#Frame Size Guide

[khioneee]

simon’s first instinct was always to protect you—before himself, before anyone or anything else. whether in dangerous situations or small, everyday moments, his reflexes kicked in without hesitation. every action was a subtle yet undeniable promise: i’ll always keep you safe.

sidewalk rule? it was non-negotiable. he always made sure he was between you and the street, shielding you from traffic. if you drifted too close to the curb, his hand would find the small of your back, guiding you firmly to his side.

“stay here,” he would murmur, his tone gentle yet resolute, as if daring the world to try anything.

whenever the car came to a sudden halt, simon’s arm instinctively shot out in front of you, bracing against your chest. the seatbelt should’ve been enough, but he never trusted anything more than his own reflexes.

“you alright?” he’d ask, his hand lingering just a little longer, scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

in a crowded space, simon always led the way, carving a path with his broad frame. his hand would stay on yours or at your back, making sure you stayed close. and on a full train, he caged you in without hesitation, using his size to shield you from the press of strangers. his arms rested casually against the poles, but his stance was clear—no one would get too close.

whether you were climbing into the car or walking through a door, simon’s hand would always reach out to guide your head, ensuring you didn’t bump it. in the kitchen, he’d gently tilt your head away from open cabinets, all without thinking. it was pure instinct—small actions that spoke louder than words.

one night at 3 a.m., a car backfired down the street, the sound tearing through the stillness. before you could even react, simon had you pinned beneath him, his body shielding yours entirely. his heart raced, convinced it was a bomb. even after realizing it wasn’t, he didn’t let go, whispering against your ear, “i’ve got you, lovie.”

you could wear whatever you wanted—simon never cared. he wasn’t possessive, but confident. no one would dare glance too long in your direction, not with him at your side. and if anyone was foolish enough to try, one sharp look from simon was enough to make them think twice.

with simon, protection wasn’t just instinct—it was devotion. in every gesture, every glance, every step, he ensured you knew: your safety will always come first. because to simon, loving you meant keeping you safe—always, no matter the cost.

[fvsm4x]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 (you) !

synopsis. Prince Satoru has just come of age, and it’s tradition in his kingdom for the crown prince to be presented with potential suitors. Despite his power and prestige, he’s lived a life of strict rules and sheltered isolation, knowing little about romance and even less about pleasure. His parents arrange for a tutor to guide him on how to properly fuck and pleasure a partner

+ warnings/content. Prince! Gojo S. + tutor fem! reader - satoru is a virgin and inexperienced - virginity lose - p in v - feral gojo a bit - royal au - gojo has a big dick - oral (fem. receiving) - fingering - size difference a bit - gojo is pussydrunk - shy/soft gojo

+ word count. 9.1k (Oppsie daisy)

a/n. This is prolly one of my favs works so I HOPE U LIKE IT

banner by unknown (tell me if u know from who it is!!)

The doors to Prince Satoru’s chambers loomed before you, tall and intricately carved, a testament to the wealth and grandeur of the palace. Your fingers hovered just above the handle, and you took a steadying breath, reminding yourself of the role you were about to step into. The position was an unusual one, to say the least—both highly honored and slightly scandalous, whispered about only behind closed doors and far from the ears of the public.

When the queen had summoned you, you’d expected to be given a task of courtly refinement—perhaps tutoring Prince Satoru in diplomacy or etiquette, something befitting his status. But the court had other plans. Prince Satoru was soon to come of age, and despite his immense power and status, he had led a remarkably sheltered life. Royal duty dictated that he was to be groomed for the throne, but there was more to kingship than formalities and court rituals. To make matters more complicated, it was tradition that the crown prince be well-versed in… more intimate knowledge.

And so, here you were—his tutor for this secret, delicate subject. The court deemed it crucial that Satoru gain a proper understanding of how to navigate romantic and physical intimacy, skills thought essential to his future rule. And though this education would be handled with the utmost discretion, the weight of it wasn’t lost on you. This was about more than teaching the young prince; it was about shaping the experiences that would prepare him for life, even if it meant starting with things he’d never before dared to touch

One of the royal guards gave you a nod, signaling that the prince awaited inside, and with that final reassurance, you pushed open the heavy doors.

The room was grand, adorned with tapestries of deep blue and golds, velvet curtains framing the windows to keep prying eyes out. Soft candlelight bathed the chamber, casting warm, flickering shadows that seemed to make the room feel smaller, more intimate. And there, in the midst of it all, stood Prince Satoru.

He looked as regal as ever, his white hair falling around his shoulders in soft waves that caught the light, yet his expression was tense, the lines of his jaw just slightly taut as he took in your arrival. He stood tall, shoulders straight, but there was a nervous energy about him, a flicker of uncertainty in his piercing blue eyes. For all his power, he was, in this moment, simply a young man facing something entirely foreign.

He looked almost hesitant, his fingers curling at his sides as he took a few tentative steps forward.

“Are you… the tutor?” he asked, his voice soft but clear.

You bowed, folding your hands in front of you. “Yes, Your Highness. I’m honored to serve you.”

He returned your bow with a slight nod, his gaze hesitant but unwavering. “Thank you for coming,” he replied, his voice quiet and just a little rough around the edges. After a pause, he continued, “And please— call me satoru.”

You blinked at him before replying,“of course, Satoru.“

He continued,“I understand you’re here to… teach me certain things

There was a vulnerability to his words, as if he were admitting some private, embarrassing truth, and you felt a flicker of sympathy. “Yes,” you said softly, taking a step closer. “I’m here to help you learn at your own pace. We don’t have to rush anything. It’s perfectly normal to have questions, and we can take things one step at a time.”

He let out a breath, and a faint, almost sheepish smile flickered across his lips. “That’s… good to know,” he murmured. “To be honest, I’m not sure where to begin. I’ve read about some of it—romance, intimacy—but it always seemed… different in stories. Simpler. Or maybe more dramatic.” He paused, then quickly added, “But I have no practical experience. I don’t even know what’s expected of me.”

Was he really that inexperienced?

It was hard for you to believe. Prince Satoru was strikingly attractive, with an air of confidence that most people would expect from someone well-versed in such matters. Yet here he was, seeming genuinely lost. You’d have guessed he at least knew the basics—how to start, how to read a moment. But the way he looked at you, the way his questions hovered in the air with such uncertainty, made it clear that he truly knew next to nothing.

You nodded, taking in his words. “That’s perfectly alright,“

Satoru’s gaze flicked away, almost as if embarrassed by his own curiosity. “It’s strange. I’m supposed to lead a kingdom, yet I feel so… out of place when it comes to this.” His eyes returned to yours, vulnerable but resolute. “It feels almost… childish, not knowing these things.”

You smiled gently. “It’s not childish at all, satoru. You’ve been raised in a very particular way, with rules and responsibilities that few can understand. Besides, being inexperienced doesn’t make you any less capable.”

He studied you closely, his intense blue eyes absorbing your words, as if testing their weight before trusting them. There was a softening in his expression, a subtle shift from wary curiosity to a quiet resolve. “I think I understand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… where do I start? What do I need to know?”

Slowly, you stepped closer, letting him feel your presence before you closed the distance entirely. Your hand hovered in the air, close enough for him to notice, but not so close as to assume his permission. “May I?” you asked, your tone gentle but firm, a reassurance that he was in control of every moment.

He seemed caught off guard, his gaze briefly dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes again. There was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps a bit of nervous anticipation—but he nodded, his voice soft yet steady. “Of course.”

You reached forward, your fingers just grazing his hand, warm and slightly tense under your touch. Slowly, you guided his hand toward your waist, resting it there carefully. His fingers settled against you, his grip hesitant but steady. His hand was large, enveloping the curve of your waist, and the warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric, grounding both of you in this small, shared moment.

Satoru’s hand flexed, his fingers instinctively pressing into the soft give of your waist. His touch was cautious, like he was still testing the sensation, and you could feel him catch his breath. His eyes flickered down, watching his own hand as if seeing it in this position was almost surreal. Then his gaze lifted to yours, his expression a mix of awe and a little self-consciousness, like he was realizing just how new all of this felt to him.

For a moment, time seemed to still, the air thick with something unspoken. His fingers remained gently on your waist, his grip firm but careful. His eyes held yours, searching for something—maybe understanding, maybe comfort.

You felt the heat of his gaze as his eyes lingered on you, his expression searching, as if trying to find reassurance or perhaps permission. His attention felt heavy, intense, and you could feel your cheeks warming, a faint blush creeping over you. You forced yourself to brush it aside, focusing on him, on the quiet yet clear connection between you.

Drawing a breath, you leaned in, rising onto your toes until your face was just inches from his. Your eyes dropped to his lips, your gaze lingering there for just a second too long, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His eyes fluttered shut, and his fingers dug slightly into your waist, pulling you in closer with an unexpected urgency. Your breaths mingled in the narrow space between you before his lips met yours in a rush of movement.

The kiss was messy, uncoordinated, almost clumsy in its eagerness. His lips pressed hard against yours, his movements lacking the practiced finesse of experience but carrying a raw intensity that made up for it. He kissed you with an almost desperate enthusiasm, his lips parting messily against yours, the faint taste of his breath mingling with your own. There was a wetness to the kiss, his inexperience clear in the way he seemed to lose himself, following only instinct rather than skill. He kissed you with unabashed need, a little too much spit and an endearing awkwardness in the way his mouth moved against yours.

You could feel his inexperience, the way he struggled to find a rhythm, his lips and tongue a bit too eager, too messy. But there was a certain sweetness to it, a sincerity that made the kiss feel even more intimate. It was unrefined, almost childlike in its enthusiasm, yet it was deeply honest—a kiss from someone exploring a world he’d never known, trying to understand it one uncertain step at a time.

Slowly, you brought your hand up to his face, brushing your fingers along his jawline, gently guiding him to slow down. You felt his breathing hitch at the soft touch, and his lips stilled for a moment, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His gaze held a mixture of surprise and something more vulnerable—a spark of uncertainty, as though he was asking if he was doing things right.

“You’re doing just fine,” you whispered, your words a gentle reassurance. You could see the tension ease from his expression, the smallest hint of relief softening his gaze. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gave you a shy smile that felt so out of place on someone as commanding as him, yet so fitting in this moment.

With your guidance, he leaned in again, his movements now a bit more measured, a touch gentler. His lips met yours with newfound purpose, still a little messy, but now slower, as though savoring each second. This time, he lingered, allowing the kiss to unfold naturally, his lips brushing against yours with a sweet, unhurried warmth.

Your hands slid to rest on his shoulders, fingers tracing the lines of his frame, feeling the subtle tremor under his skin as he let himself fall into the moment. The kiss grew deeper, a quiet exploration, as though he were learning you, learning this intimacy he’d never experienced before. And in that moment, it felt like there was only the two of you—caught in this delicate exchange, each touch building a fragile new understanding.

After a long, breathless pause, he drew back, his expression softened yet still intense, eyes clouded with newfound desire. His lips, now slightly swollen from the kiss, parted as he looked at you, as if searching for something—permission, maybe, or reassurance. His hand remained at your waist, fingers tightening gently, grounding himself in the unfamiliar intimacy that had formed between you.

Without another word, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was harder, more confident than before, as though the hesitation had melted away. His hands slid down your waist, fingers tracing the shape of your body until they reached the back of your thighs. In one smooth movement, he lifted you, his strength evident as he held you firmly. A gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his neck for support as he carried you with ease.

Your back met the cool, solid surface of the wall, and you felt a rush of heat at the sudden closeness, the way his body pressed against yours, anchoring you there. His hands, still beneath your thighs, slid upward slightly, fingers grazing the curve of your ass before giving it a small, tentative squeeze. The unexpected boldness of the touch sent a spark through you, and your breath hitched, a faint blush coloring your cheeks.

His lips found yours again, and he kissed you with a fervor that felt worlds away from the shyness he’d shown moments before. His mouth moved against yours with a raw intensity, devouring each kiss, leaving no space between you. You felt the heat radiating from him, the rhythm of his breaths growing heavier as he pressed himself closer, as though wanting to close any lingering distance between you.

The contrast was dizzying—just moments ago, he’d been so cautious, uncertain in every touch, every glance. And now here he was, holding you in his arms, his kisses almost desperate as if he’d found something he didn’t want to let go of. You clung to him, fingers tangling in his hair as you let yourself sink into the warmth of his embrace, the steady, grounding pressure of his hands keeping you anchored against him.

He kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that seemed to grow with each passing second. His fingers tightened on your ass, his grip steady and possessive, pressing you more firmly against the wall as though he wanted to keep you there, close, unmovable. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and heavy, mirroring your own.

His mouth left yours only for a moment, his lips brushing along your jaw, trailing down to the curve of your neck. Each kiss was a mix of soft and hurried, as if he were savoring the taste of your skin but couldn’t quite hold back his growing desire. His breath was hot against your neck, and you felt a shiver run through you as his lips lingered there, taking his time to explore, to feel you.

The way he held you felt powerful yet tentative, as if he was discovering just what he could do, and it sent a thrill through you. You felt the tension in his hold, the slight tremble in his fingertips betraying a mix of nervous excitement and unrestrained want.

You whispered his name softly, and he stilled for a moment, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes, usually so confident and sharp, held a softness, a vulnerability that made your heart race. He seemed to study you, his gaze searching your face, as if he needed to see that you were still with him, still wanting this as much as he did.

“S’toru…” you murmured agaib, your voice barely a whisper, filled with all the unspoken reassurance and encouragement you could offer. He swallowed, his cheeks faintly flushed, and gave a small, hesitant smile, looking a little relieved, a little emboldened

With newfound determination, he pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours once more, this time slower, savoring the moment.

As Satoru’s kisses grew deeper and more assured, the intensity between you became undeniable, and you could feel his breathing growing heavier. His hands roamed along your thighs, fingers grazing over the fabric of your clothes, and each touch seemed to carry a little more heat, a little more urgency.

Then, suddenly, you felt it—a subtle but unmistakable pressure against your stomach. His hips had shifted closer in his fervor, and now you could feel him pressing against you, hard and undeniable. The realization made a shiver run through you, and you felt your own face flush, heart pounding at the sudden intimacy of it.

Satoru froze for a moment, as if only now aware of the way his body was reacting. His cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and he swallowed, his breath catching as he struggled to pull himself back, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.

“I… didn’t mean…” he stammered, clearly embarrassed, his gaze dropping as though he didn’t quite know how to handle his own reactions.

But before he could pull away, you brought a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb gently along his skin, letting him know it was okay. “It’s alright,” you whispered, voice soft and reassuring. “Do what you please.“

He looked at you, relief mingling with something deeper, a flicker of excitement shining in his eyes. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours again, this time with a slower, more deliberate passion. As he deepened the kiss, his body pressed closer, and he stopped resisting the way his hips aligned with yours, letting himself feel the closeness without overthinking it.

Your hands slid over his shoulders, steadying yourself against him, feeling the strength in his frame as he held you, his body tense with barely restrained desire. The pressure against your stomach grew, a steady reminder of the effect you were having on him, and you could feel his hesitance melting away bit by bit. His kisses grew bolder, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer, as though he didn’t want any distance left between you.

,S‘toru” you whispered against his lips, voice breathy and soft, and he drew in a shaky breath, his eyes heavy-lidded, as though he was barely keeping himself grounded. He was fighting to stay in control, to process the new sensations flooding through him, but he could hardly hold back.

“Feels s‘ good…” he murmured, his voice a low, shaky whisper. Slowly, his hips moved, pressing into you, creating a delicious friction as his hardness rubbed against you, even through the layers of clothing. The movement was tentative but grew more confident with each slow thrust, his breath hitching as he sank deeper into the feeling. His lips found the side of your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, letting his lips map the curve of your skin.

A quiet whimper escaped you, unintentional yet undeniable, and he froze, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes, still filled with that raw need, softened slightly, as if wanting to make sure he hadn’t gone too far. But when he heard the faint, breathy sound again as his lips brushed over the same spot, he seemed to realize just how much his touch affected you. A flicker of excitement flashed in his gaze, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck again, this time more deliberately, letting his tongue graze the sensitive skin.

You whimpered again, the sound slipping from your lips before you could stop it, and you brought a hand to your mouth, instinctively trying to muffle the sound. But he reached up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist, pulling your hand away with a gentle yet firm hold. His gaze held an intensity that made your heart skip.

“Wanna hear ‘em… your moans,” he muttered, his voice low, the words dripping with newfound confidence. He leaned in, his lips trailing back to your neck, and this time, his tongue traced slow, heated lines against your skin, savoring the way you shivered beneath his touch.

Each kiss, each brush of his lips, became bolder, more purposeful, as though he was learning exactly how to make you feel every single touch. His hips continued to press against you in slow, unhurried movements, creating a rhythm that sent sparks through your entire body.

His fingers, which had gripped your Thighs with a firm intensity, began to trail upward, brushing against the fabric of your shirt. With his breath warm against your skin, he paused, looking up at you for a moment, his gaze filled with a mix of excitement and curiosity.

His hand moved to the top button of your shirt, fingers slightly trembling as he hesitated. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching for any hint of uncertainty. When you gave him a soft nod, a silent reassurance, his face softened, and with that, he began to slowly undo the buttons, one by one, his gaze never leaving yours as though anchoring himself in the trust you shared.

His breath caught as he reached the last button, letting your shirt slip from your shoulders to pool at your feet.

His gaze dropped, and his eyes widened, filled with awe as he took in the sight of you. His hands, initially tentative, began to trace gentle patterns along your shoulders and collarbone, his touch warm and reverent. He seemed captivated, almost in disbelief, as his fingertips trailed downward, lingering at the curve of your breasts.

Satoru swallowed hard, his cheeks flushed as he looked up at you, his gaze both shy and filled with wonder. “You’re… so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as if he feared speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. With a hesitant hand, he reached out, his palm gently covering the soft curve of your breast, his touch both tender and careful, as though you were something precious.

Leaning in, his lips brushed softly against your skin just above your heart, leaving a trail of warm, reverent kisses as he explored with growing confidence. His hand, which had rested at the curve of your breast, wandered over the full softness, squeezing with a tentative pressure that sent warmth flooding through you. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple, giving a small, instinctive pinch.

The sharp pleasure made you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips, but you couldn’t help flinching at the unexpected intensity. “Not ser‘ hard… they’re sensitive,” you murmured, gently pulling his hand back. He froze, meeting your gaze with an apologetic expression, his face flushed even deeper.

“ sorry..” he whispered, genuine remorse in his voice, but the look in his eyes was also filled with curiosity and need. Without a second thought, he lowered his head, bringing himself level with your chest, and his lips brushed over your sensitive skin in a soft, almost reverent kiss.

Satoru’s lips wrapped around your nipple, his warm mouth enveloping the sensitive peak. He kissed it softly, savoring the taste of your skin, his tongue flicking out to tease you gently. The sensation sent electric currents racing through you, and you gasped, arching into him, encouraging him to continue.

As he continued to explore, he paused for a moment, pulling back slightly to look up at you with wide, earnest eyes. “I’m really sorry for being too rough,” he murmured, his voice filled with genuine remorse.

Then, as if his apology extended beyond you and into your body, he turned his attention back to your nipple, planting a soft kiss on it. “You just look s‘ perfect,” he added, the words barely escaping his lips.

He resumed his gentle kisses, trailing his mouth over the delicate skin around your breast, still mindful of your sensitivity. Each kiss was filled with a newfound tenderness, as if he was not only trying to please you but also to make amends. “Please forgive me,” he whispered against your skin, his breath warm, brushing over you like a gentle caress.

With each delicate kiss, he continued to express his reverence, kissing your nipple again softly as though it were a cherished treasure. “I promise to be better,” he vowed, his gaze intent, as if making a sacred promise to both you and your body. He lavished attention on your breast, his lips trailing kisses that were sweet and reverent, the gentle pressure of his mouth a stark contrast to the earlier clumsiness.

You couldn’t help but giggle softly at his earnestness, feeling a warmth spread through you, not just from his touch but from his sincerity. “You’re doing just fine, you‘re just learning afterall.” you reassured him, your voice breathy and filled with affection.

His eyes lit up at your encouragement, and he dove back in, his lips returning to your nipple, kissing it with a newfound tenderness, allowing the moment to envelop you both.

from your breast to your collarbone and back again, savoring each reaction he drew from you. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, igniting a desire that only grew stronger.

