay?

— Me? String me along? — Yuna patted his face, laughing. — Only if you don't do your part, handsome.

As she walked off down the hallway, Yuna was already thinking about her next move. She wasn't one to get attached, or to give anything away for free. Every touch, every promise, was a coin in her pocket or a favor up her sleeve. The campus was her playground, and the guys? Just pieces on the board.

Yuna was at the height of her reign on campus, but not everything was just a parade and exchanging favors with silly freshmen. There was a side of her that no one saw—a dirty little secret that she kept with a mischievous smile on her pink lips. This secret had a name: Hector. He was Lia's boyfriend, one of the few friends Yuna kept out of convenience. Lia was all proper, glasses, the kind of girl who thought the world revolved around fidelity and good grades. Little did she know that her boyfriend, a 6'1" guy with messy black hair and a burning gaze, was completely crazy about the blonde slut she called her friend.

Heitor and Yuna had started this thing a few weeks ago. He was different from the other guys she manipulated — he wasn't some dumb jerk who fell for it easily. No, Heitor had a fire in his eyes, a raw energy that made her heart race. He didn't ask for favors; he took what he wanted. And Yuna? She loved it. She loved the way he grabbed her, his big hands squeezing her thin waist or pulling her blond hair hard. He was aggressive, almost wild, and she, who was always in control, found herself moaning too loudly at those moments.

The two of them had a place: the bathrooms of an abandoned college block, a forgotten corner where the smell of mold and peeling paint mixed with the heat they exuded in the air. It was perfect — no one went there, and the risk of getting caught only made it all the more enjoyable. Today, Yuna was leaning against the wall of the main hallway, pretending to use her cell phone while she sent him a message:

— "Old bathroom, 3pm. Don't keep me waiting, you dog."

Heitor replied in two seconds:

— "I'm coming, you bitch. Better get ready."

She laughed to herself, putting her cell phone in the pocket of her short skirt. She passed Lia on the way, giving a quick wave and a "Hi, beautiful, see you in class!" while the poor girl smiled back, without suspecting anything. Yuna almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

When she arrived at the abandoned bathroom, the place was silent, only the sound of a dripping pipe echoing off the cracked walls. She barely had time to lean against the filthy sink before she heard his heavy footsteps. Heitor walked in, his black t-shirt stuck to his sweaty body — he had probably run to get there —, and his brown eyes were already fixed on her as if she were a piece of meat. — You came fast, huh — Yuna teased, crossing her arms to lift her bust in her tight top. — Do you miss me that much?

He didn't answer with words. In two steps, he was in front of her, one hand grabbing her wrist and the other already going up under her skirt, squeezing her thigh hard enough to leave a mark.

— Shut up, Yuna — he growled, his breath hot on her neck. — You've been teasing me all day, now take it.

She laughed, but the sound turned into a moan when he turned her back against the sink, pulling her blond hair with a jerk.

— That's it, Hector, show me what you've got — she said, her voice shaking with excitement. — But don't crush me too much, huh? I still have to show up in one piece later.

— In one piece? — He slapped her ass, the sound echoing in the empty bathroom. — You're going to leave here limping, you whore.

Yuna bit her lip, her feline eyes shining in the reflection of the broken mirror in front of her. She loved this brutality, the way he dominated her without asking for permission. It was the opposite of the guys she had been fooling around with — Hector didn't negotiate, didn't offer anything in return. He just took, and she let him, because, fuck, he was too good.

He pushed her against the sink, the cold metal hitting her waist as he ripped her panties with a single pull.

"That's what you want, right?" he murmured, already undoing his belt with one hand while the other held her neck. "To text me while I'm with Lia, driving me crazy…

"Of course, you idiot," Yuna retorted, arching her back towards him. "She doesn't give you that, does she? The good Lia doesn't even know where to put her hand." Hector laughed, a low, dangerous sound, and entered her hard, eliciting a scream from her that she tried to muffle with her hand.

“Tell me more about her,” he said, his movements aggressive, almost punishing. “It makes me even angrier.”

“She… oh, fuck… she thinks you’re a saint,” Yuna managed to say between moans, her nails scratching the sink. “While you’re here fucking me like an animal.”

He pulled her hair again, forcing her to look at the mirror.

“Look at your face, Yuna. That’s what you really are. A worthless slut.”

She smiled at her reflection, her lips trembling and her eyes glazed over.

“And you love it, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t come running every time I call.”

His pace got faster, his hands marking her fair skin with red. It was dirty, fast, and unromantic—just the way she liked it. When they were done, Yuna was panting, her blonde hair stuck to her sweaty face, her skirt wrinkled, and her panties on the floor. Heitor straightened up, glancing at her as he fastened his belt.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" he said, but his tone was more of a warning than a request.

Yuna laughed, picking up her torn panties and throwing them into her backpack.

— Relax, dog. I won't ruin my favorite toy. — She winked at him, already composing herself. — But next time, bring me an energy drink. This isn't free.

He shook his head, leaving without saying anything else. Yuna stood there for a second, fixing her hair in the broken mirror and smiling to herself. Hector was the kind of risk that was worth it — and she knew she would call him again, just to feel that adrenaline rush again.

What started as a few casual encounters in the abandoned bathrooms became an almost daily routine. He was addicted to her, and Yuna knew it — the way he grabbed her with those big hands, pulling her blond hair tightly and thrusting like it was the last day of his life, was all she needed to feel alive. They met every afternoon, sometimes even twice in the same day, in the same moldy bathroom, with the sound of her moans echoing off the cracked walls.

— Damn, Heitor, you're getting good at this — she said, panting, as he pressed her against the sink.

— Shut up and moan, you bitch — he replied, squeezing her neck the way she liked.

It was dirty, it was rough, and she loved every second of it. But what Yuna didn't know was that the secret was starting to leak. Lia, Heitor's good girlfriend, wasn't as dumb as she seemed. She had noticed the messages he deleted too quickly, the way he got nervous when Yuna showed up around. One day, she followed him to the abandoned block and heard everything — the moans, the slaps, the provocations. Lia kept quiet, but inside she was boiling. That blonde bitch was going to pay dearly.

The key moment came one sunny afternoon in the cafeteria. Yuna was sitting with Lia, pretending to be the perfect friend, while chewing on a snack with those full lips that everyone wanted to kiss. She tossed her blonde hair to the side and gave a sweet smile, the kind that didn't match the slut she was inside.

"Oh, Lia, you're so cute, you know?" Yuna said, tilting her head like a doll. "Heitor is lucky to have such a nice girlfriend. I could never be like that, I'm too... free, you know?" Lia smiled back, but her eyes were cold, almost cutting. She already knew everything — she had seen the two of them leaving the bathroom last week, Yuna adjusting her wrinkled skirt and Heitor with his belt still half open. But she wasn't going to give Yuna the pleasure of confronting her in front of everyone. Not yet.

"Yeah, Yuna, you're really... free," Lia replied, her voice too calm. "But sometimes freedom comes at a price, right?" Yuna laughed, thinking it was just a friendly chat.

— Sure, but I always find a way to hold others accountable, not myself. — She winked, getting up from the table with a sway that made half the cafeteria turn their heads. — See you later, beautiful!

Little did she know that Lia was already plotting. The good girl had a vengeful side that no one knew about. That same night, she called some guys from the gym class — some brutes who already had a reputation for not taking any nonsense lying down. The leader was Gael, a six-foot-tall closet with shaved hair and a lip piercing that gave him a mean look. Lia was direct with him:

— Yuna needs to be taught a lesson. She thinks she can walk all over everyone, but I want you guys to show her that she's not so untouchable.

Gael gave a crooked smile, scratching his chin.

— The blonde bitch, huh? I've seen her shaking her hips. What do you want us to do?

"Make her feel what I felt," Lia said, her eyes shining with anger. "But don't tell me the details. Just... put an end to her posing."

"Deal," Gael replied, already imagining what was going to happen. He called three more guys from the group, all as big as him, and started planning. Yuna was going to get a surprise, and it wasn't going to be the kind she could negotiate with a smile or a little favor.

In the meantime, Yuna went on with her life, whispering provocations in the ear of some random freshman in the hallway.

— If you give me some money, I'll let you look up my skirt for five seconds — she said, laughing as the boy blushed.

But she had no idea what was coming. Lia had turned the tables, and Gael's thugs were already watching her, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

The last few days on campus were full of buzz. A party at the dorm was on the way, and everyone knew it was going to be the event of the semester. The seniors were already stocking up on cheap beer and vodka, the amateur DJs were testing the speakers, and the drug dealers were on duty making sure there would be weed for everyone who wanted to get high. It was the kind of night that promised chaos, and Lia saw this as the perfect opportunity to put her plan into action. She was tired of pretending she didn't know about Heitor's escapades with Yuna, and that party was going to be the stage where the blonde slut would fall from her pedestal.

The day arrived, and the dorm turned into a hell of flashing lights and loud music. The electronic music was blasting the eardrums, the air was thick with weed smoke and the sour smell of spilled booze. College students danced like there was no tomorrow, some already making out in the dark corners, others sprawled on the couches with red eyes and a silly smile. It was the perfect environment for Lia's plan.

Yuna entered the party as if she were the queen of the whole damn thing. Her black dress was an attack: it clung to her slim, curvy body, very short, with a neckline that went down almost to her belly button and slits on the sides that showed off her slim waist and white thighs. Her blonde hair was straight, shining like liquid gold under the colored lights, and her red lips, painted with a scandalous lipstick, seemed to scream "catch me if you can". She started dancing in the middle of the crowd, her heels clicking on the floor, her hips shaking to a rhythm that made the guys drool and the girls roll their eyes.

“So, you idiots, who’s going to give me a drink today?” she shouted, throwing her hair back and doing a spin that lifted her dress enough to drive everyone crazy.

A guy with green hair, already half drunk, raised a glass of beer.

“I’ll give it to you, Yuna, but dance with me first!” She laughed, taking the glass and downing half of it at once, the liquid running down her chin on purpose.

“Dance with you?” She came closer, rubbing her body against him for a second before moving away. “Only if you learn how to move that skeleton, pretty boy.”

Lia was in the corner, watching everything with a glass of soda in her hand to hide it. She waited for the right moment and approached, a fake smile plastered on her face.