But suddenly, he pulled back, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of excitement and determination. He gently wrapped his arms around you once ahain, lifting you with surprising strength.

He carried you effortlessly across the room, your heart racing as you held onto him, feeling the strength in his arms. The thrill of being so close to him, both physically and emotionally, sent a rush of warmth through you. As he approached the bed, he leaned down, carefully laying you onto the soft mattress, his gaze never leaving yours.

Once he set you down, he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you stretched out before him. His heart raced in response to the intimacy of the moment, his breath hitching as he drank you in. “You’re really beautiful,” he whispered again, as if he couldn’t help but marvel at you.

Satoru leaned over you, propping himself up on his forearms, his gaze filled with a mix of admiration and longing. His fingers brushed through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear, and he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

He pressed his lips against yours again, kissing you deeply as if trying to convey all the emotions swirling within him. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if memorizing every detail of you. You felt his weight resting against you, warm and safe, and it filled you with a sense of comfort and exhilaration.

As the kiss deepened, his hands wandered, fingers tracing along your sides and down your arms, drawing you into the warmth of the moment. He seemed to lose himself in you, his kisses growing more passionate, yet still tender, as if he were balancing the thrill of desire with a profound respect for the connection you were building together.

Satoru pulled back slightly, his breathing uneven, and looked down at you with an expression that held a perfect blend of desire and vulnerability. His eyes softened, and a flicker of concern appeared as he took in your face. “Are… are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with an almost shy uncertainty. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness in his tone, and you nodded, feeling a warm sense of safety in his presence. “I’m fine,” you murmured softly, reaching up to brush a reassuring hand along his arm. “I should be asking you that.”

He nodded, his gaze briefly meeting yours before looking away, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I’m… I’m okay,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper, almost as if he were still processing his own feelings. After a beat, he hesitated, then glanced back at you with a hint of nervous curiosity. “What should I do now?”

You sat up slightly, leaning forward so you could hold his gaze, though he quickly looked down, the blush deepening on his face. “Pull your clothes off,” you instructed softly, giving him a small, encouraging smile. “But leave your underwear on.”

Satoru’s eyes widened at your words, the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks, almost as if he hadn’t quite expected the suggestion. “Yeah… okay,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of nerves and excitement as he reached for the hem of his shirt, hesitating only briefly before he began to lift it.

His hands trembled ever so slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the toned lines of his chest and shoulders. His skin was warm, slightly flushed, and he kept his gaze averted, as if trying to gather the courage to keep going. He let the shirt fall to the floor, then took a deep breath before moving to undo his pants, casting a quick glance in your direction as if seeking reassurance.

When he saw your soft, encouraging expression, he continued, pushing his pants down and stepping out of them, leaving only his underwear as you’d requested. His movements were tentative, almost shy, but there was a certain determination in his actions that spoke of his trust in you.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you watched Satoru, your heart pounding in sync with his as he settled in beside you. His eyes lingered on you, filled with curiosity and an unmistakable nervousness, though he gave you a shy smile when you met his gaze.

With a reassuring nod, you began to reach down, fingers slipping to the waistband of your pants. His eyes followed your movements, captivated, as you slowly slid the fabric down your hips, exposing the soft skin of your legs. You kicked the pants aside, leaving you in only your underwear, mirroring him. His breath hitched as his gaze roamed over you, the admiration in his eyes unmistakable.

Now both in only your most vulnerable layers, you shifted back on the bed, motioning for him to come closer. Satoru followed, his movements tentative but filled with a certain eagerness, as though he was soaking in every detail of the moment.

He settled between your legs, his body hovering above yours as he propped himself up on his hands. His eyes were wide, sincere, holding a quiet wonder that made your heart flutter. He seemed to lose himself in the moment, drinking in the sight of you with a softness that was almost reverent.

You reached up, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips. His breaths were shallow, matching yours in rhythm, and a slight shiver ran through him at your touch. “Just take it slow,” you whispered, your voice soft, reassuring, as you leaned in close enough that your breaths mingled, faces only inches apart. “We don’t have to rush.”

He nodded, swallowing as his gaze remained locked with yours. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with gratitude and awe. Tentatively, he brought his hand to your waist, his fingers brushing over your skin with a gentleness that spoke of both caution and growing confidence. His touch was almost feather-light, his fingertips tracing small circles as though memorizing each curve and dip. You felt his hand tighten slightly, pulling you closer, grounding himself in the warmth of your body against his.

You leaned up, closing the space between you to press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger there as you savored the warmth of his skin. Satoru’s eyes fluttered closed, and he exhaled a shaky breath, leaning into your touch, almost as if he were melting under your care.

When you pulled back just slightly, he turned his head to face you, his expression filled with an intense, tender gaze. His eyes flickered down to your lips, and for a brief moment, he hesitated, his lips parted as if caught between nervousness and longing. Finally, he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that was both tender and exploratory, filled with a sweetness that made your heart race. He kissed you slowly, savoring every second, as though he wanted to remember this moment forever.

His hands began to wander from your waist to your hips, his fingers tracing along the curve where your underwear sat against your skin. He paused, his fingertips grazing along the line of fabric, hesitating, as if seeking permission. You could feel his hand trembling slightly, both from his excitement and his nerves, his fingers brushing over the skin just above the waistband before moving back down.

Satoru’s gaze was locked on yours, his eyes a mixture of wonder and nervousness as his hands continued their tentative exploration along the edge of your underwear. He seemed to be gathering courage, his fingers tracing gentle, almost reverent patterns across your skin. Your own hand covered his, a soft reminder, and you murmured, “You can take them off, y’know…”

He paused, visibly swallowing, his blush deepening. “Yes… yes, I know,” he replied, voice barely a whisper as he gathered the courage to slide the fabric down your hips. He moved slowly, carefully, as if savoring every second. When your underwear finally slipped from your legs, he let it fall from the bed, his gaze turning back to you with a new, unguarded vulnerability.

When he looked down, his gaze dipped between your legs as you spread them slightly, giving him space to take in the sight of you. He was visibly struck by the intimacy of the moment, a hint of awe flickering in his eyes, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, making you equally self-conscious and drawn to his quiet, genuine curiosity.

This wasn’t something you’d ever imagined doing, especially not as a tutor. The queen’s request had surprised you, and even as you’d agreed to guide him, you’d never anticipated how intense and meaningful this moment would feel. But with Satoru, there was a warmth and care that put you at ease—a softness in him that made you want to help him learn, to give him this experience.

Satoru’s breath was uneven as he drew his hands up your thighs, the warmth of his touch making your skin tingle. His thumbs moved slowly, pulling your legs apart just a little more, his touch almost reverent as he brushed his thumb against the delicate skin of your inner thigh. The sensation made you shiver, a small gasp escaping you.

His gaze never left yours as he brought his hands to your center, his fingers trembling slightly as he parted your folds with his thumbs, exposing your most sensitive area to the cool air. You let out a quiet gasp at the sensation, your breath catching as he focused on the glistening sight before him, his eyes filled with awe. He seemed mesmerized, watching the way your body reacted, the soft, pulsing invitation of your skin against his touch.

For a moment, he simply watched,

Satoru’s fingers trembled slightly as he held you open, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and uncertainty. His gaze flickered to yours, a question forming on his lips. “I… I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do next,” he admitted softly, his cheeks flushed, looking for guidance as he tried to understand how to please you.

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his, your touch steadying him. “It’s okay,” you murmured, giving him a soft smile. “I can show you.”

He swallowed, nodding as he leaned in closer, visibly eager to learn. “Where should I start?” he asked, his voice low and sincere.

You held his gaze, feeling a sense of warmth at his openness. “See here?” you murmured, gently guiding his thumb to a small, sensitive spot at the apex of your folds. “This is the clit—it’s the most sensitive part, and it responds a lot to touch. You’ll want to start by focusing here.”

Satoru’s eyes lit with newfound understanding, his gaze turning to admiration as he looked down, processing your words carefully. His thumb brushed experimentally over the wet spot, his movements slow and cautious. You let out a soft, encouraging sigh, and he glanced up, his expression almost childlike in its intensity, clearly focused on learning how to make you feel good.

“So, you have to… prepare someone, right?” he asked, as if confirming his understanding. “Before anything else?”

You nodded, your voice soft. “Yes. You prepare a woman for… more,” you said, feeling a blush heat your cheeks. “Touching, kissing, and things like this—all of that helps get her ready, so it’s more comfortable. You have options, too. You could use your fingers, your mouth, or both… whatever feels natural for you.”

He seemed to absorb every word, nodding slowly, his brows furrowing with concentration. “I think I understand,” he murmured, his gaze flicking between your eyes and the sensitive spot he’d just discovered.

Satoru leaned in, his thumb brushing over your clit again, this time with more confidence, his movements gentle yet focused. You let out a soft sound, and he paused, eyes widening in wonder. He glanced up at you, a small, satisfied smile forming on his lips as he realized he’d done something right.

He leaned in, closer than before, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to your inner thigh, letting his lips linger, and you could feel the warmth of his breath as he explored with a gentle touch. You could tell he was savoring every new sensation, every slight shift and soft sigh. With each kiss, he grew bolder, moving closer to your core, his hands still steady on your thighs as he continued his careful approach.

Then, his lips brushed over your folds, his breath hitching as he pressed a lingering, almost worshipful kiss there. “So soft,” he murmured, sounding as if he were speaking more to himself than to you, awe evident in his voice. His mouth moved lower, placing another slow kiss before he began to taste you, his tongue moving hesitantly at first, as if familiarizing himself with each inch.

The first gentle stroke of his tongue made you gasp softly, and Satoru’s eyes flicked up, eager to see your reaction. Seeing the pleasure in your expression, he smiled, a slight, bashful grin, and leaned in further, letting his tongue explore with more confidence. The way he worked his mouth over you, savoring every taste, every sound you made, spoke to the intense curiosity and focus he was channeling into each motion.

“Fuck—” he whispered, his voice thick and slightly shaky, pulling back for a moment to catch his breath. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated as he looked at you with something close to worship. “Pussy’s s‘ sweet— tastes ser’ good,” he murmured, almost to himself, before diving back in with a new kind of hunger.

His tongue found your clit this time, pressing gently before giving it a soft, experimental bite that sent a shock of pleasure through you, making you arch into him. He continued, lapping at you with slow, broad strokes, as if he couldn’t get enough. His hands slid up, gripping your hips and pulling you even closer as he kissed and licked every inch, fully lost in the experience.

He seemed completely intoxicated by your taste, by the way your body responded to him. Each movement of his mouth became more confident, more eager, as he continued his relentless exploration, his tongue swirling around your clit before lapping at your entrance again, catching every bit of wetness as if it were precious. Satoru was utterly lost in you, pressing closer and moaning softly into your skin, entirely absorbed in the pleasure he was bringing you.

His hand slipped back to your thigh, gently squeezing as his mouth worked in perfect rhythm

Satoru’s grip on your thighs tightened as he became even more engrossed, his mouth moving over you with a hungry, eager rhythm. His eyes flickered up every so often, watching your reactions with an almost boyish awe as he learned exactly what made you gasp and arch into him. Each sound you made seemed to spur him on, fueling his growing confidence as his tongue moved with more purpose, more intent.

He let his tongue glide up from your entrance to your clit in slow, drawn-out strokes, savoring every taste, as though he couldn’t get enough. “Ser‘ good,” he murmured between breaths, his voice thick and heavy, almost reverent. “Can’t believe— fuck- how perfect ya taste.” His words were laced with genuine awe, and each syllable seemed to sink into you, heightening the warmth building deep in your core.

His lips wrapped around your clit then, and he sucked gently, sending waves of pleasure radiating through you. You gasped, fingers tangling in his soft hair, tugging him closer as your hips moved instinctively toward him, urging him deeper. Satoru moaned softly at the feeling of your hands in his hair, the vibrations of his voice against you only adding to the sensation.

“Just like that,” you whispered, your voice shaky as he continued, his enthusiasm and care blending into a perfect, overwhelming rhythm. He responded by doubling down, his lips pressing more firmly, his tongue flicking and circling, as if every movement were a way to learn how to make you feel even better.

As he continued, Satoru looked up at you again, his gaze dark with desire yet softened with admiration. “You taste like… everything I’ve ever wanted,” he mumbled against you, his voice muffled, but full of devotion. He leaned in once more, mouth covering you completely, tongue moving in long, slow strokes, savoring every drop and every reaction.

He became almost methodical, his mouth working in steady, purposeful motions, alternating between licking and gentle sucking, pulling quiet moans from your lips with every movement. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you steady as he continued his eager exploration, his mouth mapping every inch of you, each touch bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Finally, as his pace quickened and his movements became less restrained, you felt the growing heat build to a near breaking point. Your hips bucked against him, and he only gripped you tighter, pressing his mouth more firmly against you, tongue swirling and lips pressing as he pushed you right to the brink, lost in the need to give you everything he could.

Satoru’s eyes never left yours as he continued, his focus unwavering. Every gasp, every arch of your back seemed to spur him on, and as he watched you getting closer, a new determination filled his gaze. His hands slid up your inner thighs, his fingers brushing over your skin with a light touch before hesitating at your entrance. He glanced up, silently asking for permission, and at your encouraging nod, he took a deep breath, pressing a finger against your slick entrance.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside, his movements tentative as he watched your expression, making sure you were comfortable. His finger slid deeper, and he marveled at how warm and soft you felt, his gaze full of awe as he worked his finger gently, moving in time with the soft caresses of his mouth.

“Is… this okay?” he whispered, voice low and unsure, yet filled with genuine care. The gentle curve of his finger inside you was cautious, and when you let out a quiet moan in response, he seemed relieved, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, s‘toru,” you murmured, voice thick with desire, encouraging him to continue.

Emboldened, he began moving his finger slowly, curling it inside you as he searched for the spots that made you shiver. His mouth returned to your clit, tongue flicking in gentle, deliberate strokes, the combination of his movements creating a steady, delicious rhythm. Each motion was measured, his focus absolute as he seemed to get lost in the feel of you around him, the way your body responded to every touch.

As he gained confidence, he added another finger, stretching you just slightly, his gaze still attentive, looking for any hint of discomfort. But when he saw only pleasure in your expression, his movements grew a little bolder. His fingers curved and pressed deeper, brushing that sensitive spot within you, sending a wave of pleasure through your body that had you clinging to his shoulders.

“God, pussy‘s s‘… perfect,” he breathed against you, his tone filled with reverence, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His fingers pumped steadily, his mouth following their rhythm, drawing out soft moans that seemed to intoxicate him further.

Each gentle thrust of his fingers, each flick of his tongue was filled with growing intensity, a desire that seemed to drive him to bring you closer and closer to release. His face, now completely flushed, showed a newfound hunger as he became entirely engrossed in every moan

Your body tensed as Satoru’s fingers curled inside you, pressing perfectly against that sensitive spot, his mouth still worshipping your clit with a relentless rhythm. The pleasure built rapidly, each movement of his fingers and every flick of his tongue intensifying the sensation until it became overwhelming.

Your breath hitched, and you felt yourself teetering right on the edge. “Satoru… I’m close…” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with both determination and awe, as if he couldn’t believe he was the one bringing you to this point. Encouraged, he kept going, maintaining that steady pace, his fingers pumping and curling with just the right pressure, his mouth warm and relentless against your clit.

Your body arched, and the pleasure surged through you in a powerful wave. A gasp escaped your lips, turning into a cry of pure ecstasy as you reached your climax, your body trembling under his touch. Satoru didn’t stop, his fingers and mouth working you through every second, letting you ride out the pleasure fully, his gaze fixed on you, captivated by every reaction.

He slowed only as he felt your body begin to relax, his fingers gradually easing their rhythm until they finally stilled. His lips pressed one last, tender kiss against your clit before he withdrew his hand. You watched, breathless, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, savoring every taste as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Pussy’s so sweet,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of awe and raw need thickening his tone. His pupils were blown wide, his face covered in the remnants of your release, and he made no effort to hide his pleasure, licking his lips, his tongue tracing over the faint glisten left on his chin. “Want more…” he breathed, voice low and desperate, as if even this closeness wasn’t enough to satisfy the pull he felt toward you.

With a shuddering breath, he shifted, his hands moving to his briefs, and without hesitation, he slid them off, tossing them somewhere off the bed. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a few slow, steady strokes, his own arousal now fully bared before you.

You couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips as you took him in. He was big—thicker and longer than you’d expected, his arousal flushed with a deep, heated pink at the tip, beads of precum already forming and trailing down along the pale, veined length. The sight alone made you clench in anticipation, a mix of nerves and longing swirling within you.

Satoru looked down at you, his cheeks and chest flushed, the intensity in his eyes making him look almost dazed, drunk on the need coursing through him. “Can’t… can’t wait any longer—” he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice. He leaned closer, his tip brushing against your clit in a teasing tap, smearing his precum around your entrance.

“Please,” he whispered, almost as if pleading. “Please… let me… I need to feel you. Need to be inside…”

You felt his desperation in every word, his restraint fraying with every second that passed. His gaze held yours, dark and pleading, and you gave him a soft nod, granting him the permission he so earnestly sought.

“Please…” he whispered again, positioning himself carefully, his gaze never leaving yours, even as he slowly began to press forward, inch by aching inch.

A shiver ran through Satoru as he began to sink into you, every inch he pressed forward met with a quiet gasp or soft sigh that only seemed to make him more desperate. He moved slowly, his gaze fixed on your face as if wanting to memorize every reaction. The stretch was intense, his thickness filling you in a way that had you curling your fingers into the sheets, and he took his time, his movements careful and deliberate as he entered you.

“God—” he whispered, a tremor in his voice as he tried to keep his control, his brows knitting together in concentration. His hands found your hips, gripping firmly but gently, anchoring himself as he slid further. He exhaled shakily, and his breathing turned ragged, his lips parting as he lost himself in the feeling. “Feels so good…*hic* better than I imagined—” he murmured, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t believe he was actually inside you.

As soon as Satoru pressed fully inside you, he froze, his whole body tensing as if he’d been struck by lightning. The heat, the way your walls clung to him, warm and tight, had his eyes fluttering shut, his head falling back in pure, unfiltered bliss. A deep groan escaped his lips, raw and needy, and he gripped your hips so tightly you could feel the tremor in his fingers.

“Fuck—” he choked out, his voice thick, barely coherent, as he tried to process the overwhelming sensation. His head dropped forward, gaze dazed, his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was feeling. “So… s’ fucking tight,” he muttered, almost in disbelief, his words catching as his hips gave an involuntary thrust. “God—you’re… clenching around me so perfectly—”

You felt his fingers digging into your hips as he rocked into you again, the motion instinctive, almost primal. His restraint shattered in an instant, and he began moving with a newfound hunger, his hips snapping against yours with an intensity that had his head spinning. Each thrust made his eyes flutter, his lips parting as he gasped for breath, his mind barely able to focus on anything but the sensation of you wrapped around him

He buried himself deeper, his pace turning relentless, desperate. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing over your skin as he panted, “Feel so fucking good, can’t—can’t stop…fuck!” He sounded wrecked, completely undone, his tone almost pleading as he kept moving, his rhythm wild and unrestrained.

Satoru’s eyes rolled back as he lost himself in the feeling, the pleasure flooding through him too intense to control. “Pussy’s so *hic* warm,” he slurred, his words muffled as his lips brushed over your skin, his hips pressing into you harder, needier, every sound you made only pushing him further. Each thrust felt deeper than the last, his breaths ragged, desperate as he surrendered completely, letting the sensation consume him.

Satoru’s movements became a frenzy, his hips snapping against yours with a desperation that was almost uncontrollable, his breathing erratic and voice reduced to hoarse groans. Every inch of you enveloped him in a warmth so tight that his composure shattered with each thrust, his hands gripping you as if afraid to let go.

“Fuck—can’t… can’t get enough,” he mumbled, his voice rough, eyes half-lidded as he stared down at you with a dazed, almost feral hunger. His mouth found yours, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss, messy and demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he kissed you deeply. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath coming in heavy pants as he looked at you, captivated, overwhelmed.

Your moans and gasps only fueled him, every sound you made seeming to push him further over the edge. His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your skin as he tried to pull you even closer, his thrusts rough but filled with raw need. “You feel… so fucking perfect,” he murmured, barely able to get the words out as his rhythm grew erratic, his hips moving instinctively as he chased the building pleasure that was consuming him.

Lost in the sensation, his pace faltered, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate. He pulled you tighter against him, his body shuddering with every thrust, his head falling to your shoulder as he let out a deep, broken groan, his voice strained and breathless.

“God… can’t… gonna come…soon” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and helplessness as he felt himself teetering on the edge, holding on only by a thread as he lost himself completely in the warmth of you.

With each thrust, Satoru’s body trembled, his breath hitching as he felt himself nearing that precipice. The warmth enveloping him tightened further, the way your walls pulsed around him driving him wild. His movements grew more frantic, instinct taking over as he chased the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

“Please—please..” he gasped, desperation lacing his words as he quickened his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room. He was lost, intoxicated by the feeling of being inside you, and it was as if everything else faded away. The world outside ceased to exist; it was just the two of you, tangled together in a whirlwind of passion.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, the heat pooling in your core intensifying with every movement. “S’toru… yes—yesss just like that,” you encouraged, your voice breathy as you matched his rhythm, pushing him closer to the edge. Your words seemed to ignite something primal within him, and he let out a deep, guttural growl, thrusting into you with abandon.

“Fuck—so good… you’re so good,” he gasped, his eyes rolling back again as he felt the pleasure building rapidly, tension coiling tightly in his belly. Every sound you made, every gasp and moan, drove him closer to madness. He could feel the pressure mounting, an almost unbearable intensity that threatened to consume him completely.

“I can’t hold back much longer,” he warned, his voice low and strained, nearly a whine as he fought against the overwhelming need to release. “I want to feel you—want you to feel me…”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you completely, his body shaking as he let go, pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. “Oh—fuck!” he cried out, his voice echoing with a mix of ecstasy and disbelief as he came, filling you with warmth. His body quaked with the intensity of his release, and in that moment, everything faded into pure bliss, leaving only the two of you tangled together, breathing heavily in the aftermath

As the waves of pleasure began to fade, Satoru’s breath came in uneven gasps, his eyes still glazed with the aftereffects of the ecstasy he’d just experienced. He looked down at you, the warmth of your bodies still mingling, and a sudden thought struck him—a spark of wild desire that seemed to take over his senses.

“Marry me,” he blurted out, the words tumbling out with an urgency that surprised even him.

Your eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard. “Wha—what?” you stammered, disbelief flickering across your face.

“I know it’s crazy since we just met, but… you’re just—so amazing, and I don’t wanna let you go! That was—” he hesitated, a dreamy look crossing his face as he recalled the sensations. “Your pussy’s s‘ good. I can’t just… I can’t just walk away from this. I don‘t want anyone else now..”

You let out a soft laugh, a mixture of incredulity and amusement bubbling up inside you at his unfiltered honesty. What is happening? you thought, still trying to process the whirlwind of events that had brought you here. “You don’t even know my name!” you exclaimed, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I don’t need to know,” he replied, leaning closer, his eyes half-lidded with that intoxicating mix of lust and affection. “I just know you’re incredible. It’s like—like fate or something. I want you to be mine, like— forever.”

His words, though impulsive, were laced with sincerity, and you could see the way his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, even as excitement radiated from him. This is insane, you thought, but there’s something so genuine about him. “You’re serious?” you asked, searching his eyes for any trace of jest, but the sincerity in his gaze was unmistakable.

“Dead serious,” he confirmed, his expression earnest but still slightly dazed, the effects of what had just transpired clearly clouding his thoughts. “I don’t want to waste any time… so, uh, what do you say?” His voice wavered slightly, betraying his nervousness despite the confident facade he tried to maintain.

Could this really be happening? you thought, your heart racing at the idea of such an impulsive commitment. You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at his unexpected proposal. “Alright, let’s see where this goes, Prince,” you replied teasingly, excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “But you better be ready for more than just this.”

“Y-yeah! Totally!” he stuttered, his enthusiasm shining through the haze of lust. “I’m all in. Just… just tell me your name, and I promise to be the best husband ever.”

© fvsm4x : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

[callsign-datura]

CW: pet names, oral (fem! receiving), spelling his name on the clit "c'mon pretty girl, open up f'me," simon murmurs, his lips and peachfuzz scraping against the soft skin of your thigh, up to your knee as his hands roam up and down your legs. brown eyes focus on you as you keep your legs pinned together, an embarrassed whine leaving your throat as you tilt your head to the side.

"si, you don't have to," you said quietly, looking down at him with your big doe eyes as you reach out to cup his face. he leans into it, his eyebrows knit and the corner of his mouth quirks.

"why not, sweetheart?" simon was a man of few words, but the look in his eyes was enough to make you shrink underneath it. his looming frame rises and he stands, but you keep your legs together still as he rests his hands on your knees. his size always sends your heart aflutter, but now it was beating so rapidly in embarrassment.

"i-i haven't shaved. i didn't bother once you left, so..." it's been months since he left. he came home out of nowhere, his big bulky frame caging you against the wall before wrestling you onto the bed, prime and ready show you how much he missed you. your pretty pussy was all he could think about for the days leading up to his return, and now you were denying him because you hadn't shaved? he knew you wanted him as bad as he wanted you. he felt insulted.

"hah, love," he begins, a small amused smile curling his lips as he tries easing your legs apart again. "i've been gone f' months... thinkin' 'bout you, an' that pussy of yours, and y'think i give a shit 'bout hair now that i've finally got ya where i want ya?" he cocks his head to the side, overgrown blonde hair tickling his brow as your legs finally release and fall apart, his hands going down to grip the waistband of your panties, snapping the elastic against your flesh to watch you jump before he sinks back down to his knees.

he chuckles as your face reddens and you swallow, your head falling back to avoid looking him in the eyes when you feel his lips against your inner thigh. "c'mon now. y'know me better than that, sweetheart," his lips part and he bites down gently, smirking against your flesh when you jolt again. "much, much fuckin' better than that," he chuckles in amusement as he speaks, trailing his kisses down your inner thigh and peppering soft kisses and lovebites along the fat of your thigh before stopping just shy of your pussy. "pretty little thing, aren't ya? shaved or unshaved, i'll devour ya all the same," he whispers, his voice low but carrying enough intent to make your walls flutter on nothing. he moves a hand between your legs, using his thumb to spread your lips just enough to give him direct access to your clit, planting his mouth there as his lips curl and his hot tongue darts out to lave over you.

his tongue moves in hot, slow circles, your legs twitching at the content as you squeal and writhe pathetically. the contact after so long is almost too much for your body. one of your hands plants itself on his head and runs through the untidy locks, pulling gently to guide him closer. smugly, he obliges, but not before he lets loose a grunt and a teasing, "needy girl." before closing his lips around your clit and sucks gently, applying pressure against it with the tip of his tongue at the same time as his hands cup your outer thighs.

he releases your clit with a faint 'pop', his tongue sliding out and flattening against you, dragging upward from your hole to your clit, laving once again as the mix of your slick and his spit drip down onto the mattress beneath you, leaving a mess that's only likely to grow as time goes on. "mm. missed this fuckin' pussy," he grunts, his raspy voice making your clit twitch and the heat of his breath fanning over you. you whine in response, lifting your hips, seeking more friction. you sniffle quietly beneath him, lifting your head to look at him as his gaze flickers over your body before he sinks down again. he moves a hand between your legs and rolls his middle and pointer finger against your pussy, gathering his spit and your slick before he carefully pushes them inside as he starts lapping at your clit again. your needy pussy sucks his fingers in, and instinctively, he curls them, searching for a few moments before the pads find your g-spot. the sudden pleasure makes you jolt and your toes curl as you push your legs apart and rest your heels on the edge of the bed, lewd mewls leaving your lips as he grunts into your pussy. he doesn't thrust his fingers, just rubs them against your g-spot as he laps hungrily at your clit-- like a man starved. which he was. months left without the taste, feel, scent of your precious pussy left him hungry. he shifted as he kneeled, his hardening cock in his pants making the fabric strain against him, quickly becoming uncomfortable as he continues to eat you out. he doesn't care though, your pleasure in this moment matters more to him than that.

each mewl, whine and cry that leaves your lips makes his dick twitch. he has to stifle a whine of his own. his eyes flutter open, looking up at you to find bright, eager eyes staring down at him. your mouth is open, lips quivering and red from how consistently you bit them to keep quiet. eyes dilated and wide, rolling back once he starts rolling his fingers into you.

he chuckles quietly into you, shutting his eyes again to savor the taste and squeeze of your pussy. he can feel you getting close, so he continues-- a bit faster than before. the noises of your pussy are loud, lewd and embarrassing, but his grunts are louder. you whimper pathetically as the coil in your stomach tightens and the heat falls over you. his hand is planted firmly at the curve of your hip, gripping tightly to keep you in pace as he licks hungrily at your clit, alternating between lapping and circles.

as your squirming becomes more frequent, you feel his laps become a bit more erratic. through your hazy mind you don't connect the dots yet, too distracted by the incoming pressure of your orgasm. your hips lifted and you cried out. "s-si, please! gonna cum... m'close..." and he only chuckled into your pussy, mumbling a "cum f'me sweetheart, know you can. give it to me." then he starts the pace again. you realize then after his licks become more defined, that he's using his tongue to spell his name on your clit. the thought makes you gasp, the sound low in your chest as he suddenly applies a bit more force as he thrusts his fingers into you, purposefully angling them to hit your g-spot with the tips of his fingers over and over and over again. you wail his name and your walls clench, the warmth flooding you as that coil snaps. he groans deeply into your pussy, helping you ride through it as you reach your peak. it lasts a few seconds, and you mewl and whine pathetically, fingers tugging at his hair as he continues, helping you down from your orgasm with slow licks. he withdraws his fingers from you shortly after his tongue halts, and your hands come to your face as he rises between your legs and leans over you. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, shushing you softly as his hands run up and down your sides. Your arms thread around his neck and you mumble to him. "...were you spelling your name on my clit?" a pause. his rubs stop, and he hums quietly in amusement. "maybe. 've gotta make sure you know what name to moan. seems like it worked..."

you can hear and feel the smirk on his face, and you scowl playfully, hiding your red face in your hands as he laughs into your neck. yeah, it worked. and now he was gonna continue doing it.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

— warnings: size kink, cervix fucking, belly bulge, creampie/breeding, throat fucking

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who tie your smaller frame to their bed, their body almost twice the size of yours as they stand over you, their eyes dark with lust at how vulnerable you look.

Who lower themselves onto you as they measure the length of their cock with your body, whistling lowly before looking you in your eyes with a sinister smirk.

“Shit baby, think you can take it?”

Who watch as your eyes widen with a quiver as you tugged at your restraints, only blinking up at them through your lashes with an incoherent mumble, your wet pussy clenching around nothing in anticipation.

No matter how many times you guys did this, you still never got used to how big they were. After all, they were practically a tower next to you, and their dick was nothing short of that size.

“Sorry sweetheart.” they laugh. “forgot you were gagged.”

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who make you watch with teary eyes as their cocks bulge visibly in your stomach. Only halfway in before you’re crying, whining about it being too much. You get so full. Your mewls loud and broken as you moan their name.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose cocks still grow when they’re hard, swelling within the warmth of your walls. Who beg for you to take it. Telling you how good you were doing and how happy it would make them if you take them all the way. Take them deep.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you make them bleed, sharp nails scratching down their backs as you try to adjust around them, tearfully wincing at the sting that came with it.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love to stuff their fingers down your throat while encouraging you to ride them, their hands on your waist as they guide you up and down just the beginning of their length.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose thick fingers fill you like a second dick, making you cry out loudly as they pushed against that spongy spot. Cooing at you and telling you to take it as their fingers harshly curl into you. Thrusting mercilessly until you’re squirting all over their hand with a scream.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who fuck you in every position and against every wall or surface.

Their mouths on your clit and tongues lapping up the wetness between your folds with your legs spread on their shoulders, strong hands being the only thing holding you up.

Their feet planted into the floor as they bounced you on their cock. Folding you like a sex doll by holding your bent knees flush against your chest, roughly lifting you off and back onto their cock. Loud sobs filling the room as their mushroom shaped tip pierced painfully past your cervix, your moans high pitched as your cheeks stain with tears.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who always have to be so careful with you, knowing they could easily break you even if they didn’t mean too.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose hands are twice the length and width of yours, easily pinning both your wrists above your head when during sex.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Whose big hands easily bruise your delicate skin, your neck always painted purple and blue from him accidentally choking you too hard. Who engulf you with their body in a tight hug to apologize, kissing your head and promising you that they didn’t mean to hurt you.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who groan when you try to suck them off. Your plump lips stretched around their fiery red tip, slobbering down their thick length. Who get off to your struggle, cock twitching with a loud groan when you look up at them innocently. Trying (and failing) to take their cock all the way, your eyes welling with tears when it pushes to the back of your throat.

Who shoot their cum straight into your awaiting mouth. Watching you gag softly as the liquid forces itself down your throat, trickling down the sides of your lips when you smile up at them. Sticking out your tongue to show that you swallowed it all, their thumb running over your bottom lip before letting their spit fall into your awaiting mouth.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who get so carried away by how snug your pussy feels around them. Unknowingly bullying their cocks deeper and deeper. Their brain so foggy that your loud choked cries don’t even register.

Who when riding them, accidentally force you to bottom down. Your salty tears clouding your vision as you sob out that you can’t take it— that they’re so deep and it hurts. That you can feel them fucking past your cervix. Who know that you’re only able to whimper and mewl when the pain turns pleasurable, groans sounding from the back of their throat as their eyes fixed on their tip’s imprint on your belly. Who continue to jerk themselves off with your tight pussy, voice deep and raspy as they praise you for taking it all.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you ask them to be rough with you. Toss you around and slap you when you talk back. Who slam their hips into you with no care, telling you to shut up and take it or they’d leave you empty instead. Who choke you while fucking into you, digging their fingers into your cheeks to shut up your constant cries, scoffing and spitting in your face when your tears begin to fall.

Who bruise your pussy and your neck for days to come, purple and red littering your skin from you being used as nothing but a flesh light. Eventually passing out as orgasm after orgasm was forced from your swollen, aching and sensitive cunt.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who make sure to check up on you afterwards, not letting you sit or walk on your own because they know how sore they left you. Happy when you keep reassuring them that you wanted it, like the fact that they were so rough.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who smirk at the jealous looks you get when he walks hand in hand with you in public, people whispering to each other about the extreme height difference.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you wear their clothes, snuggling into the softness of his hoodies that swallow you whole. The pieces of fabric being sizes too large on your body.

𓆩♡𓆪 — Who love when you melt into their lap, muscular arms around your waist as they kiss down your neck softly. Whispering words of praises into your ear with his hot breath fanning against your skin.

“God i love you so much.” they smile, “My pretty little baby.”

[imaginedisish]

I'm Not In Love (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Okay, so this if my first fic in over a year, and it's also my first Wolverine fic...so please be kind. I'm just getting back into the groove. Expect it to possibly be a little rough. This is big time inspired by "I'm Not In Love" by 10cc. This fic is also thanks to a request I got from an anonymous user! Thanks for the idea, anon! Hope it's okay! Enjoy guys.

Summary: After harboring a crush on Logan for months, things finally come to a head while on an overnight mission.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. There's like no plot here just smut, Unprotected PIV sex (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), AFAB reader, Sizekink!(this was a specific size kink request, and so the reader is therefore described as being smaller than Logan/his shirt being big on her), cursing, praise kink, OOC!Logan (just putting this out there because I haven't seen the X-Men movies/read X-Men comics in forever and I'm probably giving him terms he doesn't use/having him act in ways he might not typically), feelings, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, one bed muahaha, probably grammar errors, think that's it?

Word Count: 3,162 I got carried away

He was driving you absolutely crazy. Logan. Logan fucking Howlett, with his cocksure attitude and self-satisfied smile. Maybe it’s the way he thinks he’s always right. Maybe it’s that stupid stubbornness, that prowl he does when he walks across a room to meet you. To mock you. His whole being towering over you—his musky, pine-scented cologne filling your lungs. He’s everywhere—and not just metaphorically—literally and physically. His giant frame shadows yours, and you can’t help but admit that there’s something about it…something about him. 

You want him. Bad. And although you won’t admit it, you’ve wanted him for months. And so, as of lately, he’s not so much a nuisance as much as he’s a distraction. 

You just had to be sent on this mission with Logan—this ridiculous two-day stake-out that you could have done on your own. You’re certainly strong enough; your telekinetic powers and regenerative abilities are enough to handle any situation. And yet, here you are, walking up to a motel with Logan fucking Howlett. 

His frame practically consumes yours as he stands behind you on the sidewalk. You swear you can feel the ghost of his fingertips against your waist, impatient and ready to guide you forward. You silently wish he would—wish he would grab your hips and take you down that alleyway and—

“You okay, darlin’?” His voice is gruff against the shell of your ear. “You seem awfully distracted.”

You swallow your embarrassment and hope he won’t pick up on how fast your heart is beating. “I’m fine, just tired,” you mutter, lying straight through your teeth. You can feel his smirk against the side of your head. He has to know what he’s doing. He has to know how much you want him. 

He chuckles and his chest vibrates against your back. “Too tired for the mission, bub? We’re almost at the motel, don’t worry.” The condescension in his voice is palpable. He knows exactly how to get under your skin. You’re putty in his hands. 

He steps out from behind you, and before you can mourn the loss of the contact, he grabs your hand and leads the way through the doors of the motel. “This okay?” He whispers in your ear, his massive hand giving your smaller one a squeeze. All you can manage is a nod as you approach the front desk. You know it’s just to support your cover—you and Logan are posing as a married couple—but you can’t help but hope it means more. You need it to mean more. 

God, you are so fucked. 

You’re so distracted thinking about how close Logan is to you that you almost miss the moment when the worker at the front desk says the only room left has just one bed. 

You crane your head to look up at Logan, who you find is already looking down at you. 

“That’s perfect,” he says, his eyes still on you. His stare doesn’t budge as the man behind the front desk slides the key towards the two of you. Logan grabs the keys and finally breaks the moment. His hand is still holding yours as he navigates the two of you toward your motel room. 

The room is…small. There’s one queen bed in the center, a bathroom on the other side of the room, and an old box television resting on an even older-looking oak dresser. On the bright side, the place appears to be clean. 

“I should freshen up,” you say, taking off your shoes. Your hand slips out of Logan’s as you pad over to the bathroom with your bag. 

The bathroom isn’t horrible either. Dated, but clean. You brush your teeth and wash your face before undressing and searching for your pajamas in your bag—which, naturally, you forgot to pack. 

“Ah fuck,” You mutter louder than you meant to. 

You hear Logan stirring in the other room, his footsteps quickly approaching the door. “You okay?” You can sense the concern in his voice, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Yeah, just forgot to pack something to wear to bed.” There’s more shuffling on the other side of the door. You hear Logan’s bag zip. 

“You want my shirt?” He asks, standing just outside the door now. 

“I’d feel bad, then you—” Your protests are ignored as he opens the door just enough to toss his Calgary Flames t-shirt onto the bathroom sink, closing it tightly once the shirt lands. You smirk as you walk over to the shirt and put it on. The hem lands at the middle of your thighs. Logan really is massive, you think to yourself. 

You take a deep breath, slowly twist the knob of the bathroom door, and head outside. Logan is lounging on the chair next to the dresser, his eyes on you as you place your bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

“Th-thanks for the…” You stutter, trailing off as you nod down to the shirt. 

Logan smirks as he pushes himself out of the chair and makes his way toward you. You think you see him take you in, look you up and down, but that can’t possibly be.

He shakes his head as he stops at your side. You swear you hear him mutter a low fuck under his breath. “You look good.” But he doesn’t stop for long. He pushes forward and into the bathroom. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he mumbles as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Let’s just share the bed,” you shout back, unsure of where the confidence to say that came from. But there’s no response, just the running of water from the sink. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for what feels like forever, but Logan doesn’t take long at all. After a few minutes, you hear the sink shut off and the door creek open. 

You shake your head as you stand from the bed to face him. “By the way, you’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridic—” You’re too stunned to say another word. You’ve seen Logan shirtless before, sure, but not like this. Not in just his boxers. Not in a room with him, alone, for an entire night. You need to relax, to calm down, but there’s nowhere else to go, and nothing else to look at. You know he can your heart beating out of your chest now. 

 He steps toward you, engulfing you with his presence. You stare up at him. “Am I really that scary?” He closes the distance between the two of you. 