“Yuna, my favorite!” — she called, holding a bottle of vodka and a lit joint. — Let's party together today, have a sip with me!

Yuna turned to her, still shaking her hips, and took the bottle with a crooked smile.

“Lia, you at a party? You're turning into a person, huh!”

She took a long sip, the vodka burning her throat, and laughed. — Do you want to be a slut like me? Just ask for a lesson.

Lia laughed along, but her eyes were calculating every move. She passed the joint to Yuna.

“Who knows? Smoke it, relax with me.”

Yuna took a deep drag, exhaling the smoke slowly while her brown eyes sparkled.

“This is life, Lia. You should give up that saintly vibe more often.”

She took another sip of vodka, her head already starting to spin.

Lia didn't stop. She stayed there, filling Yuna with booze and weed as if it were a mission. After about thirty minutes, Yuna was laughing out loud, tripping on her heels and speaking more slurredly.

“Let’s play something different,” Lia said, holding her arm. “There’s a game in the back room. Are you up for it?”

Yuna, high and confident, tossed her hair back.

— Game? I'm the game, Lia. Take me there, I'll finish off these idiots.

Lia led her through the crowded hallway to a door in the back. Yuna still thought she was in charge, her dress riding up as she walked, the smile of someone who always came out on top. The room was cramped, with an old couch, empty cans on the table, and a strong smell of smoke. Gael and the thugs were already there, waiting, but Yuna didn't even notice the danger. Lia closed the door, and the click of the lock was lost in the loud music.

“Ready for the game, Yuna?” Lia asked, her tone colder.

Yuna fell onto the couch, crossing her legs and laughing.

“Sure, you idiot. What is it? Truth or dare? I win anything with my eyes closed.”

Lia took a step back.

“Let's see. These guys will show you what it's like.”

Yuna looked at the thugs and laughed again, still thinking she could fool everyone.

— You guys? Are you going to try to catch me? Come on, I can handle anything.

Lia left without saying anything else, leaving Yuna there, drunk, stoned and full of herself, while Gael and the others approached.

The private room was pitch black, with only the weak light from an old lamp casting shadows on the moldy walls. Yuna was sprawled on the couch, her torn black dress hanging from her body like a rag, her straight blonde hair falling over her sweaty face. She was still dizzy from the vodka and weed that Lia had slipped into her, but the crooked smile on her red lips showed that she still thought she was in charge. The four brutes — Gael, Ian, Luan and Andrew — were surrounding her, their eyes shining with a mixture of anger and lust that she had underestimated at first.

“So, you big guys, is this what you call a lesson?” Yuna said, her voice slurred but full of provocation. She crossed her legs, her dress riding up higher, and laughed. “You’re going to have to do better than that to impress me.”

Gael, the six-foot tall man with the lip piercing, stepped forward and smiled a smile that made her stomach do a little knot—but she wasn’t going to let him see that.

“You talk too much, blondie,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the air. “Let’s see if that mouth can handle the rest.”

She laughed again, tossing her hair back in an exaggerated gesture.

“Go ahead, big guy. I’ve dealt with guys bigger than you.”

That’s when things changed. Gael unbuckled his belt with a snap, and when his pants fell off, Yuna blinked twice, her smile faltering for a second. His cock was huge—thick, hard, and with a throbbing vein that seemed more like a threat than an invitation. She swallowed hard, but tried to hide it by lifting her chin.

— Okay, it's... reasonable — she muttered, but her voice was less firm.

Ian, the dark-haired man with the shaved head, chuckled softly and opened his pants too, revealing another monster that made her feline eyes widen a little. Luan, the tattooed blond, and Andrew, the skinny man with the wild look, followed suit, and suddenly Yuna was staring at four giant cocks, each one bigger than the last, all hard and ready for her. Her confidence began to crack like thin glass.

“Fuck, what's this?” she said, trying to laugh, but the sound came out nervous. “You're kidding, right?”

“Kidding?” Luan retorted, grabbing her hair tightly and pulling her head back. “You'll see who's kidding here.”

Before she could answer, Gael grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, while the other tore the rest of her dress, leaving her in only her panties. Ian slapped her thigh, hard enough to leave a red mark, and she cried out, more in shock than pain.

“Hey, calm down, you sons of bitches!” she tried to pull away, her heart racing. “This isn’t fair!”

— Fair? — Andrew laughed, approaching with that crazy look. — You fucked Lia, now we fuck you. Simple.

Yuna struggled, but their strength was too much. Gael turned her face down on the couch, her face sinking into the stinky fabric as he ripped off her panties with a yank. She felt his cock brush against her ass, and the size of it made her tremble for the first time.

— Go slow, damn it! — she screamed, but her voice came out more like a request than an order.

— Slow? — Gael growled, thrusting in all at once with a force that drew a hoarse scream from her. He was too big, too aggressive, and she felt her entire body protest as he pumped without mercy.

Ian held her arms, keeping her in place, while Luan knelt in front of her, forcing his cock into her mouth.

— Suck it, bitch — he said, giving her a light slap to reinforce it. She tried to resist, but his size filled her mouth, and she gagged, her eyes watering.

Andrew and the other guy were on either side, their hands grabbing her breasts, squeezing them tightly as they laughed at the muffled moans she let out. It was an attack from all sides — Gael thrusting from behind, Luan from the front, and the other two marking her fair skin with scratches and slaps. Yuna lost her breath, her head spinning, her body struggling to get used to the invasion.

But then the alcohol and marijuana really started to take effect. The initial pain, the shock, everything started to mix together in a warm haze. Gael's cock, which before seemed to tear her in half, was now hitting a spot that made her legs tremble in a way she couldn't ignore. She moaned loudly, the sound muffled by Luan's cock, and the guys noticed the change.

— Look, the bitch is enjoying it — Ian said, laughing as he slapped her ass again.

Yuna tried to deny it, but her body didn't lie. Her moans were getting longer, hoarser, and she started moving her hips against Gael, almost without wanting to. The pleasure was coming in waves, mixed with the adrenaline and the confusion of the drink.

“You... bastards…” she managed to mumble, but her tone was weaker, almost surrendered.

Luan pulled her hair, forcing her to look at him as he thrust into her mouth.

“That's it, moan for us. Show us what you're really like.”

Gael sped up, each thrust making the couch creak, and Yuna felt a heat rising through her body, the alcohol transforming their aggression into an ecstasy she hadn't expected. Andrew switched places with Luan, thrusting his cock into her mouth while Luan moved back, and Ian took Gael's place. It was a brutal rotation, but she was starting to lose herself in it, her eyes glazed over, her lips trembling, her body surrendering to the rhythm.

“Fuck, you guys… you’re animals…” she moaned between one gasp and another, but now there was a sparkle in her feline eyes, a twisted pleasure that she could no longer hide.

When Gael came back to fuck her again, she was already arching her back, her moans echoing in the room as the four of them used her nonstop. The alcohol had turned everything upside down—what started as a lesson for her turned into a chaos of pleasure that she no longer knew how to stop.

Yuna was in the middle of the hurricane, her body sweaty and trembling, her blond hair stuck to her face as the four brutes—Gael, Ian, Luan, and Andrew—continued their attack. She was already dizzy, the alcohol and marijuana transforming the whole thing into a crazy mix of pain and excitement. The couch creaked with each thrust, and her moans were coming out hoarse, almost uncontrollable. But the guys weren't satisfied yet — they wanted more, and the next step would break her in a way she never imagined.

Gael, the big guy with the lip piercing, pulled her by the hips, turning her face down again. His cock, still hard and wet, brushed against her ass, and Yuna laughed, thinking it was just another round.

— You want to do it again, big guy? — she said, her voice shaking but trying to keep her composure. — Go for it, I can handle it.

He gave a crooked smile, holding her buttocks with his big hands and spreading her open without ceremony.

— You think you've seen it all, huh, bitch? — he growled, spitting on his hand and rubbing it on his cock. — Let's see how you deal with that virgin ass of yours.

Yuna froze, her feline eyes widening in fear for the first real time.

— Wait, what?! — she screamed, trying to turn around, but Ian grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the couch. — No, no, I've never done that, you sickos! Get out of here!

Luan, the tattooed blond, laughed out loud and slapped her ass hard, the sound echoing in the room.

— Relax, blondie. Everyone has a first time. And yours will be with us.

She struggled, her heart racing, fear running up her spine as Gael positioned his cock at the entrance of her asshole. It was too big, too thick, and she knew it was going to hurt like hell.

“Please, no, not that!” she begged, her voice coming out higher, almost tearful. “I’ll do anything else, but not that!”

“Anything?” Andrew, the skinny guy with the wild look, came closer, rubbing his cock in her face. “Then suck here while he fucks you, you whore.”

Gael didn’t wait for an answer. He forced his way in, the head of his cock pushing against her tight asshole, and Yuna screamed loudly, her entire body tensing with the pain. It was like a hot iron was ripping her in half, the pressure unbearable as he tried to force his way in.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking tight!” Gael grunted, gripping her hips tighter. “Relax your ass, bitch, or it’ll be worse.” — It hurts, you sons of bitches! — Yuna screamed, her nails scratching the couch, tears streaming down her eyes as she tried to pull away. — Stop, I can't take it!

Ian laughed, keeping her arms pinned.

— Can't take it? Didn't you rule everyone? Now cry, go on.

He pushed in further, and the entrance was hell — her virgin ass resisted, but his cock was relentless. After a few seconds of struggling, the head passed, and Yuna gave a hoarse scream, her body shaking as he forced the rest of it inside. The pain was raw, throbbing, and she felt every inch of that monster stretching her like never before.

— It's fucking tearing me apart! — she moaned, her voice broken, her face buried in the couch as tears wet the fabric. — Take it off, please!

— Take it off? — Gael laughed, starting to move slowly, each movement eliciting a moan of pain from her. — You're going to ask for more, just wait.

Luan grabbed her hair, pulling her head back and shoving his cock in her mouth again.

— Cry with this in your mouth, bitch. Swallow while he fucks your ass.

She choked, Luan's cock filling her throat as Gael thrust into her ass, the pain mixing with the heat of the alcohol that was still running through her veins. It was too much—her body was in shock, but little by little, something started to change. The pain, which at first was unbearable, was mixed with a strange sensation, a tingling that went up her legs and made her tremble in a different way.

— Fuck, she's starting to like it—Ian said, laughing as he let go of her wrists to grab her breasts, squeezing her nipples hard.— Look how her ass is blinking now.

Yuna moaned loudly, the sound muffled by Luan's cock, and her body, almost unintentionally, began to relax. The alcohol was softening her resistance, and Gael's cock, which had previously felt like a punishment, now hit a spot inside her that sent shocks of pleasure through her body.

"You... bastards..." she murmured, but her voice was weaker, her hips moving a little against him.

"That's it, bitch, grind on that cock," Gael said, slapping her ass that made her scream again, but this time with a different tone. He sped up, thrusting deeper, her asshole slowly giving in as she moaned louder.

Andrew switched places with Luan, shoving his cock in her mouth while Luan moved back, waiting for his turn.

"My cock wants a piece of that blonde too," Luan said, rubbing his cock against her ass as Gael pulled out.

When Luan entered, there was another wave of pain — his cock was thicker than Gael's, and her already sensitive asshole protested again.

"Fuck, it won't fit!" Yuna screamed, but the scream turned into a long moan when he forced it all inside, stretching her even more.

"Yes, it will fit, you whore," Luan growled, thrusting hard while holding her hair like a rein. "You're going to swallow every inch."

The pain was there, raw and throbbing, but the pleasure was growing with it, the alcohol turning everything into a hot mess. Yuna felt her asshole burning, but also throbbing, her body getting used to the invasion while the guys laughed and cursed her. Ian was next, thrusting with a brutality that made her see stars, and Andrew finished the round, his cock thinner but faster, pounding deep while she moaned nonstop.

"It feels good now, right, bitch?" — Andrew said, slapping her face as he thrust. — Tell her you want more!

— I… fuck… want… — Yuna moaned, the words coming out almost unintentionally, her body surrendered, her asshole broken but throbbing with pleasure.

They continued, taking turns in her ass, each one more aggressive than the other, until she no longer knew where the pain began and the excitement ended. The couch was soaked in sweat, her blonde hair a mess, and her moans filled the room as the four of them used her without mercy.

Yuna was at her limit, her body sweaty and marked, her virgin asshole now broken by the huge cocks of Gael, Ian, Luan and Andrew. The couch creaked as if it was going to fall apart, and her moans were coming out hoarse, uncontrolled, as the four brutes thrusted without stopping. She had already given in to the mix of pain and pleasure, the alcohol and marijuana making her head soft, but now things were going to another level — she was about to break for good.

Gael was back in her ass, his thick cock stretching her to the max as he held her hips with brute force.

“Fuck, this ass is swallowing everything now,” he grunted, thrusting deep, each thrust making her body tremble. “You like this, don’t you, you slut?”

Yuna tried to respond, but all she could come out was a loud moan, her mouth half open as Andrew shoved his cock down her throat again.

“Tell me, bitch!” Andrew said, slapping her face so hard that her red lips bled a little. “Tell me you love being fucked like this!”

She choked, her cat-like eyes glazed over, tears streaming down her face as Andrew’s cock hit the back of her throat.

— I… love… — she managed to murmur, her voice almost fading, her body moving on its own against Gael.

Luan laughed, grabbing her breasts and squeezing her nipples hard while Ian reached between her legs, rubbing her clit with rough fingers.

“Look at this bitch, she’s dripping,” Ian said, laughing as his fingers got wet. “You were born for this, blondie.”

Yuna’s head was spinning, the pleasure coming in waves so strong that she couldn’t think straight anymore. Her ass was burning, her body was aching, but every thrust, every slap, every curse was pushing her to a place of no return. She started to laugh, a low, broken sound, her eyes unfocused as the mind break hit her hard.

“That… fuck me… break me…” she moaned, the words coming out unfiltered, her voice shaking with ecstasy. “More… fuck, more!”

The guys exchanged glances, surprised for a second, but soon they took advantage. Gael thrust faster, his cock throbbing inside her asshole as he cursed:

— See, you idiots? She's asking for it! Let's finish this whore once and for all!

Luan switched places with Andrew, shoving his thick cock in her mouth while Andrew went for her ass, thrusting at an insane speed. Ian stood in front, rubbing his cock against her breasts while Gael held her in place. It was chaos—four huge cocks, hands everywhere, slapping and pulling hair, and Yuna in the middle, lost in a sea of pleasure that had swallowed her sanity.

— Fuck, I'm going to cum in that ass! — Andrew yelled, his rhythm getting sloppy as he thrust deep, his cock throbbing.

— Then cum, damn it! — Gael replied, laughing as he held her hips so Andrew could finish.

Andrew gave one last loud moan, thrusting all the way in and cumming inside her ass, the heat of his cum filling her as she screamed, her body convulsing. He pulled out, his cock dripping, and Luan took his place, thrusting into her ass without even waiting.

"My turn, bitch," Luan said, his thick cock forcing its way in as Andrew's cum dripped down her thighs.

Yuna was beside herself, laughing and moaning at the same time, her eyes rolling back as the pleasure consumed her.

"Cum... cum in me..." she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, her body limp but still responding.

Luan thrust hard, her asshole already so broken that he could easily enter, and he came right after, filling her up again as he slapped her ass.

"Take it, you whore, swallow it all!" Ian was next, thrusting into her ass while Gael shoved his cock into her mouth, the two of them synchronizing their movements.

“Open your mouth, blondie,” Gael growled, grabbing her hair as he thrust into her throat. “I’m going to cum on your face.”

She obeyed, her mind broken, her mouth open as Gael came, hot cum running down her face, dripping onto her red lips and chin. Ian finished in her ass, the third to fill her from behind, and Yuna fell onto the couch, her body shaking, her asshole throbbing with the cum from all three.

Andrew, who had already cum, rubbed his half-pumped cock against her breasts, leaving a wet trail.

“Is it over, bitch?” he said, laughing as she moaned softly, almost fainting.

Yuna didn’t answer. She was slumped, her blonde hair a sticky mess, her face covered in cum, her asshole dripping as her body convulsed in spasms of pleasure. The mind break had hit her hard — she was no longer the confident Yuna, the bitch who ruled everything. She was just a broken body, lost in an ecstasy she never imagined.

The guys straightened up, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

"Mission accomplished, huh," Gael said, fastening his belt. "Tell Lia that she won't forget it any time soon." They left the room, leaving Yuna there, the sound of the party slowly returning to her ears as she tried to breathe, her body and mind in pieces.

Yuna lay sprawled on the couch for a time she couldn't even count. The noise of the party outside — the loud music, the laughter, the breaking of glasses — seemed to come from another world. Her body was a mess: her dress torn on the floor, her blond hair stuck to her face with sweat and cum, her fair skin marked by redness, scratches and slaps. Her asshole was still throbbing, sore and hot, the guys' cum dripping down her thighs as she tried to draw air into her lungs. Her head was empty, an echo of the mind break that had just happened, but little by little she came back to herself.

She stood up slowly, her legs wobbly, and grabbed what was left of her dress to cover her body. The broken mirror on the wall showed a Yuna she barely recognized — her feline eyes were sunken, her red lipstick smeared with blood and cum, her face pale but with a strange glow. She laughed, a low, hoarse sound, almost as if she couldn't believe what had happened.

— You sons of bitches… — she muttered to herself, her voice weak but with a new tone, somewhere between anger and fascination.

On campus, rumors began to spread the next morning. No one really knew what had happened in the private room, but everyone saw Yuna leaving the dorm with her dress torn, her hair messy and her walk a little crooked. Some said she had been humiliated, others that she had enjoyed every second of it. Lia heard the whispers and smiled, satisfied with her revenge, but unaware that she had awakened something in Yuna.

The blonde didn't disappear, as some expected. She returned to campus a few days later, wearing her usual short skirt, her red lips shining, but her gaze… her gaze was different. More dangerous, more aware. She still teased, still tossed her hair and laughed at the guys who drooled over her, but now there was a weight in her words, a shine that said she knew what could happen — and maybe even wanted it again. — Hey guys, who's buying me a drink tonight? — she said one afternoon, in the same tone as always, but with a smile that made the guys hesitate.

Yuna had changed. She wasn't just the confident bitch who manipulated everyone anymore. She had a broken side, but also a new side, a fire that the gangbang had lit. The campus whispered about her, the legend growing, and she let it. After all, the game had changed — and she was ready to play again, her way.

But not everything was resolved. As Yuna paraded through the courtyard, a pair of eyes followed her from afar, hidden among the students. It was Heitor, Lia's boyfriend, the guy who had started this whole mess. He had been quiet since the party, but his look wasn't one of guilt or regret — it was one of obsession. He knew what had happened to Yuna, he had heard the rumors, and something in him was burning to pull her back into the abyss. In his hand, a cell phone flashed with an unsent message: "We need to talk, blonde. I know what you've become." The game was far from over.

#itzy smut #yuna smut #kpop smut #request dusk #requestdusk

596 notes · View notes

writingfics-passingtime · 8 months ago

Text

Desperate Measures

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 5703

Content / warnings: swearing, a lot of sexual tension, steamy kissing, suggestive humour, tickle fic, implied sex

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a romantic and intimate storyline between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: hello! I've come out of the woodwork to drop this random fic, thinking some of you may enjoy some wild sexual tension, teasing, and ruthless ler!loki I felt randomly compelled to write. I can't make any good-faith promises regarding future writing, so I'll just share this for now. All the love <3

The air in the gym was still and heavy, the only sound breaking the silence was the steady rhythm of your fists connecting with the punching bag. You were alone, intentionally so, using the late hour to work through a restless energy that had been gnawing at you for days.

Well, months, really.

There had been something about the Compound lately, something about him that made it hard to focus, hard to sleep.

The leather of the bag thudded under your punches, each strike sharp and measured as you practiced your form. But as effective as the session was at releasing some pent-up tension, you couldn’t ignore the nagging realisation that it wasn’t quite enough. And you didn't know what would be.

Then you heard him - felt him, really, before he spoke. Loki’s presence always announced itself in a subtle way. A shift in the air, a sense of something electric.