You try to play dumb. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Every time I get close to you, that little heart of yours practically explodes.”

You swallow roughly. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about, Logan.” But your shaky voice gives it away. You know exactly what he means. 

His arms snake around your waist, resting on your lower back. “Yeah, you do, darlin’,” he says. “You afraid of me or something?” God he is so fucking cocky, you think to yourself. 

“’M’not afraid of you,” you whisper. “Could never be afraid of you.” 

He smiles and walks you to the edge of the bed, your knees threatening to buckle under the pressure. “What is it then, hm? You like how big I am? That it?” Your eyes frantically search his face for some sort of excuse, some sort of denial. But he can read you like a book. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” He’s towering over you, caging you in. 

“It’s more than that,” you admit. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh yeah? What?” He won’t let that be enough—you know he won’t. He’ll tease it out of you. His presence is dizzying and distracting. You’re not even sure you can form another complete sentence. 

“I-it’s just you,” you finally choke out. 

But it’s not enough for him. “What about me?”

Everything, you want to say. You want to tell him how you feel. “Logan, I…” But you can’t. I’m not in love, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of for months.  

“Go on, say it. What’s got you going?” He tightens his grip around your waist, his thumbs rubbing gently along your back. He leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead. “Use your words, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. He’s everything and he’s everywhere. He’s in your head and in your hands. You can smell the musk and the pine and a hint of mint and that extra thing that is just distinctly him. He’s warm and his breath ever-so-lightly tickles your ear as his forehead rests against yours. 

And then finally, it comes out.

“I want you, Lo.”

You open your eyes and immediately notice the change in his expression. That cocky grin is gone. He isn’t teasing anymore. This is something else. Want. No, stronger than that. Desire. Adoration. Longing. Like those four words undid something in him. Untangled some knot that had been there for far too long. Almost like he thought you maybe wouldn’t want this. That maybe someone wouldn’t want him. 

So, you say it again. “I want you, Logan.” 

He shuts his eyes. “Fuck.” 

And then he’s pushing you down onto the mattress. His lips find their way to yours, crashing like the world is about to end. You can feel his hunger, his desperation. He rests one hand next to your head for balance and slips his free hand underneath the shirt he lent you. He’s exploring the curves of your body, the dips and turns, eventually pulling the shirt up and over your head. 

He comes up for air as his fingers play with the clasp of your bra. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “This okay?” He asks, waiting for your approval. You nod and the hooks are immediately undone. You arch your back so he can slip the bra off. “Fuck, pretty girl,” he mumbles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

His hands find their way to your chest, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing you, pinching lightly. 

“Lo, please. Need you,” is all you can say. 

He trails a line of kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, the center of your chest, his mouth traveling achingly slowly until finally landing on one of your tits. He kisses your nipple before taking it into his mouth, biting lightly and licking the hurt away. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

He comes up for a moment. “Please what?” He asks before moving on to the other side. 

“Need you so bad,” You whimper. But he doesn’t stop. “N-need you to touch me.”

He pauses again. “Think I’m already doing that, darlin’. Gonna have to be more specific.” 

“Fuck me, please.”  

He shakes his head. “Wanna make you feel good first, pretty girl.” 

You sit up a bit, ready to protest. “But you are. You’re making me feel so—” You’re cut off by the sight of him staring up at you as he trails kisses down your stomach, stopping at the top of your panties. He grabs your hips and pushes you further into the center of the bed. His fingers slip under the hem of your panties, waiting for your approval. You nod, and he practically tears them right off you. 

Logan kisses the inside of your thigh, slowly charting a path toward your core, his thumb tracing circles on the other thigh. You’re already squirming under his touch. “Lo,” You whimper. “Please—Fuck!” Without warning, his tongue licks a long stripe up your folds to your clit. His lips lock around it, sucking softly, his fingers suddenly teasing your entrance before slipping a finger inside.

“So tight darlin’. Gonna feel so good,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his deep voice sending a jolt up your spine. 

He’s taking his time, tasting you, savoring you. His tongue laps at your cunt, licking slow circles as his finger pumps in and out. You need more.

“Lo,” You call out, your back arching in pleasure. But he doesn’t answer. He keeps going as if he’s gotten lost in you, as if there’s nothing that can possibly be said to bring him back. “Lo, please,” you moan again. 

He chuckles against your core. “Please what, pretty girl?” He mumbles. You can feel his smirk against you.

“M-more,” you beg. You can feel his smirk grow wider as his motions stall. “No don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

He looks up at you, his finger buried deep inside your cunt, his lips just inches from your clit. “Wanna take my time with you, darlin’.”

“Y-you c-can,” You stutter. “W-whatever you want. Just need more.”

“More?” He repeats, arrogantly tilting his head. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

“Yes, please.” But you know by the look in his eyes that you’re getting more than you bargained for. 

He adds another finger, pumping in and out faster than before. His lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly. It’s overwhelming, and you know he isn’t going to let up. His tongue draws circles around your core, flicking harshly before ruthlessly sucking again. You can feel a third finger prodding your entrance before slipping in and stretching you out. 

“This what you wanted?” He teases.

“Lo, I—” It’s too much, you can’t speak. 

“I’ve got you darlin’. I’m right here. You’re doing so good for me.” His words by themselves practically send you over the edge. 

“’M’so close Logan,” You whimper, spurring him on. His pace quickens; his circles become harder. You can feel your walls tightening around his fingers. 

“I know, pretty girl. Wanna feel you come on my fingers. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even speak anymore. All you can manage is a hum that passes for an affirmative. He pumps in and out of you, still alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. 

“Look so beautiful like this darlin’. So fucking beautiful,” He husks. And that’s all it takes to make that liquid heat, that tension building in the bottom of your stomach, cut like a knife, pouring out of you. Your vision blurs as you let yourself go. You chant his name like it’s a prayer, a spell, something otherworldly. He finally slows down, letting you ride out your orgasm. 

He pulls out and away from you, crawling up your body so that he’s on top of you. He’s absolutely huge; his arms rest next to your head, caging you in. “You alright sweetheart?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses a chaste kiss against your forehead. 

“Hm,” You hum. “Like you like this.”

There’s that cocky smirk again. “Like what?”

“O-on top of me,” You admit freely now. Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, but he quickly pins them above your head.

He smiles widely, his forehead coming down to rest on yours. You can feel his erection press against your core through his boxers. And—fuck—he’s big. “Gonna fuck you like this then, okay pretty girl?”

“P-please,” you stutter. 

He sits up, pulling his boxers down, revealing just how big he is. You swallow harshly, sitting up and watching as he casts his boxers to the side. He doesn’t let you watch for long. He pins you down again, one hand keeping your hands above your head and supporting his weight, while the other guides his cock to your entrance. His slides against your folds before slowly sinking inside you. You can’t help but arch your back to meet his chest. 

Everything is slow. He’s taking his time again, letting himself feel every inch of you, giving you the chance to adjust to the size of him. His free hand reaches in between your bodies and finds your clit, drawing slow, gentle circles. 

His forehead rests against yours as he thrusts into you. “Wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his thrusts growing faster. “Always wanted you, darlin’.” You can feel your heart burst in your chest as his lips meet yours. You can feel his hunger, his desire. 

“Wanted you too,” You whisper against his lips between kisses. 

His cock rubs against your walls, hitting that sweet spot every single time. He’s massive, stretching you out with each pump. He builds speed, his thrusts growing rougher as his fingers circle your clit faster. 

He whispers praises in your ear. “You feel so good, pretty girl. So fucking tight. Need you, darlin’. Always.” 

Always. 

It’s all too much. The words, the vulnerability, the feeling of him rutting into you with no end in sight. The promise of something else, something more. 

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, your walls tightening around him. It’s all so overwhelming. But if you’re being honest, you never want it to end. This. This feeling. Him inside you. Him around you. 

He curses under his breath, his thrusts becoming sloppier and faster as he chases his orgasm. “I know darlin’. Wanna feel you come on my cock.” He keeps his fingers steady on your clit, circling roughly, chasing your orgasm too. 

“Lo,” You mumble. “It’s so good. Y-you’re so good, so b-beautiful.” You’re a bumbling mess, but you want him to feel good too, to know what he’s doing to you, to know that he deserves this. Deserves to be wanted. 

You feel wetness on his cheeks as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Always wanted you,” he whispers again against the shell of your ear. “Always gonna want you.” 

The tension snaps, and you feel blaring white heat ripple through your body. Logan somehow buries himself deeper inside you as you come, your walls squeezing him tighter. 

“F-fuck,” he groans. “Where do you want—”

You cut him off this time. “Inside, please,” you pant. “Safe.” He curses under his breath and calls out your name as he fills you up. 

“So perfect,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect.”

His thrusts slow down as he finishes, and he slowly pulls out of you. But he doesn’t pull away. He keeps you close, moving you both towards the headboard. It takes a minute, but he manages to keep you close to his chest as he undoes the covers and gets you both inside them. 

Logan holds you tightly, peppering kisses against your temples every now and then. 

He’s the first to speak. “When I said always…” He trails off. You brace yourself for the worst. It was just the heat of the moment, bub. ‘M’sorry I said it. This shouldn’t happen again. It was a one-time thing and I—

“I meant it.”

You look up at him, eyes wide. He smiles. But it’s not that cocky smile, not that self-satisfied shit-eating grin. It’s that other thing again. Longing. 

“I meant it, too.” 

tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung

[anantaru]

・✶ ｡ synopsis — capitano loves teaching his darling how it feels to receive pleasure by a real man <3

warnings — inexperienced reader & naive ?? reader, petnames used: good girl, size kink/size difference, age gap ? (he's mentioned as being older), fem! reader <3

the thought of capitano teaching you about pleasure and passion was unbelievably hot to the point where you couldn't wait for it to happen again and again.

yes, he's older and more experienced than you, so of course you believe whatever he tells you and certainly won't question all of the depraved things he'd ask you to do, the harbinger obviously know better than you do, correct? these thoughts never failed to echo in your mind as you found herself alone with capitano, the strongest and mysterious harbinger whose very presence sent your mind in a daze.

he towers above your smaller frame with his dark eyes piercing through the dim light of the room, the silent command in his gaze strong enough to send an entire army to its defeat.

you couldn't lie to yourself, especially not when it came to him— and you felt a thrilling mix of fear and anticipation as he sank inside for the first time, making your pretty mouth part with a high gasp as he pressed himself through your tiny hole— first his thick tip splitting you open, then his inches rubbing through you, his movements deliberate and controlled yet never too much where it could hurt you.

although before he proceeds, his scarred hand reaches out to your face, gently tilting your chin up to meet his focused eyes.

"you must trust me, you're aware of that, correct?" capitano's deep voice resonates through you, each word a promise of what was about to come as he begins to thrust into you gently, his next following words accompanied by deep grunts and groans, "only then i will teach you on how to receive the pleasure only i can give you."

you nod immediately, eager to feel more, your heart pounding in your chest as his experience in the bedroom was certainly undeniable— not only that but it was sexy, hot as the flames of a pyro user as the authority in his voice made you ache to comply, to please him too with all you can.

the rush of excitement at the prospect of being guided by someone who knew exactly what he was doing was enthralling as your body showed him such, and if you weren't so cock drunk, you'd notice just how hard and messily you're squeezing him right now, your pussy drooling and messing him up until he knows he's yours.

his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "wrap your legs around me," and begins to instruct, his voice a low growl that made your back arch up immediately.

without hesitation you obey, your legs encircling his broad waist as the closeness was beginning to turn intoxicating, feeling like minutes before you could feel true solace as you felt the strength of his body pressing against yours the more he'd add on speed and strength.

"good girl, very good," he murmurs proudly, his breath hot against your skin as one of his hands slowly slide down your sweat covered stomach before reaching your clit, "now, relax, alright? let me show you how to feel every touch, every sensation of me,"

his hand moves with practiced ease on your clit as he pinches it, tugs and teased it, rubbing over the pearl and igniting a trail of fire wherever he applied pressure the most as your body was responding to his every touch, your senses heightened by the sheer dominance he exuded.

"focus on my touch," he commands softly, your hips curving upwards so that you'd be able to get his cock to sink even further inside of you.

"feel how your body responds to me,"

capitano fucks you with purpose, tugging your hips deeper onto his cock with every grind as your legs begin to shake, the blur in your eyes making it difficult for you to see anything more than his panting demeanor— not only that but his cock was huge, splitting you apart like he's meant to do that, as if there was nothing more than this moment in your life which was deemed important.

the warmth of his drags against your walls pooled into your veins and flesh as his cock fucks and fucks and lets you squeeze his inches in and out until you end up hiccuping of being so full and satiated, almost feeling stupid as he sent currents of electricity straight to your core.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[swytdoll]

☁︎ sex with exconvict!toji is more enthralling than it should be!

cw: fem!reader, breeding, virgin!reader, toji’s mean:( unprotected sex, spanking, size difference, dacryphilia.

they say the devil is a diminutive red man with a pitchfork, but that's not true. he's the eloquent charmer, the smooth talker who knows precisely how to infiltrate your psyche. he's the man with the handsome visage, the man with the enigmatic steel eyes that you could never quite decipher. the man with the scar on his lip that narrated a tale he'd never disclose, the man with the name toji zenin.

the evening he’d staggered through the wooden door, with nothing but the tattered clothes on his back, you knew he was trouble. you’d been perched on the plush, toffee-colored sofa, legs folded delicately underneath your strawberry-patterned dress, which complemented your sun-kissed skin. the room was dimly lit by the flickering light of the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

it startled you to see this burly man with a rugged appearance and piercing eyes bursting into your cozy home. toji zenin was a formidable presence, his tall frame cloaked in clothes that clung to his muscular build, hinting at the strength beneath. his hair was dark and unruly, framing a face that bore the weathered marks of a hard life. a scar ran across his lip, adding to the air of danger that surrounded him. his steel-gray eyes were cold and calculating, and when his gaze locked onto yours, it felt as though he could see right through you. the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down your spine, making your skin crawl with goosebumps.

you had prepared to scream, your heart pounding in your chest, until your father appeared behind him, his familiar, reassuring figure bringing a semblance of calm. “this is toji, darling… he’s going to be doing some work around the farm. just for a while.” your father's voice was steady, yet you couldn't shake off the unease that lingered in the air.

your father’s words hung in the air, but your eyes remained fixed on toji. you could see the weariness in his stance, the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if carrying an invisible weight. his hands were rough and calloused, evidence of a life filled with hard labor. the flickering firelight accentuated the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that made his expression even more inscrutable.

toji took a step forward, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor. the sound seemed to echo in the silent room, amplifying the tension. his gaze never wavered from you, and you felt a strange mix of fear and curiosity. there was something about him that was undeniably magnetic, despite the unease he stirred within you.

as he moved closer, you noticed the faint scent of earth and sweat clinging to him, a testament to his journey. he finally broke his gaze, glancing around the room before looking back at your father. “thank you for taking me in,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, yet carrying a hint of gratitude.

your father nodded, placing a reassuring hand on toji’s shoulder. “let’s get you settled in,” he said, guiding him towards the back of the house. you watched them disappear down the hallway, the sense of foreboding still lingering. you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble toji zenin had brought with him, and how it would change the quiet life you’d known on the farm.

two weeks had passed since toji zenin stepped through that intricately carved door, and things on the farm had shifted in ways you never expected. he’d settled into the routine of hard work, but there was something about him that still set your nerves on edge. the way he moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, the way he spoke just enough to keep you guessing—it all felt like he was hiding something.

you’d caught him a few times, deep in conversation with shady-looking visitors who pulled up in sleek cars that didn’t quite match the rustic charm of the farm. their hushed tones and furtive glances made your heart race. it was hard not to suspect that toji was tangled up in something dangerous, maybe even the mafia. the thought sent chills down your spine, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue he held over you.

one afternoon, you found yourself lingering by the barn, pretending to organize tools as you watched him work. his muscles flexed under the sun, glistening with sweat, and for a moment, you forgot your suspicions. but then you noticed the way he’d occasionally look over his shoulder, as if expecting someone. it was a small detail, but it made your stomach twist.

“hey,” he called out, breaking your thoughts. “you need help with that?” his voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it that made you wary. you hesitated, weighing your options. could you really trust him? or was he just a charming facade hiding something darker?

you hesitated for a moment, then decided to play it cool. “sure, if you don’t mind,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. you handed him a rake, your fingers brushing against his. the contact sent a jolt through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he didn’t notice.

toji took the rake and started working beside you, his movements fluid and efficient. he was shirtless, his toned muscles glistening under the sun. his light blue levi jeans hung low on his hips, and his black boots kicked up dust with every step. his hair was matted with sweat, and he occasionally wiped his hands on a damp cloth he kept tucked in his pocket. “you’ve been watching me,” he said casually, not looking up. it wasn’t a question, more like a statement of fact.

your heart skipped a beat. “just making sure you’re doing it right,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. but the way his lips curved into a faint smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“is that so?” he murmured, his eyes finally meeting yours. there was a glint in them, something that made your pulse quicken. “or are you wondering why someone like me ended up on a farm like this?”

you swallowed hard, caught off guard by his directness. “maybe a little of both,” you admitted, deciding there was no point in lying. “you don’t exactly fit the typical farmhand profile.” toji chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine. “life’s full of surprises,” he said cryptically. “sometimes, you end up in places you never expected.”

you wanted to press him for more, to dig into his past and uncover the truth. but before you could say anything, he straightened up, wiping sweat from his brow. “let’s finish up here,” he said, his tone signaling the end of the conversation. as you worked side by side, you couldn’t shake the feeling that toji zenin was a puzzle you were desperate to solve, even if it meant uncovering secrets that could change everything.

now toji would be lying if he said he hadn’t found interest in the farmer’s daughter. how could he not? pretty dresses, and an even prettier face. your eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, and every time you laughed, it was like a melody that stuck with him long after. despite his rough exterior and the secrets he carried, he couldn't help but be drawn to your warmth and genuine spirit.

he noticed the way you moved with grace, even when doing the simplest tasks around the farm. your hair, always perfectly styled, framed your face in a way that made you look like you belonged in a different world, far from the dirt and toil of the fields. you had a way of making everything seem brighter, and toji found himself looking forward to the moments when your paths would cross.

the kindness was another thing that caught him off guard. you treated everyone with a gentle touch and a kind word, even him, the stranger with a past he tried to hide. there was an innocence about you, but also a strength that he admired. it was a combination that made you irresistible, and toji knew he was in deeper than he wanted to admit.

you couldn’t exactly recall how’d you ended up squished between two stacks of hay as toji fucked you mercilessly. the thrusts he delivered nothing short of cruel, folding you further into the prickly stack as you whimper sweetly. he almost couldn’t believe it when you’d taken him all at once, his eyes fluttering shut as your pretty tight pussy clenched around him so delicately. “virgin huh? god, you’re so slutty. what would daddy think of you being stretched out like this, hmm?”

you can only whine at his words, voice long gone. “ah!” the feel of his large hands spreading you apart has you sobbing, “oh she’s wet. you’ve been thinking about this for a while huh? i bet you’ve touched yourself to the thought of me plenty of times. such a slut.” his words are mean, but the way he splits you is meaner. “mhmmm, oh my gosh!” stars kiss your eyelids as his throbbing tip presses repeatedly into that gummy spot inside of you.

it leaves you a moaning mess, the sounds of skin slapping filling the entire barn. the sound of it has your pussy fluttering and your head spinning.

your toes curl as he pounds into you relentlessly. you can barely form a thought, only able to focus on the feeling of him ruining you. your cunt squelches obscenely, juices dripping down your thigh. your breasts jiggle, the tips of them brushing the hay every so often.

and much as toji wants to be gentle with you, the way you cry for him, beg him to taint you has him gripping the fleshy meat of your hips. he doesn't care if you're bruised, he just needs to hear more. your voice is so delicate, yet so needy. the way your face scrunches up, your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure. it all goes straight to his cock. the way you're stretched around him is lewd, the way your tits jiggle is even more so.

"so pretty." his thumb rubs your clit gently, his voice a growl, "be good and cum for me baby. be a good girl and cum on this big dick, yeah?" you nod frantically, unable to speak as his thrusts become more and more punishing. his words a broken record in your head, good girl, good girl, good girl.

"gonna- gonna cum!" he grins, his hand rubbing your clit even faster. his own orgasm is fast approaching, the way you're squeezing his dick so tight.