The low, velvety voice followed, as if materialising from the shadows. “This hardly seems like a fair fight.”

You froze for the briefest second, your fist still mid-air, before lowering your arm and turning to face him. There he stood, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed casually over his chest. He looked entirely too composed for someone who had just caught you off guard, but that was Loki’s way. His dark hair framed his sharp features, and his eyes sparkled with that familiar mischief. “Rather a waste of energy, fighting something that won’t hit back.” A pause, an assessment, a tilt of his head in challenge. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Your pulse quickens, though you’d never let it show. With Loki, you’d learned to keep your guard up. His constant presence, the lingering stares, the flirtatious banter - you still couldn't tell if it was all fun and games to him, or... if he actually...

“I’m practicing my form,” you replied, trying to keep your tone steady despite the warmth that was starting to spread up your neck.

He smirked, tilting his head as he regarded you with a dark glint in his eye. “If it’s form you’re after, perhaps a real opponent would better suit your needs. I’d be happy to assist.” The words hung in the air between you, their weight heavy with invitation.

You hesitated, your heart suddenly pounding for an entirely different reason. Sparring with Loki? Not smart. The man - the god - was unpredictable, dangerous. You weren’t an idiot; in the field, you’d leave threats like Loki to the bigger guns like Steve, or Thor. But here, in the controlled environment of the gym, with no weapons and only the hum of underlying tension between you two, it felt different.

Risky in a way that had nothing to do with physical harm.

Still, you felt a thrill shoot through you at the thought. Something about his attention always made you feel alive, a little reckless.

You wiped the sweat from your brow and tilted your head. “Not sure this is a smart idea, Loki. I usually leave the big threats to the super soldiers and gods.”

His smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “You’ll do just fine.” His tone was smooth, almost coaxing, as if you’d already agreed.

You rolled your eyes, turning toward the mats, feeling his presence at your back as he followed you. You were trying your best to seem unaffected, but his proximity set your skin alight.

Every step toward the sunken sparring area in the centre of the gym felt like a countdown. When you stepped down the couple of stairs onto the mats, you turned to face him, only to find him much closer than you expected. His height, the way he loomed just slightly, was intoxicating. He was so unfairly beautiful. And he knew it.

You gave him a look, a mix of challenge and uncertainty, trying to hide how affected you were. But Loki noticed everything. His eyes flicked briefly to your lips before settling back on your gaze.

“So what now?” you asked, your voice coming out a bit more breathless than you intended.

“Now,” Loki began, circling you slowly, his movements graceful, predatory, “we see what you’re truly made of.”

You squared your shoulders, keeping your stance neutral, trying to maintain your focus. But the energy between you felt charged, almost too much to ignore. Loki was testing you, as he always did - pushing buttons, seeing how far he could go before your unaffected facade slipped. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of showing how much he got under your skin. But, deep down, you knew that you weren't fooling him.

After one revolution around your body, he stopped in front of you, that smirk still playing on his lips. You didn’t wait for him to make the first move. You lunged forward, aiming a strike toward his midsection, but he dodged it easily, too fast, too graceful. He didn’t retaliate. Not yet. He was baiting you, letting you come to him. Typical.

Your next punch was aimed higher, toward his chest, but he caught your wrist mid-air. His grip was firm, but not painful, his skin cool against yours. He raised an eyebrow, almost amused.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he murmured.

You twisted out of his hold, stepping back to reassess. Your heart was racing, not just from the sparring, but from the feel of him, his hand, his eyes locked on yours like a predator toying with its prey. There was something dangerous in the way he moved, something inherently sensual in the way his body seemed to flow, effortless yet lethal.

You tried again, going low this time, aiming a sweeping kick toward his legs. He sidestepped, but not fast enough. You caught him just enough to throw him slightly off balance, and his smile widened. You could've sworn a gleam of admiration flickered in his eyes.

“Not bad,” he said, before moving on you.

Suddenly, he was in your pocket, faster than you anticipated, and before you could block, he had you pinned. One arm locked around your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other catching your wrist, holding it firmly above your head. He hooked one leg around yours and controlled the descent of your bodies. Your back hit the mats with a soft thud, him directly above you, and you gasped as the air was knocked from your lungs. Not fully from the impact, more from the overwhelming sensation of his body pressing against yours.

For a moment, everything stilled. You were trapped beneath him, and he was so close, his breath warm against your neck, his body hovering over yours, just a breath away from full contact. The weight of him, the way he held you so effortlessly, sent a rush of heat through you.

Loki’s eyes bored into yours, dark and intense, and there was no mistaking the shift in the air. The playfulness was still there, but underneath it was something deeper, something charged with heat and anticipation.

“Still think this was a bad idea?” His voice was a low purr, his lips dangerously close.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, his thumb brushing the inside of it in lazy circles, a deliberate tease. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped beneath his touch, trying not to wonder if he could hear it. Feel it.

He lowered his brow, “You clearly haven’t been trained by anyone outside of Midgard.”

His words pricked at your pride, and you glared up at him, breathless, as you tried to wrench your wrist free. “Of course not,” you retorted, a bit sharper than you’d intended. “Not all of us have had the privilege of an intergalactic education.”

His expression softened for just a heartbeat, a glimmer of something that might've almost be concern, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a look of pragmatism. “That won’t do,” he said simply, releasing you, pulling you to your feet with an ease of strength that made your heart stutter.

“There are… larger threats than you’ve known. You need to understand how they fight.” His voice dropped to a low rumble. "Or you won't stand a chance."

You swallowed thickly, the implication heavy between you, and found yourself unable to look away, captivated by the intensity in his eyes, the subtle promise that lingered just beneath his calm disposition.

In his own strange way, he was offering to train you.

In that moment, it felt like the tension, the unspoken attraction that had been building between you over the months, was ready to snap. The rational part of you is screaming that this was dangerous, that whatever this was, it was a risk you shouldn’t take; putting yourself in the situation to be in constant close quarters with someone who already set you on a steep edge could only end in a heart-wrenching longing.

But as you met Loki’s gaze, defiance and something far more potent flared within you, and you couldn't deny the pull.

“Show me, then,” you whispered, your voice steady, even as your heart pounded furiously in your chest.

He smirked, a dark satisfaction flickering across his face as he stepped closer still. “Very well,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The gym was empty, as it usually was this time of night, save for the low hum of your breathing and the solid thud of your body against the mats, the result of another frustrating sparring session with Loki.

It had been weeks of this. A rhythm that’d somehow become normal, sparring sessions where you were pushed to your limits and left feeling exhausted but invigorated.

Loki’s method of training was relentless, unforgiving, and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The techniques he taught you - sharp, brutal movements, counters that defy human logic - had already sharpened your skills in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

He was maddening and insufferable, with his mocking commentary and easy confidence, but he had made you better.

You would flush to admit how much you looked forward to the few sessions each week. Because though you had trained with all kinds of opponents, none of them compared to the dark, infuriating figure currently pinning you to the ground.

He loomed above you, his body pressed just enough against yours to keep you in place, the thin sheen of sweat on your skin making the friction of his hold electric. You were breathless, chest rising and falling as you stared up at him, face inches from his as he flashed that knowing grin.

Unfortunately, this had become a very normal position to find yourself in. Loki never let you win, and never let you up without an admission of defeat, saying allowing such things would only breed complacence.

“Ready to surrender, darling?” His voice was dark silk, the smugness woven through every syllable. His eyes traveled over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips as you caught your breath. “Again? What are we, zero-and-thirty?”

The mix of arrogance and barely-contained amusement in his expression made your irritation bubble over.

"Go to hell."

"Charming," he replied, arching a brow. "By all means, keep on with your futile attempts to escape," he shrugged with indifference, further stoking your frustration. "I do so enjoy this part."

Your jaw ticked. You were tired, flustered, not any more used to his proximity even after weeks of this. You thought you'd be desensitised to his flirting, his touch... him, but, if anything, it was all pulling you closer to the edge of desperation.

And desperate times call for desperate measures.

At least, that's what you told yourself. In reality, you weren't thinking. You couldn't have been thinking, given that no one in your position would've considered such a foolish move.

In a final, desperate move, a slapdash attempt to get him off of you without having to surrender, your fingers darted to his sides, pressing into his ribs in a way that might, with any luck, give him a taste of his own teasing medicine.

But the instant your fingers touched him, and he merely flinched once, you knew you'd made a careless mistake, and a devastating one at that.

This was something you could never take back.

He stilled, a dark chuckle slipping from his lips. His gaze slowly shifted down to where your hands rested on his torso, and when he looked back up, the mischievous gleam in his eyes turned predatory.

“Oh?" His voice dropping to a dangerously low, delicious murmur, “You’ve just made an exceptionally poor choice.”

Your stomach dropped, and a tsunami of regret hitting you instantly. “Wait. Loki, I didn’t-”

“You want to play, hmm?” His smirk only widened as he leaned in, his grip tightening. “How delightful. Do carry on.”

“Please, I'm sorry,” you gasped, trying to push at his chest, already breathless. “I wasn't thinking- Loki, please!” You could feel your cheeks growing warm, laughter bubbling up as he held you firm. "I'm sorry!"

“Shh,” he crooned, his smirk deepening. “No need to waste your precious breath.”

"Oh no, please, not this," you laughed despite your wincing, pushing harder at his shoulders. It did nothing.

“Begging already?” His fingers found your sides, pinning them as his thumbs pressed firmly into the sensitive skin above your hips. “You might regret that even more, darling.”

Before you could protest, his fingers began to move, an unrelenting, devastating rhythm that sent a jolt of sensation through your body. Your attempts to fight it crumbled instantly as laughter spilled from your lips, your hands still trying, and failing, to push his away.

“Loki! N-no-” you gasped between giggles, squirming beneath him as his fingers worked with merciless precision. He watched you with keen fascination, clearly enjoying the effects of his touch on you far too much. His thumbs traced slow, calculated circles against your ribs, each movement skilled and targeted, attuning his touch at a terrifying speed. Learning how to deliver a masterful torture, designed just for you.

“Oh, I think yes,” he replied, his voice a teasing purr. “And to think, all it takes to make you crumble is a little tickling. How... adorably human.” His words were as wicked as his touch, his fingers finding every sensitive spot along your ribs, raking over your skin with a tormenting ease.

Your laughter only grew, helpless and unbidden, your body writhing beneath him as you tried to twist away from his relentless fingers. But the press of his body against yours, the heat of his breath, and the smirk on his lips were driving you to the edge in more ways than one.

“You know,” he continued, one hand slipping higher along your ribs, while the other skated down your side in search of a new vulnerable spot, “you really should have thought this through.” He watched as you struggled to speak, your protests dissolving into helpless laughter as pinched the soft spot above your hip in a steady rhythm. “But I suppose thinking things through isn’t exactly your strong suit, is it?”

Another fit of giggles burst from you, the words “Shut up- Loki, I swear-” managing to slip through the laughter before his searching hand found an especially sensitive spot just above your knee. Your leg jerked, and you could barely contain the yelp that escaped you.

“Oh, now that's a good spot, isn't it?” he mused, his smirk widening as he kept his fingers there, watching with satisfaction as you writhed in his grip. His thumb and middle finger cratered into your skin, moving in small, unrelenting circles against the muscle, each pass drawing a louder, more desperate laugh from you.

Every time your laughter began to steady, Loki would adjust, finding fresh angles to torment that same spot, leaving you gasping and breathless, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. The sound of his satisfied chuckle only made the entire ordeal more maddening, his smirk widening with every helpless laugh he drew from you.

The muscles of your core ached, already weakened from the near hour of sparring you'd endured before this ordeal, and your desperation mounted as you realised just how completely you were at his mercy.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, his voice mockingly sympathetic. “All those threats you make, all those fighting words... yet-"

The door to the gym opened suddenly, and two figures stepped inside. Loki didn’t miss a beat, glancing up to find Steve and Bucky standing there, their faces caught between surprise and amusement at the scene before them. Loki merely grinned, unperturbed, as though they were expected guests.

“Ah, gentlemen, so kind of you to join us.” His fingers didn't stop, not even for a moment. Your breath hitched between laughs. “She’s been begging for mercy. Tell me, don’t you train your people to withstand a bit of torture?”

“Steve!” you gasped, trying and failing to sit up as Loki’s fingers dug into your ribs with a terrifying precision. The hand at your knee gave a quick pulse and you shrieked, giving a violent kick of your leg that somehow dislodged his hand. “Bucky- help!”

The two men exchanged a look, an unmistakable smirk crossing their faces as they watched you squirm beneath Loki’s touch, now at both of your sides.

Steve folded his arms, tilting his head as if considering your plea. “Seems like you've bitten off more than you can chew,” he said, lips quirking up in amusement.

“You're gonna have to get yourself out of this one,” Bucky added with smirk.

"Please!" You squeaked when Loki wrapped his hands around your hips once more, squeezing and pressing as you plead through helpless giggles. "I-I'll do anything- just- j-just help me, please!"

“Anything?” Loki murmurs, his voice low and smooth as he leans down, stilling his hands just long enough for you to catch your breath. “My, my, this sounds like quite the liability. Is this all it takes to break you?” His fingers latched onto both of your knees with renewed vigour, eliciting a shriek and then a fresh burst of laughter.

You were too far gone to respond, tears gathering in your eyes as you twisted under his touch, utterly powerless to escape. His words, his steady, relentless taunts, were maddening, each one sinking in deeper as his fingers found every vulnerable place that left you laughing helplessly beneath him.

Your cheeks burned as you tried to wriggle away from his fingers, laughter turning desperate as his hands traced the sensitive muscles along your thighs. “L-Loki, please-”

Loki casted a glance at Steve and Bucky, his voice dropping to a lower, more mocking tone. “Her training is sorely lacking. She's reckless, susceptible…" he looked back down to you with a sly grin, "and seems to lack any sense of risk analysis. Taking me on, indeed.”

You were incredulous - as much as you could be in your position - and you tried to protest, tried to tell them that it was Loki’s idea to spar in the first place, but the words won’t come. Loki’s hands had you too helpless, laughter spilling from your lips as he smirked down at you with an expression of pure satisfaction.

Bucky shrugged, grinning as he watched your futile struggle. “Maybe we need to work on conditioning that out of her.”

“Oh, no,” Loki interjected smoothly, slipping his hands to the juncture of your hips and thighs, sending you arching off the mat, squeals of laughter tearing from your throat. "I rather like her this way."

Desperation drove you to try to reach for Steve or Bucky, your arm outstretched in a silent plea for mercy.

You should have learned your lesson about desperate moves.

Loki saw the opportunity in your attempt, and with a smooth, precise move, he twisted you onto your stomach, pinning your outstretched wrist to the mat as he settled over you, his other hand slipping to your lower ribs to press into a spot he'd already memorised, one that made you shriek.

“Really, darling,” he whispered darkly, his voice rich with satisfaction, “your judgment is appallingly poor, isn’t it?” His fingers glided higher, hitting a spot on your upper ribs that made your laughter turn silent, breath hitching as you struggled under him.

“You handed me this opening,” he tutted, his taunting words making you burn hotter. “What happens next is your fault.” His fingers found the sensitive spot beneath your arm, drawing out a fresh wave of laughter as your body arched, your feet scrabbling for traction as you slapped your free hand against the mat.

Hard laughter barrelled out of you, your head falling to the mat as you squeezed your eyes shut, succumbing to the sensations he was pulling from your nerves.

Surrender washed over you, cool and easy, as you felt your muscles go limp beneath him, nothing in your mind but the feeling of his body, his hands, the force of your laughter, and the pure, unadulterated fun he was having with you. And it was fun, you realised. In a way that people like you usually didn't indulge in.

Bucky tapped Steve on the arm and jerked his chin towards the door behind them. "Seem like you have this under control," he smirked at you. You looked up to glare but only caught their knowing glance, the one of friends and not of Avengers. The one that said, we know exactly what's going on here.

It made you flush almost as much as the unrelenting torture.

Almost as soon as they left you, Loki's tickling hand pulled away. You gulped greedy breaths in as he turned your sagging body with ease, settling you on your back as he hovered over you, eyes roaming the product of his work.

"I trust you've learned your lesson." His voice was a low rumble that sent heat pooling to your belly. All you could do was nod. "Next time you dare to pull a stunt like that," he started, leaning in so close you could feel his breath fanning your lips, "I won't be so gentle."

Heat bloomed over your cheeks, to the tips of your ears, the space between you charged, crackling with an intensity that sends a thrill through you.

You couldn't look away, your breath catching as his gaze lingered on your lips.

His own parted, as though he was on the verge of closing the distance...

He flinched.

Pulled back. Pulled away.

Your brow lowered in concern, but before you could ask what was wrong, he stood.

"Until next time."

He looked down at you, his eyes lingering with a promise that made your pulse pound, before he turned and strode out of the gym, leaving you sprawled on the mat, breathless, wanting, and hopelessly, maddeningly confused.

It was late that same night when you finally worked up the nerve to confront him.

You moved through the silent halls of the Compound, each step echoing in the darkened corridors as you slipped past the shadows pooling in doorways. Uncertainty crept up your spine, and you almost turned back more than once, only to grit your teeth and push forward. There were too many things left unsaid, too much tension thickening the air between you and Loki, and it gnawed at you now, refusing to let you retreat.

Before you could decide on a way to begin, his door opened. He stood there, almost as if he’d sensed you coming, his expression a mix of curiosity and that ever-present amusement.

“It's rather late for a visit,” he said, his tone low, his words quiet and full of question.

You met his gaze. “Couldn't sleep,” you replied, massaging the back of your neck with one hand.

His lips twitched with something darker, though his tone remained light. “And you thought I could help?”

Silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you wondered if this was a mistake.

"I thought you might be able to, considering it's your fault."

His face softened at the strain in your tone, and he stepped aside in a silent invitation for you to enter.

Swallowing hard, you stepped forward, pressing past him and into his room. He shut the door behind you, and the world seemed to fall away, the dimness settling around you, cocooning you both in a place of shadow and warmth.

"Go on then," Loki urged as you two stood near the lounge set in his room. A couple of armchairs and a matching couch, cast in the soft glow of several lamps and a dying fire in the hearth.

You drew a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak. “I know what you are, Loki,” you began, feeling your voice tremble with both fear and resolve. “Mischief is part of your very nature, and I don't mind fun and games like- like earlier," you flushed thinking about it, catching the smirk forming on his features as he watched you fumble.

You gathered your courage and stared him straight-on. "But not with my feelings. All this- this flirting, and touching, and closeness... it's not a game to me. So if it doesn't mean anything to you, I'd rather it stop."

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smugness vanishing, replaced by something harder, sharper. He let the words hang between you, a silence stretching before he repeated them in a voice almost too soft to hear. “If it doesn't mean anything to me,” he murmured, a subtle, dangerous edge to his tone. "You think this- that you are simply a game? Another amusement of no consequence?"

You swallowed, willing yourself to continue. “Today…” Your voice broke slightly, and you pushed the words out. “In the gym, we were so close. I thought...” Heat flooded your cheeks, but you forced yourself on, the confession slipping free. “For the dozenth time, I thought you were finally going to kiss me. But I just left wondering if I'm a fool with some silly schoolgirl crush, way in over my head." The admission left you raw and breathless, your heart pounding.

He exhaled, the smallest hint of a rueful smile ghosting over his lips. "You were trapped beneath me. Pinned, helpless,” he said, as though it explained everything. “I could never take that liberty with you while you were at my mercy.” His gaze grew darker still, something haunted flickering in his eyes. “I’d never forgive myself if I gave in to such an impulse. I'd never stop wondering if you had truly wanted it."

"But I did want-"

"And what if you hadn't?"

His words were a balm and a brand, his unwavering gaze rooting you to the spot.

"I had to know it was real. Not something forced or coerced, something... taken from you when you were too breathless to say no. I had to know for sure that it was what you desired."

For a moment, you struggled to find your voice, the weight of his reverence filling the space between you.

“It is,” you managed, each word trembling with the strength of your resolve. “I want this. I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I try. I don’t want to ignore it anymore.” You swallowed, breathless.

A beat passed, and something changed in his face - a tension releasing, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t expected.