"go ahead sweetheart, i'm close too, fuck." the hand rubbing your clit goes to your neck, gripping the tender flesh and forcing you to arch your back even more.

he's nearing the edge, the coil in his stomach becoming tighter and tighter. "cum with me. cum." it's the only warning you get before he's releasing, his thrusts still brutal as he empties himself inside of you. his thumb is still rubbing your clit, the overstimulation too much as you squirt around his pulsating cock. the sight of it has him grinning, and the fact that he’s the first one to make you squirt making him proud.

his thumb continues flicking your bud, slower this time, as he rides out his orgasm, the overstimulation too much as a small orgasm wracks through your body. then he’s spanking you. one hit. then two. then three. then five.

your ass stings, but you can only whine at his cruelty. he pulls out. it all happens so fast and he’s tucking himself back in and zipping his pants up. a grin is still on his face, a satisfied expression plastered across his features. "thanks for the fuck baby. see you around."

you watch his retreating figure, the door slamming shut behind him. you sigh, still facedown. the sound of his truck peeling off leaving a bad taste in your mouth. but the sticky cum that drips out of you as you struggle to clean yourself up has the butterflies in your stomach returning.

[leyavo]

Sergeant!reader that types up all their mission reports in a smaller font (definitely against the guidelines).

All so you can see John Price looking over his reading glasses at you. Those little rectangular lenses, thin metal frames perched halfway down his nose.

Sergeant!reader that almost passes out when lieutenant Riley asks to borrow the captain’s glasses. He’s squinting away, muttering how maybe the last explosive mission has messed with his vision.

Ghost telling you off for using the wrong sized font and stands over your shoulder whilst you type up the report again using the standard report template. Leaning over you, hand on top of yours as he guides the mouse across the table to change the page format.

“Sorry L.T”

“Yeah you will be, type up an apology whilst ya at it.”

Johnny MacTavish who every now and then types his reports up the same, sending you a knowing glance as the captain pushes his glasses up. Also buys himself some fake ones to tease you with.

Kyle that has perfect vision, completely oblivious to why you’re forever re-typing your reports and why Johnny’s now wearing glasses without lenses. Pokes him in the eye to make a point of nothing being in the frames.

[bcksbarnes]

between a dream

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 2.2K

read the: next chapter

a/n: based this on request from anonymous!

The Winter Solider was not a man. He was not capable of forming his own thoughts or having feelings. He was a killing machine that was able to be turned on and off at any moment, bringing only death and destruction wherever he went. That was until he heard one word, one name. Bucky. That moment altered something in his brain, a voice in the back of his head coming to life. It sounded like his own. The Winter Solider was not sure he had ever heard his own voice in his head before.  

He had learned very quickly, and against his will, that he was once a man named James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. That he used to be a solider from a different time. That he had a life that was taken away from him. That he has been used as a weapon. And that he should be dead.  

The man he had once thought was his target, Steve Rogers, was actually his friend in the life he no longer knew. The one he couldn’t remember.  

And now as he sat in this tower over looking the city skyline, all he could think about was that there was no one to be trusted. Sure, maybe Steve, but he wasn’t even in the right frame of mind to distinguish if this was still some trap – some lie.  

“He’s been sitting like that for two days.” Sam says as you and Steve approach. Everyone has been taking turns keeping watch of him since he and Steve returned from their fight near the river. First Nat, then Sam, now it would be your turn. “He hasn’t eaten or slept.”  

“I don’t blame him.” You mumble as your arms cross over your chest, watching the back of Bucky's head. “He just found out his entire life has been a lie. He’s been used a killing machine for the last 70 years.” You try to keep your voice low so that he can’t hear you, but you watch as he tilts his head back and forth a bit, the memories filling his mind.  

“Let me go introduce you.” Steve’s voice is soft, as he places a hand on your elbow guiding you over to where Bucky was sitting. Once you approach his chair, you take a step back keeping your distance while Steve goes to speak to him.  

“Hey, buck.” He says, Bucky wincing a bit at the name, obviously not used to it yet. “Sam’s going to be heading out of here in a few minutes. I wanted to introduce you to another team member.”  

Bucky's head turns to the side to look at Steve, his eyes raking over the man. You can tell he’s trying to figure out if Steve in that moment is a threat to him, his body rigid as he asses. You can’t imagine the amount of stress he’s under, how his brain must be on fire with trying to discern between realities.  

He soon looks over at you, his stare is hard as the two of you make eye contact. You’re not scared of him, and you know you could disarm him in a moment despite the difference in size between the two of you, but there’s something in his gaze that feels so disconnected from the world – from emotion. Steve introduces you, saying your name a few times as he gives Bucky the Same rundown as he had with both Natasha and Sam, trying to reiterate that they were here to help – not hurt.  

Bucky doesn’t respond, he didn’t the first two times either, his gaze moves back over to Steve and he continues to frown, wanting to be done with this conversation, wishing the screaming in his head would stop.  

Once Steve wraps up his rundown he looks over at you, giving a firm nod before he walks out of the room, beginning your time on the clock to keep watch of this man, while they figure out how best to move forward.  

Nothing really happens for the first few hours, Bucky shifts slightly in his chair a few times, you lead him to the bathroom once or twice, and your phone buzzes with some texts from Steve checking in, but overall nothing worth noting.  

You can see the dark circles under Bucky's eyes as you sit a few seats away from him. You feel bad for him to some extent. He had done bad things, sure, but you couldn’t imagine the pain he was going through. The sun begins to set and you hear a loud sigh leave his lips, it makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.  

He hasn’t eaten.  

Sam’s voice rings through your head and you realize it’s probably best to get Bucky some food.  

“Hey.” You say, getting his attention, his head slowly rolling to the side to look at you. “What do you want to eat?”  

Bucky's eyes graze over you for a moment, you can see him making a mental note that you are a threat to him and that no one right now is safe. He makes no attempts to respond before he rolls his head back to continue staring into space.  

“O...Kay.” You mumble to yourself, taking out your phone and making a few arrangements to have food sent up for him.  

It doesn’t take long for someone to arrive, pushing a cart filled with food, you jump off your chair to thank them before grabbing the plate and moving it over to a table where Bucky could sit.  

You don’t realize he’s watching you until you turn back around, your head nodding over to the table and he stands. He’s much taller than you had anticipated, your eyes taking in the size of him as his metal arm shines brightly even with the dim lights in the tower. He sits down and waits for you to sit across from him.  

“I guess they sent over ...” you eye his plate for a moment. “Salmon.” The face you make after the word is one of pure disgust – a food you hated with every fiber of your being, you didn’t envy that he had to eat it.  

But, he makes no attempts to reach for his fork or knife, his hands curled into fists as they rest at the table, his eyes watching you intently.  

“Do you not like salmon?” You ask, trying to coax even an answer out of him, but he doesn’t budge. It takes you a moment before you put two and two together – the most obvious reason of all as to why he’s not eating. “Steve wouldn’t poison you.”  

He grunts in response, his fists tightening a bit as his eyes move down to the food then back up at you. It’s hard to understand what could possibly be going through his mind, what horrors he’s had to endure and the false reality that he was placed into for all those years.  

“Steve wouldn’t poison you, Bucky.” You say again, trying to reiterate the point as much as you possibly could, your words holding so much weight to anyone but it falls flat with him.  

“I don’t know Steve.” His words send a chill through your spine, his voice is deep and hallow, lacking any emotion, but, to be fair, he’s not wrong. “I don’t know you.”  

“Fine. I’ll prove it to you then.” Your words come out faster than your brain has a chance to stop you. Standing up from your seat, your chair pushing back as you do so, you lean across and grab his fork, hands shaking slightly as you grab a piece of the salmon.  

You regret doing it almost immediately, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as he watches you bring the fork to your mouth. It’s fishy and pink and the bile is rising in your throat just at the smell of it, but you know you have to do this. To earn some sort of trust. If Steve was here, he’d do anything to prove to Bucky, so you had to show him you were just as capable of proving this as well.  

Taking the bite your body wants to reject it almost immediately as you chew, but you manage to get it down, taking a long sip of your water once it’s been swallowed to try and get the taste out of your mouth. Horrible. Terrible. Disgusting. If he didn’t eat the salmon now, then you’d definitely kill him.  

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as stare at each other. Bucky moves his hand, grabbing his fork back from you and moving to take a bite of the food, having an easier time choking it down than you do.  

There it was. Something. Maybe not trust yet, maybe just a spark of the idea.  

You sit down across from him again, shaking your head as you try not to imagine eating anymore of the food, the idea of it sending a shiver down your spine as you continue to watch silently.  

“Thanks.” He manages to say between bites, his eyes on the food in front of him.  

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” You quip back, your voice flat before letting out a dry cough.  

It’s once he’s finished with his food that he pushes his body back against the chair, sinking into it slightly, his flesh and metal hand grip the arms tightly. The tension in the room is palpable at this point and you know Bucky can feel it too.  

“How long have you known Steve?” His voice is gruff as it comes out, and you’re surprised he’s willing to talk to you, let alone ask questions.  

“Two years.” You respond. “Since they found him in the ice.” You remember that day vividly, watching as they brought him in for evaluation, making their plans to slowly acclimate him to the real world, which in true Steve rogers fashion did not work. You had been assigned to his team ever since. “I was one of his first recruits on the team. Sam was next, Nat is just a friend.”  

Bucky nods at that, his long hair falling in front of his face as he takes in your words.  

“Has he always been ...” he looks over in the direction of the door that Steve had walked out of hours ago. “Like that ?”  

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head a bit at his question – you knew exactly what he was talking about. Steve, while he had everyone’s best interest in mind, was a bit overbearing, always over explaining everything and a bit ... self absorbed. It was the hero complex.  

“Yes.” You nod, a small smirk on your face as your gaze catches Bucky's again. His eyes are tired, not as guarded as they were a few minutes ago – softer. “He means well, but he can be a little ...” you trail off, but Bucky nods his head understanding where that was going.  

Bucky lets out a long sigh, his eyes closing for a moment as you can see his hands gripping the chair tighter, the knuckles on his flesh hand white.  

“I hate that he looks at me like that.” He admits through gritted teeth. “Like i’m supposed to just remember everything that happened. There’s ... bits and pieces, but i don’t know him. I barely remember myself. He doesn’t understand.”  

“He doesn’t expect you to remember anything.” You add in after a few long moments of silence. “It might feel like he does, but he doesn’t. He’s just excited to have his friend back.” Your eyes trail over his face. “A version of his friend.”  

Bucky's grip loosens on the chair, a deep breath leaving his nostrils as he moves to stand from the table. You watch as he makes his way back to where he was sitting before, his head lolling back onto the chair as he stares up at the ceiling.  

And he stays like that for the remainder of the night. His shoulders aren’t as tense as when you had first arrived, he turns to look at you when you ask him a question and he even manages to gruff out an answer.  

By the time morning comes, Steve is there bright and early, ready to release you of your duties as it was now his turn to keep watch over Bucky.  

“Hey.” He says, startling you a bit as you and Bucky both turn to look at him. “How’d it go?”  

“Good.” You nod, standing up and straightening your posture. “He ate late last night, he’s feeling a bit ... overwhelmed.” You keep your voice low so Bucky couldn’t hear you. “Give him some space. Don’t ask so many questions.”  

You felt suddenly protective over Bucky, the need to make sure he felt comfortable as he navigated his way through this new beginning was blooming in your chest. And as you turn around to see him one last time, you swear you seem some sadness in his eyes. You pat Steve on the shoulder as you walk past him, finally being relieved of your time. Though you’d never admit out loud you’d be counting down the hours until it was your turn on watch Bucky again.

[anhedoniawrites]

just feeling my way back to you.

gif by @reidgif

lovers - anna of the north

part one!

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

summary: the two youngest BAU agents explore their wants & needs together.

genre: smut🔥

word count: 5.2k

warnings: 18+, NSFW, MDNI! no use of y/n, proofread, size difference, nipple play, oral (f receiving, only if you squint), fingering (f receiving), unprotected p in v, cream pie, aftercare.

masterlist!

Spencer sat beside you, his gaze drifting over to you in the quiet of his apartment. You took slow, thoughtful sips of your wine, your eyes wandering around the space as if you were trying to memorise every corner of it. You looked at the bookshelves stacked with well-worn novels, the photographs framed on the walls that captured moments from Spencer’s life—some familiar, some foreign—and the odd assortment of trinkets and souvenirs scattered across the surfaces. It was as though you were taking the time to piece together who he was, each object a small window into his world.

The way you moved—so effortlessly, so naturally—caught Spencer off guard. You weren’t just occupying the space; you were making it your own, adding a layer of comfort to a place that had always felt a little disordered and incomplete to him. It was a quality he found magnetic, the way you seemed to settle into any space with such ease, as if you could make anywhere feel like home.

Without realising it, he found himself staring, lost in the soft curve of your profile, the way your fingers delicately held the glass, and the gentle way your eyes traced the walls. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice when your gaze shifted to meet his.

Your brow arched slightly, and you set your glass down with a soft clink, the sound breaking the quiet. “What are you looking at?” Your voice was light, and playful, but there was a warmth in your eyes that made Spencer’s heart skip a beat.

He blinked, startled, but a soft chuckle escaped his lips, his usual self-consciousness melting away in the moment. “You’re just captivating,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, the sincerity in his words impossible to hide.

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and without thinking, he reached out. His fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, the touch gentle, lingering for a second longer than he intended. It wasn’t a grand gesture—just a simple act of intimacy—but it felt monumental. There was something about the softness of the moment that made everything else fade away.

Spencer smiled softly, his heart fluttering in his chest at the way you looked at him. The warmth in your eyes made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t quite experienced before. Your breath caught for a brief moment, your cheeks flushing with a delicate blush as their eyes locked, and then, without another word, you leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, almost tentative, as if neither of them wanted to break the fragile intimacy they’d built. But the softness of it, the way your lips met his with such quiet certainty, deepened the moment in a way words never could. Spencer’s breath caught, his pulse quickening, as his hand instinctively found its way to your face, his thumb gently brushing the side of your cheek.

For a moment, time seemed to slow, the world outside of the apartment fading away. It was just the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of the kiss, the tenderness between them undeniable. The soft pressure of your lips against his felt like the culmination of everything that had been building throughout the night—the laughter, the quiet moments, the connection. It was all there, in the simple act of their kiss.

Their kiss deepened, a fiery hunger igniting between them that neither could deny. The heat of the moment consumed them as Spencer got up from the couch and walked backward, guiding them toward his bedroom without breaking contact. Their lips moved fervently, breaths mingling as they stumbled, almost losing their balance. Your hands were insistent, slipping under the fabric of his jacket and pushing it from his shoulders.

“Please,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft but urgent. Your nimble fingers began undoing the buttons of his shirt, one by one, until the fabric parted to reveal his chest.

When the back of Spencer’s legs hit the bed, he sat down abruptly, his knees spreading to invite you to stand between them. You stepped closer, your arms draping over his shoulders, your touch warm and possessive. His shirt hung open, exposing a lean, lightly toned frame—exactly the way you liked. Your eyes roamed over him with unspoken appreciation. Spencer’s hands found your upper waist, his palms gliding down your sides to your hips, even as the fabric of your dress teased the skin beneath. Every curve, every line of your body seemed to captivate him.

“You can take it off,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. Your thumb brushed along his jawline, the small motion grounding them both in the intimacy of the moment. Spencer swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded. Slowly, almost torturously, his hands travelled lower, skimming the soft material of your dress until he reached the hem. He rose to his full height, towering over you, and you instinctively lifted your arms above your head, allowing him to lift the dress from your body.

The fabric slipped away, revealing your bare skin to the dim light of the room. Your beauty took his breath away. For a moment, he held the dress in his hands, his gaze locking with yours before he let it fall to the floor at their feet. Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, but you stood steady, letting him drink you in.

“You’re stunning,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. He reached out, his hands settling on your waist again as he pulled you closer. Gently, sitting back down he leaned forward, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your stomach in a kiss so tender it sent shivers up your spine.

Spencer’s lips began to wander, trailing kisses across your abdomen. Each one was deliberate, an unspoken promise of adoration. When his mouth brushed against your hip, you jolted slightly, a giggle escaping your lips before you could stop it.

“That tickles,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and delight.

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good to know,” he said, his voice laced with warmth. Then, with a soft chuckle, he pressed another kiss to the same spot, revelling in the way your body reacted to him.

Each kiss was a worshipful touch, his lips moving with a mixture of restraint and longing as if he wanted to memorise every inch of you. For the first time, you felt completely and utterly seen, cherished in a way that made your heart ache with the intensity of it.

“What do you want, baby?” Spencer murmured, his voice a husky whisper against your skin as he trailed a series of tender kisses along your collarbone, your shoulders, and down your arms. His lips were soft yet insistent, his touch a silent promise of his devotion. Every movement, every kiss, spoke volumes about how much he adored you—how much he cherished every moment they spent together.

“I want you,” you whispered back, your voice breathy but resolute, as your hands moved to the collar of his shirt. Your fingers trembled slightly, but you didn’t falter, eager to rid him of the barriers between them. The shirt slid off his shoulders with ease, exposing his lean, toned chest to your hungry gaze. You bit your lip softly, your teeth grazing the tender flesh, and Spencer’s eyes darkened at the sight.

He reached out, brushing his thumb gently over your bottom lip, his touch both possessive and reverent. “Don’t do that, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice, his thumb lingering for a moment before he cupped your face, his palm warm against your cheek.

“Please, Spence,” you murmured, your voice trembling with need. Your knees hit the floor as you lowered yourself in front of him, your eyes locking onto his with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. You were at eye level with his belt now, your fingers already reaching for the buckle, your gaze seeking his approval.

His breath hitched, his resolve wavering for the briefest moment, but he quickly regained control. Spencer nodded, his jaw tightening as he watched you deftly unfasten his belt, your fingers brushing against him as you worked. The sound of his zipper being undone filled the room, and his slacks pooled at his feet, springing free his stiff erection.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and expectant, your lips parted slightly. Your hands hovered over the waistband of his boxers, but before you could go further, his large hands gently wrapped around your wrists, stopping you.

“No, baby,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His gaze softened as he looked down at you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Tonight is about you. I’m going to take care of you.”

Before you could protest, he leaned down, his hands sliding beneath your arms as he helped you to your feet. His lips found yours in a kiss that was both slow and all-consuming, a kiss that left you breathless as he guided you backward toward the bed.

Your back met the soft mattress, and he eased you down, his hands gentle yet commanding as he positioned you just how he wanted. You lay beneath him, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, your body clad in nothing but delicate lace that did little to conceal your curves.

Spencer stood above you for a moment, taking you in. The way your hair fanned out across the pillow, the way your skin seemed to glow in the soft light of the room, the way you looked at him as if he were the only thing you needed.

Spencer shifted beside you on the bed, his breath warm against your skin as he lowered himself to your knee. His lips pressed delicate, lingering kisses along the curve of your leg, trailing upward with unhurried devotion. Each touch sent a shiver cascading through your body, anticipation pooling in the pit of your stomach.

When he reached the edge of your bralette, his kisses faltered for a moment, and he glanced up, catching your gaze. Your back arched instinctively as if your body was urging you forward, your fingers fumbling behind you to unclip the fabric that kept your textured. The moment the tension snapped free, your bralette slid off your shoulders, leaving you exposed.

Spencer stilled. His wide, hazel eyes roamed over you, his breath catching as though the sight of you had stolen every coherent thought. You were radiant—utterly captivating—and for a brief moment, he felt foolish just laying there, staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice soft, barely above a whisper, but filled with reverence. His hands hovered hesitantly, his gaze locking onto yours with a pleading vulnerability that made your heart race. You could see him wrestling with himself, clinging desperately to the fraying edges of his self-control.

Your lips parted, and you nodded, the simple gesture granting him permission.

He exhaled slowly, his hands finding your skin with a gentleness that made your breath hitch. His fingers skimmed the swell of your breast before settling at your peak. He pinched softly, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, drawing out the most delicious tension before giving a subtle upward tug. When he finally released, the sensation left you trembling, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

The sound drove him mad, his restraint slipping with every second. Spencer leaned closer, brushing his lips against the column of your neck as his hands continued their exploration, worshipping every inch of you.

You were utterly undone, your head falling back against the pillow as his touch turned you into a mess of quiet gasps and whispered pleas, each sound echoing like a symphony in his ears.