Slowly, he extended his hand, his fingers unfurling in a silent invitation.

You slipped you palm into his, letting him pull you toward him, his touch both a promise and a tether.

He guided you closer, his hands sliding down your arms, tracing the lines of your shoulders, until they rested firmly on your waist. Then, with a gentle insistence, he drew you toward an armchair, lowering himself into it and coaxing you down to settle over his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs.

His hand rose, tilting your chin so that you were forced to look into his eyes. They held an intensity that bordered on unrelenting, darkened by desire and the hint of something raw, something that took your breath away. He watched you intently, his expression filled with something just shy of reverence. His thumb brushed along the curve of your jaw, tilting your face toward him as his fingers trailed along your neck, igniting every nerve.

You shivered as he leaned in, so close that his breath fanned across your lips. His touch was calm and certain, his gaze flicking over you as if committing every part of you to memory.

“I’ve waited for this,” he whispered, voice low and heated. “For you.”

The weight of his words pressed against the heavy silence between you, and before you could answer, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow and consuming.

He guided you with a gentle but undeniable command, his mouth pressing deeper, each kiss drawn out, languid, until it felt like he was unraveling you with every deliberate stroke of his lips against yours.

The world blurred, and you melted into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he lured a soft gasp from your lips. His hand slid to the back of your neck, steadying you, keeping you close as he took his time, tasting you, his lips teasing yours until you forgot to breathe.

When you moved to meet his kiss more eagerly, he slowed you, a faint smirk in the curve of his lips as he deepened the kiss with a patience that made your stomach twist. He was savouring this, savouring you, and the way he kissed you - deliberate, knowing - made your entire body ache with need.

His thumb brushed along your cheek, lingering as his other hand settled firmly at your waist, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping away.

Your fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair as he angled your face, holding you exactly where he wanted. When his tongue brushed lightly over your lower lip, you let out a soft, involuntary sound, and his hand tightened against your waist, holding you to him.

Loki’s mouth moved over yours with a control that made you shiver, each kiss deliberate, and the quiet dominance in his touch sent warmth pooling through you. With every gentle press of his lips, every slow, teasing stroke, he seduced you, guided you, igniting something deep and undeniable that had simmered for too long. Your heart beat heavily against your ribs, and as you gasped softly, his mouth trailed along your jaw, his lips barely brushing over your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze was dark, his expression full of barely-contained intensity.

A slight smirk tugged at his lips as he ran his thumb along your lower lip, the teasing glint returning to his gaze. “Well, look at you,” he soothed, voice rich with quiet amusement. “I half-expected you to come tearing through that door, seeking vengeance for how thoroughly I put you in your place earlier.”

Heat pooled in your face, and you fought to keep your composure, though it was a losing battle. “I’d have been fine if you hadn’t-”

“-handled you so effectively?” he interrupted with an infuriating grin, each syllable soft and mocking. “Don’t worry. I rather enjoyed it myself.”

His thumb still lingered on your flushed lips, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischief but something darker, something that felt like an invitation. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and heated, and the words sent a thrill down your spine.

The invitation hung between you, heavy and dark, the desire in his gaze nearly tangible. Your breath hitched, your heart racing at the thought of losing yourself completely in him, of surrendering to this quiet storm between you.

“That depends,” you managed, barely able to steady your voice. “Are you planning to repeat what happened earlier?”

He chuckled, his fingers tightening on your waist as his eyes glittered with amusement. “Only if you ask very, very nicely.”

A thrill shot through you as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours with a dark, velvet whisper. “That certainly won't be the last time we play like that. Tonight, however... I have other ideas for what to do with you." His fingers trailed up your spine, making you shiver.

Gods help you. He was going to be your undoing.

"I thought I'd take my time, learning you. Slowly. Thoroughly. Every little detail, every sweet noise you can make." His lips skated across the pulse point in your neck. "Would you like that, darling?"

"Yes." You had barely whispered your reply before his lips were on yours again, his mouth moving over yours with a slow, consuming fervour that left no room for questions, no room for anything except the feeling of him, his warmth, his presence, the gentle yet undeniable control in every touch. His fingers threaded through your hair, his hand steadying you as he deepened the kiss, guiding you with a restraint that made you shiver.

You melted into him, your breaths mingling as his hands drifted, his touch both firm and soft, and when he finally pulled back, his gaze held yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“This is not a game,” he whispered, a promise in his tone, his thumb tracing light patterns along your neck. His expression was sincere, edged with both longing and restraint. “You say the word, and we’ll stop.”

The words were a quiet echo, a reassurance that grounded you both. A chill of reverence passed between you, something thrilling, something impossibly tender. You met his gaze, nodding as your fingers traced the line of his jaw. “You too. No pressure, no expectations,” you whispered back, meaning it, and he smiled, a soft, endearing smile that made your heart ache.

And then he guided you back into his arms, every movement slow and deliberate as he kissed you once more, drawing you into a dance that would last until dawn.

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki tickle fic #loki #marvel fanfiction #loki reader insert #ticklish!reader #ler!loki x lee!reader #marvel tickle fluff #no y/n

575 notes · View notes

risuola · 1 year ago

Text

THANK YOU, MOM — F. READER x MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, who calls you mom for the first time

Megumi was used to handle things on his own, taking care of himself and barely asked for help, but this time he couldn’t deal with the damage alone and you were the first person he thought about.

cw: fluff, brief description of an injury, blood; reader is Satoru Gojo's wife — 1k words

a/n: I rarely write for Megumi in a sense of romantic topics, but I absolutely a d o r e the concept of him being Gojo's son. sorry not sorry, I'm in a desperate need for some fluffs

Happiness. A state, that psychologists define as a subjective well-being that a person experience. Happiness is as fickle as the wind. It comes and goes, sometimes in a rush of joy and sometimes in a lull of melancholy. Sometimes it’s as simple as a hot cup of coffee or a kind word from a stranger, but true happiness is a feeling that you couldn’t describe, even if you’d try. The warm, comforting sensation in the pit of your stomach, as if everything in the world was right where it should be.

Up until that point, you thought you were in that specific state many times. When Satoru asked for your hand, you were happy. You’re almost ecstatic every time you see your students’ successes. You tend to be overjoyed by the littlest things and if anyone asked you if you ever felt happiness, you’d most likely say yes.

But that day you realized that you never had a chance to experience the true, heart-clenching, tear inducing happiness before. Though you had shed some tears when at the altar you were staring into those beautiful blue eyes of your now husband, but not even once before you had an urge to ugly cry because you were so happy. Not before Megumi called you mom.

It happened in the privacy of your home, late into the night, when after a mission particularly roughed him up, he showed up at your doorstep late at night. Once you swung the door open, the sight of his bloodied uniform and the red gushing out of a wound on the side of his stomach made you forget how to breathe, your heart skipped a beat and time seemed to fade away. Quickly you led him inside onto the couch and gathered supplies to aid him. He should go to Shoko, both of you knew it, but you were also able to use reversed curse technique to some extent.

“What happened?” You asked him, carefully taking off his uniform jacket and lifting his shirt to assess the damage. You knew he’ll make it, you knew you won’t let him go, and yet you felt the terror inside your veins when his pale skin was right in front of your eyes, stained in fresh blood.

“Just a scratch,” he mumbled, his voice was out of breath, it was saturated in pain that you knew he tried to hide with the soft shrug he did. “A curse was stronger than it was supposed to be, and uh…”

You were going to confront Satoru with that information. It wouldn’t be the first time he pushed his own mission onto his students. Tough love, as he used to call it, learning through challenge and it worked, mostly, but seeing your boy struggling still made your heart clench and your eyes swell with tears.

Megumi was used to handle things on his own, taking care of himself and barely asked for help, but this time he couldn’t deal with the damage alone and you were the first person he thought about. He had always thought of you as the strongest person he knew, even though you were a wife to Satoru Gojo, but to Megumi, it was you who had given him the closest thing he had ever had to a parent. He felt small and vulnerable, heavy underneath your gaze so full of love and concern that and at the same time, light as a feather because somehow, your soft voice and caring hands had the ability to take the weight of any burden off his shoulders. He sat still while your cursed energy was healing his injuries, silently admiring the effort and compassion.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you sighed once the adrenaline in your system began to wear off. Megumi was fine. Injured, but fine, nothing threatened his life anymore. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

“I’m okay,” he reassured, leaning his head back. The blood loss was getting to him, he was paler than usually, his forehead covered in sweat and he was panting slightly. Once done with the wound, you cleaned the blood as much as you could and quickly grabbed a clean, wet towel, a fresh t-shirt from Satoru’s closet and a blanket.

Sitting next to the boy, you pulled him gently onto yourself so he could lean against your chest, with the compress on his head and a cover over his body to keep him warm. Only then, feeling the steady beat of your heart and the warmth around him, he began to relax.

That was something Megumi remembered from his youngest years. When Satoru took him and his sister underneath his wing, you were there also and as much as Gojo had no paternal instincts towards them, you were always full of love. Countless times he was falling asleep cuddled to you, you were the safest place on earth for him and even now, as he’s already almost an adult, your embrace is something he’s always happy to come back to. Though he wouldn’t say it out loud, of course. But now, he could feel his body releasing the tension, his fight-or-flight mode slowly turning off because there was no need for him to stay alarmed when you were next to him. When your arms were around him, protecting him from the world itself. And hence why his mouth formulated these words without him thinking much of it.

“Thank you, mom.” Oh. The word left his mouth despite the fear he felt. Megumi had always been afraid to call you his mother, even though he thought of you as such. He was worried it would feel too close, too intimate and though he wished to let you know how much you meant to him, he was worried you’ll get angry. He realized what he said when it was already too late. “I’m s-sorr—”

“Don’t thank me, Megumi,” you cut his apologies, gently tightening the hug. You couldn’t describe the way you felt in this moment. It was such a simple thing, but it meant everything to you. That had to be the real happiness. “I'm always here for you, whenever you need me. And I love you too, you know?”

2K notes · View notes

swa-adhyayan · 2 years ago

Text

Swa-Adhyayan, Best E learning Platform helps students develop an excellence centered attitude

The apex Digital Learning Platform, Swa-Adhyayan involves the triad of students, teachers & parents in the education journey of student at the same platform. The students at the Best LMS Software in India are provided with Online learning Resources that serves as the digital assets. E-Learning Assessment provided at the platform are based upon the present day technology & requirements. Best Learning App for Class 8 provides the students with the use any time anywhere facilities.

#best lms software in india #Best learning app for class 8 #E learning assessment #Digital learning platform

0 notes

yoichiin · 5 months ago

Text

isagi yoichi's fluff alphabet! (from a to k)

as stated, it's a fluff alphabet for isagi!

no notable warnings. gn!reader. fluff. second person pov.

a is for activities (what does he do in his free time with you?) :

isagi is somewhat of a simpleton. his life is eat, sleep, soccer so the things he does with you reflect that. if you feel like switching it up, you’ll have to tell him directly.

when he does have free time with you, quiet cozy days in or spontaneous brunches on the weekends are his go-tos. they’re simple, yes, but with yoichi, less is always more. he isn’t the type of person to find value in super extravagant outings and in his mind, the memories that ring loudest are the mundane things that no one else seems to remember. so even though his heart aches when you don’t recall the late night conversations when he fell in love with you for the first time, isagi doesn’t mind. the warm winter naps and simple mornings over not-very-luxurious breakfasts may melt like snowflakes in your memory but as long as you’re content in that moment, it’s all he could ask for.

b is for beauty (what does he find most beautiful in a partner? what is his favorite part, inside and out?):

the simple answer that yoichi says is someone with a nice smile and laughs a lot. the real answer is a bit more complicated.

as someone who has observed and analyzed his whole life, he’s noticed the kind of glow joy seems to have on people. from the small perk of the shoulders to laughing so hard you feel like throwing up—this phenomena sings to isagi. the existence of real, visible, audible emotion.

when he’s on the pitch with his teammates there’s a fire in every one of their eyes—all-consuming like the sun. it’s that light that pulled him into blue lock in the first place. the joy of victory, of evolution and change. seeing all of these emotions on someone’s face is yoichi’s favorite thing about human connection and he treasures it with his life.

(and he likes thighs too, i guess.)

c is for comfort (how does he help his s/o when they’re sad or overwhelmed?):

it’s a nice surprise that isagi’s soccer awareness translates well into relationships. he can assess your state immediately and run to your side and comfort you with verbal affirmations. his words are so real and from the depths of his soul, it’d almost be an insult to call them sweet nothings.

yoichi’s feelings come out as easy as gentle wind upon autumn leaves, even philosophical at times. if you weren’t overwhelmed by your own emotions, you’d be racking your brain a bit trying to figure out his. it gets theoretical to the point where it flies over your head but that’s how you know it’s genuine. no matter how he layers his words, his intentions remain clear. “it is a privilege learning to understand you.”

d is for dreams (how do they picture a future with their s/o?):

before isagi got with you, he had never imagined being in a relationship. not like he didn’t want one but it just slipped his mind. his first love is soccer, through and through. he thought he never needed anything else.

still, his vision has always been simple. win the world cup, become the greatest striker in the world, and now you’re there too. when you’re with such a simpleton, he’ll always have space for you in his future and now that he’s got you, you’re never leaving.

e is for equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or passive?):

as much as i want to be self-indulgent and say that isagi would be submissive, i think he leans towards being dominant in a relationship.

perhaps before blue lock, when he was unsure of his ideals, he’d follow his partner with no question. but that’s not the person he wants to be. now that blue lock has reassured the things he’s been thinking for years, he likes being in control, leading, and making decisions. he doesn’t disrespect you or dismiss you, of course, but yoichi feels most secure when he voices his opinions freely and decides things for himself. yoichi can lose sight of you at times because of this so your relationship might have to be negotiated to be more equal but in a way where he doesn’t have to compromise his values.

f is for fight (how does he argue? how do you work through your problems?):

while isagi is good at voicing his thoughts, he’s a little too good. his thoughtful words and passionate soccer theories can quickly turn into paralyzing venom when he’s angry and it comes out in hyper-specific insults that pierce some of your deepest insecurities. fights happen infrequently but when they’re bad, they’re bad. he’s not so stubborn that he’ll drag on a fight but he says things so out of turn, it leaves you needing space.

recovering after these arguments takes a lot of time and talking and trying your hardest to understand each other. it’s hard to make sense of everything isagi is thinking because he thinks so much, but know, after all is said and done, he wants you two to come out of these fights stronger.

gentle (how gentle is he, physically or emotionally?):

as good as he is with his words, isagi doesn’t really know much about physical affection. he’s gentle the way a child takes care of a pet or baby, cautious and a bit eager. you can feel his nerves travel up your spine as he hesitantly puts a hand on the small of your back to hold you. though awkward, it just makes it even more endearing.

h is for honesty (what’s something he keeps secret? any rules for honesty?):

isagi doesn’t have any specific rules when it comes to honesty. obviously, he wants you to trust him but if there’s something you want to keep to yourself, it’s fine with him and he’ll do the same.

i is for inspiration (a trait about him that you might look up to):

how much he thinks. isagi’s mind is an endlessly growing puzzle—a garden of ideas and theories he’s been nurturing like he’s been at it for fifty years. you watch him in awe as he sits studying a match, eyes slightly squinted and nose all scrunched up. yoichi’s constantly redefining and reorganizing his thoughts and you can’t help but giggle when you say something random and he perks up with what you’re sure is a fresh idea. his drive is a beacon not just for his rivals but for you as well.

k is for kiss (what was the first kiss like?):

i imagine your first kiss is after a match. isagi has shot the winning goal and both of you are full of excitement and adrenaline you don’t realize what you’re doing. after swimming past all of his teammates surrounding him and seeing you in the front stands, he’s so overwhelmed he pulls you in for a kiss. it’s warm, exceedingly so, and a little awkward, noses softly bumping against each other. yoichi’s hair is somewhat stringy from his sweat while his face glistens under the stadium lights as you realize what has just happened.

truth be told, he’d been stressing himself out wanting to kiss you and he revealed he’d have rather done it in a smaller, more secluded place but his red cheeks while he bashfully explains himself is too cute that you go in for another peck between his brows.

fin.

#; lu's writing #tell me if you want more of this!#a character study if the studying was like hiding the real info in a bullshit sandwich #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #blue lock fluff #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk x you

164 notes · View notes

corecompetency-blog · 1 year ago

Text

#e learning services #online assessment software

0 notes

tonyspank · 2 years ago

Text

WH0 R U???

Warnings: Professor!Reader, Tara eye-fucking you, and that’s all I believe.

Summary: Tara’s attractive Professor comes to the rescue.

A/N: I’ll be doing a part 2 soon w smut 🥲

part 2

Several years of school, scholarly work, and teaching experience led you here.

To Blackmore University. You were younger than the average professor, but your dedication and passion for education set you apart.

You were professional and not one to be pushed around. That much was clear when you set foot inside your literature classroom for the first time.

English was always your favorite subject, and you excelled in it throughout your academic journey. So, why wouldn't you pursue a career in teaching English at the university level?

However, for the next few months, you won't be teaching literature. Instead, you'll be filling in for your co-worker Laura, who's away on FML, taking on the role of teaching film study.

While you may not have much experience teaching film, Laura was desperate for someone to cover her classes, and you were willing to help out. She's been nothing but sweet to you. Plus, how hard could it be? You've watched movies before.

When you walked into the classroom on your first day, late in the afternoon, you were greeted by a bunch of drama kids who were honestly confused; you could see it in their faces.

They were expecting Laura, their experienced film study teacher, but instead they got you, someone with little to no teaching experience in film.

"Professor Y/LN?" Jason Carvey, a student from your previous class, asked with a puzzled expression.

"What happened to Laura? We were really looking forward to her class."

You took a deep breath, placing your belongings on the desk at the front of the classroom.

"Unfortunately, Laura had an unexpected personal matter to attend to and won't be able to teach this semester. But don't worry, I may not have much teaching experience in film, but I'll try my best."

You reassured the students, hoping to alleviate their disappointment. "Professor Crane provided me with some materials and resources to help guide us through the semester. Additionally, I've been doing my own research to ensure that we have a fulfilling learning experience in this class."

You give the class a tight-lipped smile before opening your briefcase.

"Well, shall we get started?"

Tara didn't know exactly what it was about you that made her eyes widen and her heart begin racing. Sure, anyone could see you were attractive, young, and obviously confident, but there was something more captivating about your presence.

Was it your voice? Was it how you commanded the room with your words? Or perhaps it was the way you'd lean back against the desk, crossing your built arms as your eyes scanned the room, exuding an air of authority.

Tara found herself drawn to you like a magnet, unable to tear her gaze away. She was intrigued by the air of mystery that surrounded you, wondering what secrets lay behind your confident façade.

As class went on, Tara's dark brown eyes scanned over you like a predator assessing its prey. From your perfectly styled hair to your amazingly kept eyebrows, your enchanting y/e/c eyes, to your sultry lips—don't get her started on your sculpted jawline.

You were a sight to take in, captivating and commanding attention without even trying. You presented yourself with an effortless grace that made it impossible for anyone to look away.

Your white button-up shirt was crisp and tailored, hugging your form in all the right places, and your black slacks were perfectly pressed, accentuating the length and strength of your legs.

Tara's stare flew back up, staring at the bulge in your pants, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and desire—

"—Tara, is it? What do you think?" Tara quickly snapped out of her momentary distraction, her cheeks still flushed.

She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure before responding, "Oh, I'm sorry. Could you please repeat the question?"

You smile, showcasing your charming dimples and perfect smile. While Tara was in her trance, you found yourself relaxing into the class's discussion, feeling like you no longer needed to put on your strict professor persona.

You leaned back, crossing your legs. "How do you think directors like Quentin Tarantino push the boundaries of traditional storytelling in their films? Do you believe their unique approaches have a lasting impact on the film industry?"

Tara nods, playing with the pencil that sits in front of her. "Yeah, I think directors like Tarantino definitely push the boundaries of traditional storytelling, especially with their unique approaches that challenge the audience's expectations and keep them engaged. Like Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction, for example, and how he used non-linear narrative structure and unconventional use of violence to create a distinct cinematic experience that stands out from the mainstream. Peak cinema at its finest."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed. "You surely know your film." The freckled-faced girl giggles in response, dropping her gaze to her hands.