“More. Please, Spence,” you whispered into his ear, your voice trembling with need. Your head rested on his shoulder, your breath warm against his skin. His fingers continued their slow, deliberate pinching at your nipples, drawing soft gasps from your lips.

With his free hand, Spencer moved down, hesitating at the waistband of your underwear. He paused, his fingers ghosting over the fabric as his eyes searched yours for the permission he craved more than anything.

Your response was a broken moan, a breathless, “Mm-hm,” followed by a shaky nod. It was all he needed. Carefully, he slipped his hand beneath the elastic, his fingertips brushing against the soft, slick heat of your folds. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily at the sensation.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with adoration. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded eagerly, your body arching toward his touch, silently pleading for more.

Spencer’s movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every moment of this intimacy. Slowly, he ran his fingers along your slit, collecting your arousal before letting one finger dip inside you. The sensation made you gasp, your body tightening around him instantly. You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, soft and unrestrained.

He began to move his finger in and out of your at an achingly slow pace, his touch gentle yet deliberate. Your head fell back against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as a quiet plea slipped from your lips. “More. Please.”

Obliging your, Spencer carefully added a second finger, easing your open with patience and care. You let out a breathless whimper, your hips rolling instinctively to meet his hand. It wasn’t greedy—it was perfect. He set a steady, measured rhythm, his fingers curling slightly to brush against your sweet spot with every stroke.

As he worked you, his palm pressed against your clit, adding a delicious friction that had your thighs trembling. You clenched around his fingers, your breathing growing shallow, your body teetering on the edge of control.

“Right there,” you gasped, your voice cracking with need. Your high was building rapidly, a fire igniting deep in your stomach, threatening to consume you whole.

Spencer’s eyes never left your face, his heart racing at the sight of you coming undone in his arms. He continued his rhythm, his touch unrelenting but tender, wanting nothing more than to give you everything you needed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent, as if the words themselves were a prayer.

Your body tensed, your hips lifting off the bed as your climax overtook you, a shuddering cry falling from your lips. Spencer held you through it, his fingers coaxing you through the waves of your release, his free hand brushing soothingly along your side.

As you came down, your body relaxed against him, your head nestled into the crook of his neck. “I’ve got you,” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Spencer shifted from behind you with tender care that made your chest tighten. His movements were deliberate, his gaze soft as he positioned himself above you in missionary. His hands gently brushed over your thighs, his voice low and soothing.

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone laced with both reverence and restraint.

Still basking in the haze of your orgasm, you nodded, your mind too clouded to form words. The intensity of what you had just felt lingered in your body, leaving you breathless and pliant beneath him. You didn’t understand why it had affected you so deeply—maybe it was because it was Spencer who had given it to you. Whatever the reason, it had felt better than anything you’d experienced before, though you weren’t about to tell him that. His ego didn’t need any more fuel tonight.

Spencer hooked his fingers beneath the elastic of your panties, pausing as his eyes flicked to yours. “I need you to lift your hips for me, darling,” he murmured.

Your body responded instinctively, your hips rising just enough for him to slide the fabric down your legs. The cool air brushed against your skin as the damp material was removed, and you felt an odd relief to be rid of it. You barely noticed Spencer had already used his boxers until your eyes flicked downward.

You froze for a moment, your breath hitching. You’d had a rough idea of his size when you unzipped his pants earlier, but seeing him now left you speechless. He was bigger than you’d expected—not that you were complaining.

Spencer must have caught the flicker of surprise in your eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved back up your body, his touch reverent as he gently parted your legs. His lips found your clit in a soft, feather-light kiss, and you couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, a quiet gasp falling from your lips.

“Do you have a condom?” he asked, his voice slightly hoarse as he positioned himself above your, their faces now inches apart. His gaze searched yours, filled with both desire and care.

“I’m on the pill,” you whispered, your cheeks flushing as a wave of shyness overtook you. You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so bashful when Spencer had grown so confident, but you found yourself enjoying the new dynamic.

His brow furrowed slightly, his fingers reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb brushed over your cheek before trailing down to your lips, his touch both calming and electric. “You’re sure, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

You could hear the sincerity in his question. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you—he just wanted to be absolutely certain you were comfortable with what they were about to share.

Looking into his eyes, you saw nothing but tenderness and a quiet devotion that made your heartache. Leaning up, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, your hand resting lightly against his cheek as you nodded.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the butterflies swirling in your stomach.

Spencer exhaled slowly, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “Okay,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile before he kissed you again, his movements deliberate and full of unspoken promises.

“It might hurt a little as I’m going in, okay?” Spencer murmured, his voice soft and full of care. His body was pressed against yours, their chests flush, and his forehead rested lightly against your breast as he glanced down to line himself up. He moved with the kind of precision and gentleness that made your heartache, as if every movement was a testament to how much he cherished you.

You nodded, your breaths steadying as you braced yourself for the discomfort you expected. Your hands rested lightly on his shoulders, your fingers brushing against his skin in a silent reassurance. You trusted him completely.

When he finally began to press into you, it wasn’t as bad as you had anticipated. There was a pinch—a sharp but fleeting sting—but it faded quickly, leaving only a sensation of fullness that sent a shiver through your body. Spencer stopped the moment he was partially inside, his brow furrowing as he glanced up at you.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, surprised by how gentle it all felt. “That was it?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Spencer chuckled softly, his forehead lifting from your skin so his eyes could meet yours. The vulnerability in his gaze made your heart flutter. “Half-ish,” he replied with a playful smirk.

Your eyes widened at his words, and he couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound low and warm in his chest. “Only half?” you echoed, incredulous.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he explained, his tone patient and soothing.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, giving him a look he knew all too well—a look that said, You should know better than to underestimate me. As if to prove your point, you spoke the exact words he expected. “I would tell you if I needed you to stop.”

He smiled, his hand brushing tenderly against your cheek. “I know,” he said softly, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to your lips. “Okay, sweetheart. Just let me know if it’s too much.”

With that, he slowly pushed the rest of the way in, his movements careful and measured. Your body tensed for a moment, adjusting to the stretch, and you bit your lip to stifle a gasp. Spencer paused again, giving you time to acclimate.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to the fullness. You hated to admit it, but he had been right—it was almost overwhelming. A soft, breathless moan escaped your lips, and you felt your nails drag against his skin as you gripped him tighter, the pressure grounding you.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, his voice thick with concern, his gaze searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

You nodded, your lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “I’m okay,” you whispered. “You feel... really good.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips slow and deliberate against yours. The kiss deepened as he began to move, his hips rocking gently against yours, keeping his pace slow and steady.

Your breath hitched with every deliberate movement, the pleasure surging through you like a wave, steady and unrelenting. Each thrust was slow, measured, as if he were savouring every moment, every reaction he drew from you. It wasn’t rushed; it wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate, a dance that spoke of connection, trust, and a shared yearning.

Your body arched into his, your hands sliding over the taut muscles of his back. Your nails dug in lightly, not in pain but in a desperate attempt to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Spencer leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. The words were soft, almost vulnerable, as though he were baring his soul in those few syllables. They wrapped around your heart, filling you with a warmth that was just as intense as the fire burning between them.

Your response was a breathless moan, your lips parting as your head tilted back against the pillow. His lips found the curve of your neck, brushing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Each kiss was deliberate, lingering, as though he wanted to imprint himself on you.

The rhythm they created together was almost hypnotic, their bodies moving in perfect sync, a harmony that felt instinctual, and natural. His hips pressed against yours with each deliberate thrust, slow and deep, leaving you gasping for air. Your body responded to him as if it had been made for this, every nerve alive, every inch of your attuned to him.

“Spencer,” you breathed, your voice trembling with emotion, with need. Your hands slipped into his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel the warmth of his body pressed fully against yours. He responded with a kiss that was both tender and consuming, his lips capturing yours in a way that made the world fade away.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring your curves with a reverence that made you feel utterly adored. His fingers traced patterns along your sides, his touch firm yet gentle, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He held you as though you were precious, as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice steady and soothing, grounding you in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure building between them. The sincerity in his words brought a lump to your throat, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and desire that threatened to consume you.

The intensity between them grew with each slow, deliberate thrust, their movements a testament to the unspoken connection they shared. Your breathing quickened, your chest rising and falling as you clung to him, your body trembling beneath his. The pleasure was a slow burn, building gradually, each wave more intense than the last, until it felt like you were teetering on the edge of something vast and all-encompassing.

Spencer’s own breathing had grown heavier, his control slipping as he lost himself in you. His hands tightened on your hips, anchoring them together as he pressed deeper, his forehead resting against yours. Their eyes met, and in that moment, everything else ceased to exist.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion. His lips brushed yours in a kiss that was almost unbearably tender, a stark contrast to the heat simmering between them.

The pleasure built to a crescendo, their bodies moving together in perfect unison, every touch, every kiss, every whispered word driving them closer to the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your back arching as your body surrendered completely to him.

“Spencer,” you gasped, your voice trembling, your body taut with anticipation.

“I’m right here,” he reassured you, his voice steady despite the strain in it, his movements never faltering.

The tension between them snapped like a string pulled too tight, pleasure crashing over you in a wave so intense it left you trembling. A cry escaped your lips, your body shaking as you clung to him, your nails raking down his back as you were consumed by the sensation.

Spencer followed a heartbeat later, his movements faltering as he let go, a low groan escaping him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His arms tightened around you, holding you close as they rode out the waves together, their bodies trembling in the aftermath.

They collapsed against each other, breathless and sated, their hearts pounding in unison. Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers brushing stray strands of hair from your face.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice soft, his lips curving into a small, contented smile.

You smiled back, your chest still heaving as you nestled closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder. In that moment, wrapped in his arms, you felt safe, cherished, and completely, undeniably his.

After a peaceful moment of rest, Spencer stirred, shifting carefully as he climbed out of bed. The warm sheets clung to him, but his attention wasn’t on himself—it was on you. He moved quietly, trying not to disturb you too much, but the shift in weight made you protest softly.

“Spence, no. What are you doing?” you murmured, your voice laced with sleep and the reluctance to lose his warmth.

He bent down beside you, his soft, intelligent eyes meeting yours as his hand cupped your cheek. His fingers gently brushed away a few stray strands of hair that had fallen across your face, revealing your delicate features. His voice was tender, a soothing balm in the quiet room. “You have to pee, or else you’ll get a UTI,” he said softly, his tone both practical and caring.

You groaned, turning your head away from him, your body heavy with exhaustion and unwillingness. “I don’t want to move,” you mumbled, burying your face into the pillow.

Spencer, ever patient, leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “If you pee, I’ll carry you,” he offered with a knowing smile. It wasn’t the first time he’d used this bribe, and he knew it would work.

Your lips quirked up into a small smile despite yourself, your facial muscles betraying your resolve. He saw it and smirked in return, victorious before you even gave in.

Finally, you turned back to face him, raising your arms in surrender, signalling for him to carry you. “Fine,” you said, your voice playfully exasperated.

Bending down, he slid his arms under you, lifting you effortlessly in a bridal-style hold. Your head rested against his chest as he carried you to the bathroom, his steps careful and deliberate, ensuring you felt secure in his arms. When they reached the bathroom, he set you down gently on the cool surface of the toilet seat.

“I’m just going to grab you a shirt to sleep in, okay?” he murmured, brushing a kiss against your forehead before stepping out to give you some privacy.

You nodded softly, watching him leave with a small, sleepy smile. Left alone, you did your business, moving slowly and carefully, still basking in the warmth of his touch and the care in his voice.

Moments later, Spencer returned with a spare pair of boxers and one of his oversized shirts, the fabric worn and soft. “You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and comforting as he approached you.

You nodded again, a droopy smile tugging at your lips. Your eyes followed him as he moved to the sink, filling it with warm water. He grabbed a clean washcloth, soaking it and wringing out the excess water with precision.

“I need you to stand up for me, okay?” he said gently, his hands extended toward you.

With his help, you stood slowly, leaning on him slightly as your body protested the movement. He supported you easily, one hand steadying your waist as he brought you closer. You looked down at him with a soft expression as he knelt before you, his every movement careful and deliberate.

Guiding your legs apart just slightly, he took the damp washcloth and brought it to your skin, his touch feather-light as he began to clean you. The warmth of the cloth combined with his gentleness sent a wave of comfort through you, even as you winced slightly at the tenderness.

You hissed softly, your body still sensitive. “I know,” he murmured, his voice filled with apology. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I promise I’m almost done.”

To emphasize his words, Spencer leaned forward, his lips brushing against your stomach in a soft, tender kiss. The gesture was full of care and regret, a silent apology that made your heart swell. You glanced down at him, your fingers instinctively moving to run through his hair as he lingered there for a moment.

“You’re too good to me,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

His lips curved into a small smile against your skin before he straightened, his hands moving with the same deliberate care as he finished cleaning you. When he was done, he leaned back slightly, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he looked up at you. “There,” he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “All done.”

He helped you into the boxers and shirt, his hands steady as he guided your arms through the sleeves and adjusted the hem. “You’re so good to me,” you repeated, your voice filled with affection as you looked at him.

He smiled, his expression tender as he cupped your face again. “You deserve nothing less,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before scooping your back into his arms.

Spencer carried you back to bed, settling you beneath the covers and tucking you in before sliding in beside you. You curled into him instinctively, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around you.

“Goodnight, Spence,” you murmured sleepily, your voice soft and content.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair as he held you close.

In his arms, you felt safe, loved, and cherished—a feeling you knew you could get used to.

thank you for reading!

please like & reblog if you enjoyed!

masterlist!

taglist: @pleasantwitchgarden

[purple-obsidian]

unconditional (18+, red hood jason todd x fem reader) wc 1.5k

⭓ this post contains explicit sexual content and is not suitable for minors. reader is afab and described as shorter than jason. established relationship. if you sense a theme in my writing, what can i say. i'm a sucker for sleepy sex. dedicated to @janybabyy who is always down to proofread my work at a moments notice.

You awaken with a start, the familiar creek of your front door closing, pulling you from your uncomfortable half-slumber.

The hall light flickers on, casting a tall, dark shadow over your perch on the oversized recliner in your shared living room.

“You actually used the door.” You mumble sarcastically, recognizing the hulking frame as your boyfriend.

Your greeting is reciprocated by a raspy exhale, followed by a heavy footstep, then another. “You should be in bed.”

He's already rid himself of his helmet. You admire the outline of his shaggy hair as he stalks closer, your heart beating stronger when he pauses several feet in front of you.

“Says who?” You ask, a coy grin itching at the corner of your mouth.

“Me.”

Exhaustion is apparent in his voice. You can practically feel it radiating off his body. Jason reaches a heavy arm to massage away an ache in the back of his neck as you stand up and approach.

He’s leaning into your touch before your palm even reaches his cheek. Another long exhale escapes him, your touch akin to a cool drink of water after a long run in the heat.

”Can’t sleep without you here.”

“Huh. Yeah right,” he presses his lips to the skin of your wrist briefly before continuing, “I know I wake you up. Don’t lie.”

His arm snakes around your waist, the most natural movement in the world to him. Muscle memory. That’s where you belong, in his arms, by his side. Even so, you know he doesn’t believe you when you tell him that some people are worth losing sleep over. That his love is worth the occasional sleepless night, whether it’s staying awake from worry, or comforting him through his ever-present night terrors.

“Jason…” You bring your other hand to cup his face gingerly, feeling a pang of guilt at the dark circles under his eyes.

He works so hard.

Before you realize it’s happening, you’re guiding him down into a slow kiss. His lips, warm and familiar, are tinged with the taste of salt and blood. You allow yourself to indulge for a beat before shying away, wanting to check him for injuries. But as you rescind, needy lips follow, an almost desperate groan rumbling in his throat.

“Don’t.” He mumbles, lips flush against your own. Rough hands grip you closer at the small of your back. “Please, sweetheart. Need you. Missed you.”

You swoon, allowing him to consume your senses. Eyes closed, lips entangled once more, Jason Todd never needs to ask more than once for your affection. Ever since the day you confessed your love for each other, you give it to him, freely and willingly. You are his safe space, his haven. The one person he’s finally let himself be vulnerable with, where there’s no need for his reticence.

And in return? You have, in him, a best friend. Your protector, your lover, the only man who can make living in this hellhole of a city worth it. There are very few problems in your life that he cannot solve. Nevermind that most of those problems are caused by dating him in the first place. Dating a vigilante has its dangers, but Red Hood seems to be at the top of the ‘food chain’ when it comes to Gotham’s criminal underworld.

All that influence, all the money and power that comes with it, and he still chooses to come home to you. In your mediocre flat, with spotty internet, expensive heating, and a dishwasher that never seems to stay not broken, no matter how many times he fixes it.

Several articles of clothing, discarded in a tired haze of affection, lead a telling trail to the bedroom. Jason lifts you effortlessly, laying you down on the bed, keeping himself close so he’s on top of you. Cognizant of his size, he remains propped on his forearms, caging you in but graciously allowing you to breathe.

“Need you too.” You whisper up at him, basking in his attention. You bite your lip, and reach down for the waistband of his boxers, the only remaining article of clothing keeping him modest.

“M’gross.” He mutters, voice tinged in hesitation. “It’s been a long night.”

But he doesn’t stop your fingers from tugging on the elastic. He helps you, kicking them off, and settling his frame over yours again, allowing his lips to rest against your forehead.

“Don’t care.”

You turn your head, allowing your breath to fan over the scarred skin of his neck.

“I couldn’t be more proud of you, Jay. Besides…” You nudge your nose against him, inhaling deeply, savoring his musk, eyes rolling back at the rush of feel-good hormones that flood your brain from the familiarity.

Your boyfriend chuckles, “Yeah? Besides what, hm?” Peering down at you with lustful eyes, his deep tone sends a tingle down your spine. Nerves on fire from the closeness, you reach for him, slow yet confident, not disappointed when your fingers wrap around his length to guide him to the space reserved for him and him alone.

He knows what.

“No prep? You sure, sweetheart?” His voice is tired, strained, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness in how he addresses you. You know he doesn’t have the energy to get you warmed up. He barely has the energy to be on top.

“I can handle you, handsome. Just take it easy on me.”

With no willpower to contest your assurance, Jason's heavy eyelids flutter shut as he slowly lowers himself flush on top of you. Chest to chest, skin to skin. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushes his aching cockhead inside the familiar warmth of your body. Your velvet walls weep from his intrusion, the sting in your inner muscles one you’ll never quite get used to. It’s a bittersweet pain that you've come to associate with this behemoth of a man you share your home with.

Jason takes his time. His movements are slow, languid, letting you grow accustomed to him an inch at a time. He keeps close, exhaling little praises into your ear every time a pained whimper escapes your throat.

“Good girl, shhh, nice and slow.”

“Been thinking about you all night.”

“That's it, relax for me, beautiful.”

His unhurried thrusts, tender and deliberate, are slow enough that the cool air of the bedroom has enough time to cool your slick along his shaft before he pushes his progress back in. Your strained panting fills his ear, the way you cling to him urges him to continue on despite the stretch you feel. You don’t want him to think he’s too much.

He’s never too much for you.

Never.

“Jason… Please.”

You clench around him when he pushes deeper, your body finally catching up and leaking your desire around his girth that’s splitting you open.

“Fuck.”

The muscles in Jason’s back tense and release. He pauses his hips, biting into the pillow behind your head, adjusting one arm to hold a bit more of his weight.

Desperate for more of him, you shift your hips up and buck him deeper inside you in short thrusts, digging your fingertips into his back. You’re careful not to use your nails, having promised yourself long ago that you would never be the cause of one of his scars.

But deep down you know, this man would wear a scar from you proudly. He’s proved on more than one occasion that he would die for you.

Just because he would take it, doesn’t mean he deserves it. Which is why you use your self control to restrain yourself while you cling to him gently, crying out in pleasure when he finally starts moving again to match your rhythm, heavy breathing shaking his whole body.

The friction from the increase in pace has you flexing your feet and writhing, nodding your head, stuttering out his name.

“I love when you’re like this…” He admits. “Fuck, you feel so, ugmmmph!” Jason loses his breath, his orgasm hitting him unexpectedly, like an ocean current that sweeps you away so quick, you don’t know which way is up. All he can think about, all he can perceive while the pleasure spasms down his legs is you.

“Y-yes!” You stuffer, helping him bottom out deep inside you, his tip kissing the entrance to your womb, decorating it with his essence while his climax peaks.