At the end of the lecture, Tara approaches you with a small smile on her face. You look up from your notes, which Laura had given you, and it also confuses the fuck out of you. With a quirked eyebrow, you meet Tara's gaze, your face softening.

"Oh, Tara. Need something?" Tara hesitates for a moment before speaking. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd accept my late work. Professor Crane gave me extra time to complete it, but I still couldn't finish on time. I understand if you can't, but I thought it was worth asking."

You bite on your lower lip, not noticing how quickly Tara's eyes drop to the action. "Uh, sure." You rip out a piece of paper from your notebook and write down a quick note.

"Here's my number. I lost the login to my email, so this will have to do. Send me your late work, and I'll make sure it gets to Professor Crane. Just make sure to include your name and the assignment details in the text so there's no confusion. I'll do my best to help you out."

Tara's eyes light up with relief as she thanks you profusely. "I really appreciate it, thank you so much." You nod, giving her a tight-lipped smile before focusing back on your notes.

A few days later, you're home alone, eating a bowl of ice cream while you watch the movie Stab. Suddenly, your phone buzzes with a new message. Your eyes fight to tear away from the screen, and you reluctantly pick up your phone to check the message.

+1 (347) 871-1921: wh0 r u???

You squint at the unfamiliar number, puzzled by the message. After a moment of hesitation, you reply.

You: I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong number. Who are you trying to reach?

+1 (347) 871-1921: profdsser y/ln

You furrow your brow, trying to decipher the cryptic message. It doesn't make any sense to you. Curiosity getting the better of you, you decide to respond one more time. You: I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you're saying. Can you please clarify?

+1 (347) 871-1921: rolling eyes emoji

+1 (347) 871-1921: three ht poreffesor whofilling for ms crane?

Was this Tara? You put down your bowl of ice cream; this had to be Tara. And she had to be drunk. You take a deep breath before responding again.

You: Tara, is that you? Are you okay? It seems like you're drunk.

+1 (347) 871-1921: ummmmmmmmm

+1 (347) 871-1921: busted

You: Tara, I'm really concerned about you. Is everything alright? Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help.

Tara: iamat the frt house

Tara: canyoucum pik me up, pleas?

You twist your lips, concerned about Tara's well-being and the fact that she is asking for a ride. Surely she had friends with her. You didn't want to leave her stranded, but you also didn't want to be the professor driving their students home from a wild party. However, you take a moment to gather yourself before responding.

You: Of course, Tara. I'll be there to pick you up. Just send me the address, and I'll be on my way.

Tara has started sharing their location with you.

You see the location pop up on your phone, quickly checking the estimated time of arrival, and mentally prepare yourself to pick up your drunk student.

#tonyspank #wattpad #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x gn!reader #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter fluff #tara carpenter scream #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x male reader #tara carpenter x g!p reader #professor!reader x tara carpenter #professor!reader

2K notes · View notes

allzelemonz · 1 year ago

Text

Breaking Point: Slade Wilson X Male Reader

Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: dubious consent, mentor/protege, Reader is referred to as younger, sparing, violence, groping, clothed older man and naked younger man, power imbalance, anal fingering, anal sex, rough sex, sex toys, prostate massager, somnophilia, fucked so hard you pass out, forehead kisses, cuddling Summary: Showing weakness during training has consequences.

The floor is cold against your back when you hit it. Not even a second passes before a heavy boot presses hard into your chest, pinning you down and agitating the bruise already there. You grab at it uselessly and it just presses down harder.

“How many times are you gonna fall, kid?”

You look up at Slade, finding his good eye glaring down at you in disappointment. “I just—“

”You suck.” He digs his heel down against your bruised skin. “I didn’t take you in to make you a failure.”

You try hard not to show weakness, or make any noises of pain. “It’s been hours, Master.”

Slade moves his foot off. There’s a fleeting moment where you think he’s listening, but it’s squashed when the steel toe of his boot connects with your side. A noise escapes your throat before you can stop it and you curl in on yourself by instinct. But Slade grabs your shoulders, shoving you onto your stomach and digging his knee into your back.

“If you think you can be this pathetic and do your job then you’re dumber than I thought.” He yanks your arms back, tying them together with his belt. “You need a lesson in stamina, kid. You think Nightwing gets tired? Batman? Green Arrow? No. They don’t.”

You don’t resist him. Doing so would be a good way to earn yourself more pain, so you lay there waiting for whatever lesson he has.

“Since you’re so damn tired of sparring, we’ll try something else.” Slade mutters. “More than one way to make you last, kid.”

His hands on your hips aren’t overly alarming, neither is the tugging down of your pants. Slade’s done a lot to train you, he’s seen every inch of you at this point. You only feel the panic set in when his hand actually squeezes your bare ass, his thumb running along the split of cheeks.

“Slade?” Your voice shakes and you want to hit yourself for it.

“Quiet.” He snaps. “Be a good runt and learn something.”

His thumb presses inside, dry and burning. You bite your lip, trying not to make a sound because showing weakness is only going to make everything worse. He rubs softly around the rim, pressing in on occasion as if he’s assessing. Your tense muscles relax when he pulls away and you let yourself breathe, still aware of him kneeling behind you. You try not to shake as your head swims with questions and explanations. Slade’s never touched you like this. He’s manhandled you, beaten you, starved you, all in the name of training. But this is a new line he’s crossing.

His hand settles on your hip and his knee nudges your legs apart. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to the cool floor as you try to prepare your mind for what’s happening. His fingers rub against your rim, now cold and slick. He presses inside, one finger rubbing around and moving slowly. Then two, scissoring and stretching. Then three, thrusting and curling. You bite your lip through it all, not daring to make a sound.

“You’re doing good, kid.” Slade mutters, taking his fingers out. “This is about your stamina and not whining, so keep it up.”

“Okay…” You breathe out, trying not to think about the feeling of pleasure shooting through you and the hardness laying against your stomach.

You feel him press against you, tip resting on your rim. His hand grips your hip tightly, thumb rubbing your skin almost in a soothing way. “No weakness, kid.”

Then he presses in all at once. You grit your teeth, arching your back as you press your head into the ground and try to handle the feeling of your mentor inside of you. He feels massive, splitting you open like it’s nothing and making needles of pain shoot through you. But when he moves it starts to feel good again, pleasurable dragging making your legs shake around him and thrusts hitting deep and making you have to bite your lip again to not moan his name.

“Shit, you’re tight, kid.” He mutters, hips slapping into you at a steady pace now.

You have to bring your hand up to your mouth to bite down on it because he’s just so much. Slade knew the belt would never last as a restraint anyway, you know he’s not so doubtful of your skills to think you can’t escape something so simple. The pleasure of him filling you over and over, his hips slapping into yours with such lewd sounds, the way his hands grip at your hips like he’s done with your arm with the pressure makes you drop your sword, everything drives you crazy. It’s like he was made to fuck into you, every slide filling perfectly and hitting deep inside in a way that makes shivers shoot up your spine. He tugs your hips back, propping you up to quicken his thrusts, and you have to bite hard into your hand not to make a sound at the feeling.

“You last as long as you can.” Slade orders. “This is still a lesson.”

You manage a weak nod, not trusting your voice.

He chuckles, leaning over you to blow on your ear. “Such a mess, aren’t you, kid? Can’t even talk with me inside you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, nearly screaming against your hand in frustration. It doesn’t help your efforts when Slade moves his hand under you to stroke your dick with his bruising pace. His hand feels like fire and ice all at once, tugging unforgivingly with only precum as an aide. You finally fall apart, unable to stop it as it hits you like a truck. Your legs tremble, arms giving out as you fall forward. Slade doesn’t stop, only chuckling as you release over his hand and onto the floor. With every thrust in now, a whine escapes your throat from oversensitivity. You can barely feel your arms enough to try and muffle yourself.

Slade made you cum harder than you ever have in your life.

And he doesn’t stop.

His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and pressing your cheek down against the floor as he continues to hammer away at you. After training and being so deeply used, your body’s exhaustion begins to take over. Your eyes flutter closed, growing used to the rhythm of Slade slamming into you as it essentially rocks you to sleep.

When your mind finds itself again, the first thing you sense is the warmth of pleasure. Your eyes blink open slowly, vision bleary as you take in your surroundings. You’re in a bed, not yours, but what you can guess it’s Slade’s. The covers are pulled over you as you lay on your side, a warm, soft feeling against your back and steady arms wrapped around you. But, most obvious, is the vibration digging against your prostate.

“Awake, kid?” He asks, tightening his arms around your waist.

“Yeah…” You croak, voice broken and scratchy.

“Understand the lesson?”

You have to clench your legs from the needles of pleasure as he presses the massager flush against your prostate. It squelches as it’s moved and you can only guess it’s pushing out Slade’s spend as it moves deeper into you.

“You’re not allowed to give up, kid.” He whispers in your ear. “I don’t care if we’ve been training for hours, days, weeks, you don’t get to stop. You pass out, you get used.” His hand reaches down, roughly grabbing your balls and you can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain anymore as you grit your teeth. “So you stay the hell awake, you train your ass off, and you behave like a protege worth my time.”

“Yes, sir.” You manage through gasps.

He releases you, moving his hand to hold your hip as he slides the massager out. “I’ll admit, you did good.” He mutters as if he doesn’t want to say it. “You came maybe fourteen times, I’d be surprised if your balls got anything left, kid.”

The weakness in your body makes much more sense now, the ache in your ass and the prickling at your balls. “How… how many did you—”

“You wore me out after five, kid.” Slade chuckles, standing and stretching. “But I’m not as young, I have higher expectations for you.”

He tugs the covers up to your shoulders, his hand brushing your hair back in strokes. When you look up at him you see something soft about his eye. He leans down and you close your eyes as he presses his lips to your forehead. It’s warm and soft unlike everything else, like when he patches your wounds after training.

But, then again, this is part of training now.

#slade wilson #deathstroke #dc comics #slade wilson x reader #slade wilson x male reader #deathstroke x reader #deathstroke x male reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics x male reader #x reader #x male reader

513 notes · View notes