Taking advantage of his euphoria, you wrap your legs around his strong abdomen, and hold him closely, showering his neck in fervent kisses.

The noises he makes in response to your affection sound guttural, like you’re fulfilling a primal need of his that he’s been deprived of for too long. A need all humans have. Something Jason Todd, specifically, was lacking most of his life, until he met you.

Enthusiastic, genuine, tender affection. Love that’s unconditional.

The type of love that doesn’t care if he’s dirty and scarred. The kind of love that understands not every instance of intimacy will be an epic performance. It’s the love that finds it endearing when his gentle snoring fills your ear less than a minute later, still one with the most intimate parts of you.

if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

⭓ masterlist ⭓

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

… 𝙄𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠? ᯓ★୭ ˚. l

synopsis: genshin men and some of their kinks that surprised you a bit…but might as well match their freak?

tags: sub!reader, size kink, cum play, orgasm control

a/n: my bestie @astarionapologist helped me make these certified freaky !!!

☆ 𝙕𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙞 -> 𝙎𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠 ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

More specifically, Morax, has got to have the biggest size kink. The thought of taking his human and their measly body sent a cold wave through his scales.

Of course he’s impossibly huge, and the thought of trying to take it inside you is both terrifying and exhilarating.

…

'I want to show you what it's like,' Zhongli says, his voice soft and gentle. 'I want to share this part of myself with you.' He says, guiding you into your bedroom as he towers over your frame; forcing you to look up into his lapis eyes.

Before you can answer, he's on you, his massive body pressing you against the wall. His shaft is pressing against your entrance, and you can feel the heat of it radiating through your clothes.

'Are you ready, my love?' he asks, his voice a low growl.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. You're not sure if you're ready, but you want this more than anything.

As his single arm is enough to hold your body against the wall, his other is pulling at your robes.

Zhongli enters you slowly at first, his shaft stretching you wider than you've ever been stretched before. You cry out as he fills you, your body trembling with the effort of taking him inside you.

But Zhongli doesn't stop. He keeps pushing, his cock sliding deeper and deeper inside you until you're completely impaled on him. You can feel him pulsing inside you, his energy coursing through your veins and making you feel more alive than you've ever felt before.

'Taking me so well…y/n,' he growls, his voice rough and raw. '… so, so perfect.” he manages to say, feeling your walls practically strangle him.

He starts to move, his shaft sliding in and out of you with rough, powerful strokes. You cry out with each thrust, the pleasure overwhelming you.

' harder,' you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. 'I can take it.'

Zhongli responds, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. You can feel him losing control, his massive body trembling with the effort of holding back. Moreso now hearing how much you’re actually enjoying this, something he was so worried about.

'Fuck-,' he growls, his voice barely audible. 'I'm going to come. I can't hold back any longer.' You feel his forked tongue lick your ear, making you groan louder as you feel his hand on your lower stomach, tracing the shape of his cock inside you; getting off to how big he must feel inside your womb.

'Do it,' you gasp, your body quivering with anticipation. 'Please- fill me up. I want to feel it inside me Moraz!-“

With a final, desperate thrust, Zhongli comes, his energy surging through you and making you see stars. You cry out, your body shaking with the force of your own orgasm.

☆ 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙖 -> 𝘾𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

Something about Tartaglia being such a family man and wanting to 100% breed you makes it way too plausible that he’s into cum, especially on your face.

…

'Come here, baby,' he growls, beckoning you closer.

You eagerly comply, dropping to your knees before him and wrapping your eager hands around his girth. You can feel the heat radiating from his member, and you can't wait to taste him.

'That's it' Tartaglia moans as you begin to stroke him, your fingers slick with his precum. 'Just like that.'

You take the tip of his cock into your mouth, savoring the salty taste of him. He groans, his hands fisting in your hair as you begin to suck him in earnest. You can feel his cock swelling in your mouth, growing harder and hotter as you worship him.

'Fuck,' Tartaglia pants, his hips bucking as you take him deeper. 'Your little mouth feels so good.'

You moan around him, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. You can feel his balls tightening, and you know he's close. You redouble your efforts, determined to make him cum harder than ever before.

'Y/n, I'm gonna...fuck!-' Tartaglia cries out, his cock twitching as he releases a massive load of cum down your throat. You swallow what you can eagerly, savoring the taste of him and basking in the knowledge that you pleased him so thoroughly.

But Tartaglia isn't done yet. He pulls out of your mouth, his cock still hard and glistening with your saliva. He reaches down, smearing his tip around on your face, leaving a thick, sticky trail of cum across your cheek.

'Look at you, my love,' he growls, his eyes dark with lust. 'So cute with my cum painting your face.'

You blush, but you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his words.

'You like that huh?' Tartaglia asks, his fingers tracing patterns in the cum on your cheek. 'You like it when I cum on your face?'

You nod, unable to speak as you watch him play with his load. He smears it around your face, coating your cheeks and forehead with his essence.

Tartaglia grins, his eyes shining with excitement.

'Then maybe next time, I'll cum inside you,' he says, pressing another kiss to your lips. 'But for now, my love, I have to go meet with the other harbingers. I'll see you later, okay? He says? Flicking your forehead before zipping up his pants and flashing you a smile.

“Count on it.”

☆ 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮 -> 𝙊𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙨𝙢 𝘿𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙖𝙡 ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

This man will demand respect from you, not because he’s so stern and moralus, but because he finds it so hot to be able to control you in such an intimate way.

You groan as you enter Wriothesley's office, your body already aching for his touch. He looks up from his paperwork, a wicked grin crossing his face as he beckons you over to his desk with a single finer. You waste no time closing the door behind you, locking it tight as you make your way over to him.

'I was beginning to think you'd never get here,' he says, his voice low and husky. He stands up from his chair, towering over you as he pulls you in for a kiss. His tongue probes your mouth, demanding entry as his hands roam your body.

'I've been thinking about you all day,' you admit, your voice breathless as you wrap your arms around his neck.

'Good,' he growls, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt. He pulls it up and over your head, tossing it aside as his lips find your neck. You moan as he nips at your skin, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh.

'You know I have a meeting in ten minutes,' he says, his voice muffled against your skin.

'Then you better make it quick,' you reply, your voice dripping with desire and eagerness.

He chuckles, his hands working at the button and zipper of your pants. He pushes them down, along with your underwear, leaving you standing in front of him in nothing but your bra. He takes a step back, his eyes raking over your body as he takes in the sight of you.

'Fuck, you're beautiful,' he says, his voice filled with reverence.

You blush at the compliment, but the heat in your cheeks is quickly replaced by a surge of desire as he steps closer to you once again. His hands roam your body, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples through the fabric of your bra.

'You like that?' he asks, his voice husky.

‘Yes,' you moan, your hips grinding against his as you seek out the friction you crave, getting pushed back into sitting atop his desk as your knees buck.

He chuckles, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it, letting it fall to the ground.

He reaches for you again, pulling you close as he kisses you deeply. His hands roam your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach, and you can't help but grind against him.

He breaks the kiss, his lips finding your ear.

‘You really want me to fuck you, don’t you?' he asks, his voice low and husky.

'Yes,' you moan, your voice desperate as you cling onto his collar.

He chuckles, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub slow circles around it, his touch light and teasing.

'Beg for it,' he says, his voice commanding.

'Please-' you whisper, your hips grinding against his hand. 'Please fuck me.'

He chuckles, his fingers still circling your clit.

'Beg harder,' he says, his voice low and dangerous, his smirk plastered into his face.

'Please, I need it,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, Wrio….'

He growls, his fingers quickening their pace.

He lets out a deep groan, 'You're so wet for me,' he says, his voice filled with lust.

He slides a finger inside of you, his thumb still rubbing circles around your clit. You moan as he starts to move his finger in and out of you, his pace slow and teasing.

'Did I tell you to stop?,' he says again, his voice low and commanding.

'Please, I need it,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, Wriothesley, I need you…”.

He growls, his finger sliding out of you. He grabs your hips, spinning you around so that your back is facing him. He pushes you down, bending you over his desk as he positions himself behind you.

'You're mine,' he growls, his cock pressed against your entrance.

'Yes-!,' you moan, your body trembling with desire.

He thrusts into you, hard and deep. You moan as he starts to move, his hips slamming against yours as he fucks you rough and raw.

He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub slow circles around it, his touch light and teasing.

'You're not allowed to cum, got that?,' he says, his voice low and dangerous.

'What…?!’ you moan, your body trembling with desire.

'You heard me,' he says, his voice firm. 'You're not allowed to cum unless I say so.'

'But-' you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a thrust of his hips.

'No,' he growls, his fingers still circling your clit. 'You'll do as you're told.'

You moan, your body trembling with desire as you try to hold back your orgasm. He continues to fuck you rough and raw, his fingers still circling your clit.

'Please,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, I need to cum-“

'Not yet,' he says, his voice firm.

You moan, your body trembling with need as you try to hold back your orgasm. But it's too much, and you can feel it building inside of you.

'Please,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, let me cum.'

He growls, his fingers quickening their pace, tricking you into believing he’d ever let you have your high right now, pulling out completely and giving your ass a heavy smack.

'Good girl,' he says, his voice low and husky.

You blush at the compliment, still angry at the fact he wouldn’t let you finish. But you knew he was in it for the long game, he didn’t need to say it but you knew he was promising to make you finish at least 5 times the next time he gets his hands on you.

'Thank you,' you say, your voice breathless.

He chuckles, pulling out of you and helping you to straighten up.

'Anytime,' he says, his voice filled with lust.

'I'll hold you to that,' you say, your voice playful.

'I have no doubt,' he says, his voice low and husky.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[wolvietxt]

𝓟ATCHWORK.

pairings : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : injury, crying, non-sexual nudity, angst, size diff, hurt/comfort, teasing, fluff, happy ending summary : you take care of your boyfriend frank after he shows up at your door, bloody and bruised wc : 1.2k a/n : um hello punisher fandom i’m only on season one i’m so sorry #fakefan😥

the knock at your door came just after midnight, faint but insistent. you had a sinking feeling even before you opened it, knowing who it would be. frank always showed up like this - silent and battered, like a ghost returning to haunt your quiet life. except you really did love this ghost. but tonight was worse. the moment you saw him leaning heavily against the frame, his face pale under streaks of blood, your breath hitched.

“frank,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “oh my god, what happened?”

he grunted in response, brushing off your concern with a slight shake of his head. “‘s not as bad as it looks,” he muttered, but the way he swayed on his feet told a different story. instinctively, you reached out, your much smaller hands pressing against his chest to steady him. he was so solid, so big, but he felt fragile in this moment, like he might collapse if you let go.

“come inside,” you said, your voice wavering as you pulled him in. he barely made it two steps before you had to slip under his arm, guiding him toward the bathroom. “you shouldn’t even be walking. why didn’t you call me?”

“didn’t wanna… bother you,” he rasped, wincing as you helped him sit on the closed toilet lid. his broad shoulders hunched forward, and he sucked in a sharp breath when you knelt in front of him, slowly nestling in between his legs.

“bother me?” your voice cracked, tears already pricking at your eyes. “frank, you’re bleeding all over my bathroom. how could you think…” you trailed off, shaking your head as you reached for the first aid kit under the sink.

his lips twitched, a ghost of a smile despite the situation. “baby, you’re cryin’ already,” he murmured, his tone soft, almost teasing. “i’m the one all cut up, and you’re the one fallin’ apart.”

“shut up,” you sniffled, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand before focusing on the deep gash along his side. “it’s not funny.”

“maybe a little funny,” he said, but his voice was gentler now, his dark eyes watching you with something like affection. the size of him made you feel even smaller as you worked, your hands trembling as you cleaned the wound. “you don’t gotta do this, y’know.”

“stop saying that,” you mumbled, dabbing at the cut with antiseptic, trying to focus on stopping the bleeding rather than frank’s cooing at your sniffles. “you’re always saying that, like i’m not here because i want to be. you think i’d let just anyone bleed all over my floor?”

his chuckle was low, rumbling in his chest. “guess not.”

once the wound was cleaned and stitched, you leaned back on your heels, letting out a shaky breath. “all done. but you need to get cleaned up. you’re covered in…” you gestured vaguely at him, your lips quivering as you tried not to cry again.

“hey,” he said softly, his massive hand reaching out to cup your cheek, another of his little scoffs threatening to slip. he was trying to be as serious as possible for you, not wanting you to think he wasn’t taking you seriously, especially after putting you through so much. his thumb brushed away a stray tear, and the contrast of his rough skin against your softness made your heart ache. “don’t cry, sweetheart. it’s okay. i’m okay.”

“you’re not okay,” you whispered, your voice breaking. your train of thought stopped abruptly when you noticed the corners of his lips slightly turning up. “frank! stop smiling. just let me help, okay?” you whined, lifting your head away from his hands.

“okay, sweetheart,” he didn’t argue, too tired to fight you on it. you stood and turned to the tub, starting the water and letting it run warm. the quiet sound of it filled the room, grounding you as you grabbed a clean towel and set it aside. when you turned back to him, he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

“come on,” you said, helping him to his feet. he towered over you, his sheer size making the act of guiding him to the tub feel almost absurd. but he let you, his movements slow and careful as he sank down onto the edge. his knees jutted up from the small space, his frame too large for the confines of your tiny bathroom.

“stay there,” you murmured, kneeling again to untie his boots and tug them off. your fingers worked quickly, but you were hyper-aware of his gaze, the weight of his attention making your cheeks flush.

once he was down to his boxers, you helped him ease into the water, your hands fluttering nervously as if you might break him. he let out a low sigh as the warm water enveloped him, his head tipping back against the edge of the tub.

“better?” you asked, perching on the side of the tub.

he hummed in response, his eyes slipping shut. after a moment, his head tipped forward, resting against your thigh. the vulnerability of the gesture stole your breath, and your hand hesitated mid-air before you rested it gently on his damp hair.

“you’re too good to me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“stop saying that,” you replied softly, your fingers threading through his hair. “you deserve someone to take care of you, frank. you deserve…” your voice caught, the words sticking in your throat.

he tilted his head slightly, looking up at you with an amused glint in his eyes. “you’re cryin’ again.”

“shut up,” you sniffled, swiping at your cheeks. “it’s your fault. you’re so… stubborn.”

his laugh was soft, barely more than a huff of air, but it made your chest ache. “didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart.”

you shook your head, your hand still brushing through his hair. “you didn’t. i just… i hate seeing you like this. you act like you don’t matter, but you do. you matter to me.”

for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, his dark eyes searching yours. then, slowly, he lifted a hand out of the water, his fingers brushing against your knee. it was such a small, tender gesture, but it spoke volumes.

“you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, the water growing cooler as his breathing slowed, the exhaustion finally taking hold. you didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the room. he looked so different like this, his usual hard edges softened by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

as his head grew heavier against your thigh, you leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “get some rest,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “i’ve got you, frank. i’ve got you.”

and for the first time, he didn’t argue.

taglist form in pinned post, just added frank castle ><

[kaiijo]

HOT THINGS HE DOES — [WIND BREAKER]

characters: sakura haruka, suo hayato, kiryu mitsuki, umemiya hajime, hiragi toma, togame jo  content: gn! reader, reader has smaller hands than hiragi notes: i love them, your honor 

sakura haruka ✶

runs his hand through his hair. sakura doesn’t know why you watch him so intently when he cards his fingers through his hair. in his mind, he’s just trying to get his bangs out of his face but to you, he looks so effortlessly cool

he’ll definitely get flustered if you voice your thoughts to him while giving him a long once-over. he definitely starts blushing and stuttering and looking anywhere but your eyes with crossed arms. he’s actually short circuiting and you take the opportunity to run your own hand through his hair, feeling the smooth flow of his locks between fingers. 

nirei akihiko ✶

very perceptive of your needs. it’s like he can read your mind. you need a bottle of water? nirei’s already handing it to you. you want a sweet treat? nirei’s already bought it from your favorite bakery. you wanted to get a limited-edition keychain but they ran out at the store? don’t worry — nirei’s already bought matching ones for you

there’s something about how in-tune he is with you that has your face warming and a smile breaking across your face. you’re just as in-tune with him and his needs as he is with yours 

suo hayato ✶

always smells good. suo takes care of himself and has a nice natural scent, but when he wears his favorite cologne, he smells nice and clean and good. it makes your heart jump when you catch the notes of his cologne and you like to bury your face in his neck when he wears it (and maybe kiss his neck a little too)

his cologne also lingers on many items of clothing — shirts, sweaters, coats — which results in you stealing a bunch of his things so that you can keep his scent around you when he’s not with you 

kiryu mitsuki ✶

hand on the back. kiryu guides you around with a hand on your back, making sure that you are with him and comfortable and safe. it makes your heart skip a beat when he places a hand on your lower back, his palm warm even through your clothes

you especially love when you’re on a romantic dinner date and his hand in on your lower back as he leads you to your table, still holding you as he slides your chair out. you can’t stop the little giggle that bubbles in the back of your throat 

umemiya hajime ✶

gardening shirtless. there are two parts to this — one, you love that umemiya gardens and how attentive he is to his plants; two, you love when he does it shirtless. umemiya looks like he was carved by the gods and it’s always hot to watch him pull weeds, water the plants, and hum to them the sun’s making his bare skin glow 

you also like when he stands up to wipe sweat off his brow and you get to see the way the sweat glistens on his skin. it makes you contemplate dragging him away from his gardening for some personal time 

hiragi toma ✶

 comparing hand sizes. hiragi hands are so big and nimble and you especially love how big they are compared to yours. he doesn’t understand your obsession with grabbing his hand and pressing your palm against his

he indulges you whenever you ask him to compare hand sizes, fingers curling over the tips of yours. you know that his hand is bigger than yours but it makes your light-headed to see the real thing 

kaji ren ✶

stands up for you. kaji is the one to advocate for you when you won’t do it yourself and there nothing you find more appealing. there’s something so attractive about him when he tells your waiter that you didn’t order a certain item or something else like this. he’s not mean or aggressive, simply direct and firm when he does so

it makes you feel cared for and that someone is looking out for you. kaji also holds steady eye contact when he makes his request and there’s a steel to his gaze that sets your face aflame 

togame jo ✶

casual lean against the doorframe. but not just any door frame lean; togame does the book boyfriend lean, with a forearm braced against the doorframe and him slanting toward you to best listen to whatever you’re saying. he so attentive and confident when he does that you can’t help the way your heart skips a beat and your eyes involuntarily flutter when you meet his eyes. 

he also knows the effect this has on you so sometimes he’ll cage you in between the wall and his body, one arm above your head. he gives you a small lazy smirk and it has you pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss

[sunbeamlessreads]

The Wager - Lando Norris x Reader One-Shot

❝ “Eyes on the track, Norris.” ❞

lando norris x reader

~3.6k words | rated: E

tw: 18+, explicit sexual content, dom/sub tension, semi-public style risk, overstimulation, orgasm control

he said he could handle five laps. you said he wouldn’t last two. there’s only one way to prove it.

notes: this is my apology for making lando such a douchebag in my last piece. went in with present tense again. i think it kinda works for the papaya boys, no? enjoy! <3

(i also admittedly didn't proofread this as much as usual so i apologize if it sucks.)

my masterlist

request guide

His sim room is dim except for the dull, shifting glow of LED lights tracing the walls, pulsing in sync with engine revs on Lando’s screen. He’s been here for at least an hour, maybe more, laser-focused—shoulders tense, jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel like he’s in an actual cockpit.

You’re in the doorway, leaning against the frame, wearing nothing but one of his hoodies. It hangs low, nearly brushing the tops of your thighs, soft and loose, the sleeves covering your hands. Your skin’s warm beneath it, and a little flushed—maybe from watching him so long, or maybe from what you’re planning.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. Not really. Just a distracted smile earlier when you brought him a drink. Since then? Silence. His attention’s been chained to the corners of a virtual Silverstone, chasing tenths of a second like they owe him something.

Your eyes trail over him now—the way his thighs flex slightly every time he shifts, the way his bottom lip tucks under his teeth when he brakes late. His headset’s pushed back around his neck, and a single bead of sweat slides from his temple to his jaw.

You step into the room without a word and let the door click shut behind you.

“Still trying to shave off that tenth?” you ask, voice syrup-smooth, laced with mischief.

He responds without looking.

“Not trying. Dialing it in.”

You smile. There’s the Lando you know—cocky, precise, addicted to speed and winning.

You drift closer, hips swaying just enough to be deliberate. You round his chair slowly, stopping just beside him, eyes locked on his screen like you’re playing innocent.

“Mm," you trail a finger across the edge of his steering wheel. “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?” he asks, flicking his eyes toward you briefly.

“If you’ve got more control out there—” you tap the glowing screen gently, “than in here.”

His brow lifts slightly. That got his attention.

You move behind him now, running your fingers across his shoulders, down his arms, mapping every muscle beneath the fabric. You lean forward, letting the warmth of your breath kiss the shell of his ear.

“I bet,” you whisper, “you can’t hold out for a whole race.”

That makes him pause. Really pause. His hand leaves the paddle mid-corner, and the engine whines as his car drifts off line.

“Hold out?” he echoes, voice thick with skepticism—and interest.

“Mmhm.” You glide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, featherlight. “I bet I can make you come in five laps.”

He laughs once, but it’s low and tense, like he’s trying to stay calm.

“Five?” he repeats, indignant. “You think you can break me in five?”

You press your body against the back of the chair, hips nudging the rig seat.

“No, baby. I know I can.”

He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder—mouth parted slightly, eyes dark now. He sizes you up like he’s about to take you apart with his hands and teeth.

“And if I make it through five?”

You slowly circle to face him, easing yourself onto his lap—one knee on either side of his hips. You don’t grind down yet, but you settle, letting him feel the heat of you through his joggers. You make sure he notices you’re not wearing anything underneath his sweatshirt. 

You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tangling gently, pulling him just close enough that your lips brush his.

“If you make it through five,” you murmur, “you get me.”

A pause. Then you whisper the rest like a promise wrapped in sin.

“However. Wherever. Whenever.”

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching, hands still locked on the wheel because if he touches you now, he’ll ruin everything too early.

You reach down between you, slow and unhurried, palming him through his joggers. He’s already half-hard. The thrill of your challenge, the sound of your voice—he’s trying so hard not to show it.

“You’re on,” he mutters. “Five laps. Don’t go easy on me.”

You grin.

“Wasn’t planning to.”

And as he restarts the session, you start to move—just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to make him wonder how the hell he’s supposed to last.

Lap 1/5

The moment the race loads, you feel it—not just the hum of the sim coming to life, but the shift in Lando’s body beneath you. He squares his shoulders, tightens his grip on the wheel. His voice had been so sure a minute ago, all bravado and arrogance. But now?

Now he’s already working not to react.

You try to stay as out of the way of the screens as you can to at least give him a fighting chance.

Your thighs rest on either side of his, warm skin brushing against his joggers. His seat is snug, built for speed and pressure—not for having someone perched in his lap, slowly undoing him with the smallest touches. You feel him beneath you, hardening slowly, restrained only by thin fabric and sheer willpower.

And still, you don’t rush.

You breathe him in instead. He smells like clean sweat and fabric softener, like tension and heat and the lingering scent of cologne he probably applied this morning without thinking about how close you’d be later.

The first corner of the track comes and goes, and he nails it.

Good.

You want him calm. In control. Thinking he’s got this.

Your hands find his chest, fingertips dragging over the curve of his pecs, then lower, to the subtle ridges of his abs. Not pressing—just trailing. Ghosting. Enough to make his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Enough to make his breathing stutter, just once.

He exhales, shaky.

“That all you’ve got?” he mutters, not looking at you, trying to stay cocky.

You grin against his skin.

“Don’t worry. I’m just getting comfortable.”

You shift slightly—just enough to make sure he feels your bare heat press against him through the fabric. A gentle grind, one slow circle of your hips. His hands tighten on the wheel.

You press another kiss just below his ear. Then another, a little lower.

Your voice stays sweet, nearly innocent:

“How’s your sector time?”

“Shit,” he mutters.

You smile.

Your hips begin a slow rhythm—barely moving, but perfectly timed. Every time he shifts gears, you shift forward. When he straightens out for a straight, you rock back just a little. It’s not enough to drive him over the edge—not yet. But it’s enough to plant the idea. That pull. That ache.

And you can feel him growing harder under you, his body reacting even as he tries to stay stone-faced.

He keeps his eyes on the track. He thinks ignoring you will help.

You know better.

You start trailing your fingers under the hem of his shirt, this time tracing the edge of his ribs, featherlight. He twitches beneath your touch, his hips jerking upward once—reflex. He catches himself, swearing again.

You glance at the screen. One lap just passed halfway.

You lean in and whisper like it’s a secret.

“Four and a half to go, baby.”

He growls under his breath and tightens his grip again. But he doesn’t tell you to stop. You feel it—the way his hips lift an inch into you. Not consciously. Not controlled.

An instinct.

A slip.

You smile.

He wants to win.

You want to ruin him.

Lap 2/5

The moment he crosses the lap marker, you feel the change.

He exhales—just a little too sharp—like he’d been holding his breath since Turn 9. Like the first lap took more out of him than he’ll admit.

You don’t let him settle. You don’t let him recover.

You roll your hips forward again, just slightly more than before, then back. A little faster. A little firmer. His joggers provide friction now—barely a buffer between your heat and his restraint. His cock is hard beneath you, thick and twitching under the fabric, but he hasn’t moved. Not a single touch.

That’s okay.

You plan to do all the touching for him.

Your hands slide lower, sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt to find skin—warm, taut, twitching under your palms. You trail your fingers across his abs, then down, slow, until you’re just above his waistband.

You don’t go beneath.

Not yet.

Instead, you rest your hand there, light but suggestive, letting your thumb trace lazy circles against the band of his joggers.

He shifts in the seat, just barely.

“Eyes on the track, Norris.”

You murmur it against his jaw, then kiss just below his ear—barely touching. Just enough for him to feel it.

He grits his teeth. “You’re playing dirty.”

“You agreed to the rules.” Your tone stays breezy, but your hand doesn’t. “Not my fault if you’re losing already.”

You feel the rise of his chest under your palm—he’s breathing harder now, trying not to show it. His foot jolts slightly on the throttle. His car clips a curb. You hear the penalty chime—just a second’s warning—but it’s enough.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh softly.

“What was that?”

He doesn’t answer.

So you keep going.

You shift your weight forward again and let your lips brush further against his ear.

“Want me to make it worse?”

Still nothing.

You grin—

Challenge accepted.

You lower yourself just enough that you’re flush against him again, your folds hot and slick against the barely-there barrier of his joggers. You rock once—firm, intentional. He groans, just barely, a sound caught in his throat.

Your voice is soft, almost cruel in its sweetness.

“Two laps in. I haven’t even touched your cock yet.”

You reach down, palm him through the fabric now, slow and deliberate. He bucks into your hand instinctively, and that’s the first time his focus slips completely. His car veers wide on a turn, and you hear the wheels screech as they kick up gravel.

“Concentrate,” you whisper, laughing gently against his skin.

“You’ve still got three laps left.”

His response is a low, broken sound that could be frustration or arousal—or both.

You press your mouth to his neck again, your hand still working him through the fabric, your body moving in that slow, taunting rhythm.

You feel him throb beneath your palm. He’s close already. You could push him now—finish this before the third lap even starts.

But you don’t.

Because you want him begging.

Lap 3/5

The moment he crosses the line into lap three, you feel the shift in him.

His thighs tense beneath yours. His arms strain on the wheel. The hard line of his cock is pressed firmly against you now, no longer just reactive—but aching. Desperate. His control is hanging by threads.

And you’re ready to cut every single one.

You rock forward again—this time with real intent. Not teasing. Not suggestive. Deliberate. Precise. 

You grind against him with the rhythm of the engine’s growl, syncing your pace with the sharpness of each gear shift. Every time he accelerates, you move with it—hips rolling, breath hot, dragging friction over him that feels anything but accidental.

He makes a sound this time.

A real one.

A low, strangled curse punched out between clenched teeth as you slide your hands under his shirt again and let your nails drag across his stomach. His abs tighten beneath your touch, and you feel his hips twitch up once—seeking more, chasing it despite himself.

You smirk against his neck.

“Feel that, baby?” you murmur, lips brushing skin. “You’re practically pulsing.”

He growls. His voice is rough now, raw at the edges.

“You’re making it impossible to drive.”

“That’s the point.”

You move again—harder this time, a slow, grinding rhythm that drags your slick heat directly over his cock. You can feel him now—hot and thick and wanting more. The only thing separating you is a single layer of fabric.

You lean close to his ear, your voice velvet and wicked.

“Want me to ride you while you finish the lap?”

He groans—a real one, involuntary and half-broken—and his car jerks again on the screen. He recovers, but barely. His knuckles are white on the wheel. Sweat beads along his hairline. He’s silent now, like if he speaks he’ll give in.

You slide your hand down his chest again—slower this time. Taunting. You dip your fingers beneath his waistband now, finally—just a little. Just enough for him to feel your nails against bare skin.

He jerks. His hips buck up into you with force.

You don’t flinch.

You hold steady.

“Three laps,” you whisper. “You’re already fucking shaking.”

His voice is barely a rasp.

“You’re evil.”

You smile.

“You’re hard.”

Your hand brushes against the base of him, just once, and he twitches so violently the rig seat creaks. His breath catches like you’ve just punched the air out of him. His hips thrust up again, instinctual, and your body moves with his—grinding back down.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

You drag your tongue along his throat now, your hips meeting every unconscious thrust, letting his body tell you what his pride won’t.

And you’re so close to taking it.

To breaking him.

But not yet.

You press a kiss to his flushed cheek, then whisper sweetly in his ear:

“Still think you’ll make it through five?”

He doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

Lap 4/5.

You feel it—the way Lando’s whole body tenses underneath you. Not from the race. Not anymore.

Because he knows what’s coming.

Your hand is still wrapped around him, just beneath the waistband of his joggers, fingers teasing but never giving him enough. You feel him throbbing—full, flushed, leaking now. His cock twitches every time you shift your hips, even just slightly.

You look up at the screen.

His car is still on track, somehow. Barely.

You lean in, lips brushing his jaw.

“You made it through three,” you whisper, slow and mocking. “Good boy.”

His breath stutters. He swallows hard.

“But you’re not gonna make it through four.��

And then—before he can reply—you slide your hand fully inside.

You grip him, slow and firm, and pull him free from his joggers. He lets out a low, strangled moan, hips jerking up into your hand automatically. His cock is heavy, hot in your palm, already slick at the tip.

He grips the wheel tighter like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

You shift forward, rising just slightly onto your knees. One hand holds him in place. The other guides your hoodie up, exposing the slick, desperate heat between your thighs.

You hover.

Just above him.

Just close enough that he can feel your warmth.

You hold him there.

“You still think you can last?” you ask, voice syrup-sweet.

He nods once—tight, desperate. “Yeah.”

You smile.

And sink down onto him in one slow, devastating slide.

He practically gasps. Chokes on it. His head drops back against the seat. His hands? They don’t move. He’s still gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from coming right now.

You bottom out with a soft moan, intentionally dragging every inch of him into you. He’s so deep inside you it’s almost painful—in the best way. He throbs violently, twitching inside you.

You stay still for a moment. Let him feel it. Let him suffer in the tension.

“Lap four,” you breathe into his ear. “Let’s see what kind of endurance you really have.”

And then you start to move.

Slow at first—grinding against him in long, deep strokes, your thighs pressing against his, your core clenching around him just to watch his jaw go tight. He’s panting now, fully gone, biting back sounds that are barely human.

He shifts slightly in the seat and his hips jerk up once—uncontrolled, needy.

You don’t slow.

You ride him with purpose—steady rhythm, deliberate pace, perfectly timed to the corners he’s trying so hard to take cleanly.

Every time he tries to focus, you tighten around him. Every time he regains rhythm, you pull him deeper. You watch him unravel.

“How’s your lap time now, baby?” you purr, bouncing slightly harder. “Still think you’re gonna make it?”

He’s sweating. Trembling. You feel him gripping the wheel like if he lets go, he’ll lose everything.

“Fuck,” he grits out, barely audible.

You’re soaked, your thighs slick against his. Every time you sink down, the pressure builds, and you know he’s holding on by a single, fraying thread.

He turns to say something—but his voice fails him. Just a strangled moan.

You lean forward, mouth at his ear again, grinding your hips in tight, pulsing circles that make him jerk beneath you.

“One more lap to go,” you whisper. “You really think you can take it?”

He whimpers.

You smile.

Because you already know the answer.

Lap 5/5

The moment it flashes on screen, he stiffens beneath you like he might have a chance. Like he’s got just enough control left to make it to the line.

You smirk.

Good. Let him think that.

His hands are shaking on the wheel with how hard he’s gripping it behind you.

Not from adrenaline. Not from the track.

From you.

From the way you’re riding him like it’s your only mission—to destroy him one perfect roll of your hips at a time.

You plant your hands on his chest and start to move with intent—grinding deep, slow strokes that force him to feel every clench, every pull, every slick slide of your body swallowing him whole. His head drops back against the rig seat, jaw slack, mouth parted in a silent groan.

But he doesn’t let go.

His hands stay on the wheel.

His eyes flicker between the road and you. His knuckles are bone-white. Every muscle in his body is tight with restraint, as if his sheer willpower might keep him from tipping over the edge.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to make it.”

“I am.” The words barely scrape out of him.

You chuckle, slow and low, clenching around him mid-thrust. He bucks into you so hard the rig creaks, but his grip stays on the wheel.

You ride him harder now—hips slapping softly, slick heat dragging down his cock with perfect, punishing pressure. His entire body jolts with every downward roll of your hips.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear.

He groans—deep and wrecked—and tries to focus. Tries to stay in it.

You press your forehead to his and grind in a slow, delicious circle.

“Not the track, is it?” you purr. “You’re thinking about how close you are. How good it would feel to just let go.”

“Fuck—” he gasps, hips jerking up against your rhythm. “No. No—I can finish—”

“You can’t.”

And you make sure of it.

You change your angle—just slightly. And he feels it. Buried even deeper. You clench around him again, dragging a desperate sound from his throat. His back arches against the seat.

He’s trembling. Fully. Visibly.

You slow your pace just enough to tease, your voice syrup-sweet against his cheek:

“I can feel it, baby. You’re right there.”

“I—I’m fine,” he lies.

You pick up speed.

His breath hits high and frantic now, his body jerking with every bounce, every squeeze of your thighs.

“You think you’ll last?” You move faster. “You think you’ll make it across the line without coming in me?”

He whines.

Actually whines.

You dig your nails into his chest, pull his head back, make him look at you. His pupils are blown, his lips pink and parted. He’s wrecked and still trying.

Still trying to win.

You grin.

And then you slam down once, hard, angled just right—and he breaks.

His whole body arches. A sharp, guttural moan tears from his throat as he spills inside you—deep and hot and uncontrollable.

His foot slips on the pedal. On screen, his car jerks wide, flies off the track.

DNF

You collapse into him, both of you panting. Your lips press to his jaw, soft now, breathless.

He’s trembling.

He doesn’t speak.

He can’t.

And you whisper, just for him:

“I told you.”

Lando’s head is tipped back against the seat, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls. His hands are finally off the wheel, one dangling limp at his side, the other gripping your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He’s still inside you. Still pulsing from the aftershocks.

You shift your hips—just slightly—and he twitches, letting out a broken sound that’s half a whimper, half a curse.

“Fuck me,” he groans, voice ragged.

You lean forward, kiss the corner of his mouth—sweet, smug, slow.

“Oh, I did.”

His eyes snap open.

There’s fire there still—under the wreckage. Under the loss. The glint of a man who isn’t done, even when he’s spent.

He reaches up and cups the back of your neck, dragging you down into a kiss that’s too deep for someone that wrecked. Desperate. Tongue and teeth and the bite of someone who’s not ready to admit defeat.

When he pulls back, his lips are slick, his eyes heavy-lidded but sharp.

“Just because I lost,” he murmurs, “doesn’t mean I don’t get to take you… whenever. However.”

Your breath catches.

He grins—slow and dark, still breathless but already hardening again beneath you.

“That was only round one.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the shift in him—the way he’s already coming back to life beneath your thighs.

“Already?” you whisper.

“You said I couldn’t last five laps.” He grabs your hips, guiding you down again, grinding into the mess between you. “Let’s see how many rounds you can take.”

Your eyes flutter.

He’s not asking this time.

And just like that, the game starts over.

notes: i really hope it isn't terrible and makes sense lol. i wanted to get this one out quickly, especially after his sprint win yesterday.

taglist: @literallysza @piceous21

IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED TO A TAGLIST FOR ALL OF MY FUTURE F1 FICS, COMMENT BELOW

© Copyright, 2025.

[smutmind]

mina getting passed around by BBCs for when it doesn't fit please

When It Doesn't Fit ft. Mina

idol x bbc

The Paris hotel suite whispered opulence. Floor-to-ceiling windows unveiled a twilight cityscape, the Eiffel Tower winking in the distance. A sprawling king-sized bed sat untouched in the center, crisp linens waiting to be disturbed.

Mina traced the window frame with her fingertip. Clad in a silk robe, she looked ethereal—barefoot, long hair cascading down her back.

“Finally a night to myself,” she murmured, voice soft.

The door clicked.

She turned, startled. Two figures entered without invitation—broad, towering, exuding menace in tailored suits. One was clean-shaven with icy eyes; the other, dark-bearded with a sardonic smile.

“I don’t remember ordering room service,” Mina said, attempting composure.

“That’s because we’re not here to serve you.” The bearded man shut the door with a deliberate click.

She took a step back. “Then leave. Now.”

“Not happening,” the clean-shaven one replied. “Tonight, you’re ours."

“Wait—stop—please, this is a mistake—!”

“Oh, it’s no mistake.”

Hands caught her wrists. The robe slipped from her shoulders, baring her delicate frame.

“Perfect,” the bearded man breathed. “Let’s see which of us can make this pretty thing scream first.”

“Please—please, don’t do this—I’ll do anything else—!”

They ignored her pleas, guiding her to the bed. The clean-shaven man pressed her forward, forcing her onto all fours. Her ass was lifted, her panties torn away.

“Mmm... wet already? Naughty girl.”

“No—I’m not—you’re wrong—please!”

Both men unzipped, thick shafts released. Mina glanced back, eyes widening in terror.

“No—too big—I can’t—please!”

“Oh, you will.”

The clean-shaven man positioned behind her. “Let’s get started.”

“Please—no—don’t—AHHHH!”

He drove deep in one brutal thrust.

“Fucking tight,” he growled.

Mina sobbed, body jerking with each merciless stroke.

“No—please—stop—it hurts—please!”

“Music to my ears,” the bearded man smirked.

After several punishing thrusts, he stepped forward.

“Enough of doggy. Let’s see her tits bounce.”

“Agreed.”

They hauled her upright, pinning her against the wall. The clean-shaven man continued to thrust from behind while the bearded one latched onto her nipples, sucking, biting.

“AHHH—stop—please—I can’t—I can’t breathe!”

“Shhh—just feel it.” His tongue flicked her swollen nipples.

“Let her ride me,” the clean-shaven man growled. “I can’t hold it.”

“No—please—no more—I can’t—!”

They dragged her onto the bed. The clean-shaven man lay back, cock glistening.

“Come, little slut. Ride me.”

“Please—don’t make me—I don’t want to be bred—please!”

“Too bad. Now get on.”

Tears streaming, Mina straddled him. Slowly, painfully, she lowered herself.

“AHHH—too big—too deep—please stop!”

“Bounce.”

“Please—I’m trying—I can’t—please!”

“Gonna fill you—get ready.”

“No—no—please—don’t breed me—!”

“Too late.”

He grunted, jerking beneath her. “Take it—take all of it!”

“AHHHHH!” she wailed as warmth flooded her.

“My turn.” The bearded man pulled her into reverse cowgirl.

“No—please—I’m too full—please stop!”

“Shut up. Show me how you take it.”

She sobbed, bouncing as he mauled her tits.

“Good girl. Cum for me.”

“Nooooo!” Her body betrayed her, pussy clenching.

“Fuck—yes—take it all!”

He groaned, flooding her again.

Before she could collapse, he yanked her hair.

“Now your mouth.”

“Please—I-I can’t—!”

“Open wide.”

He thrust deep down her throat.

“Mmmph!” Tears poured.

“Eyes up.”

“Guh—guh—please!”

“Gonna flood it—take it all.”

He grunted, thick spurts filling her mouth.

“Swallow. Now.”

She gulped, tears spilling.

“Good little slut.���

He released her. Mina collapsed, sobbing.