#Pussy IS technically a word for cat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sundrop-writes · 10 months ago

Text

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless.

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.

That night, you had become his hero.

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.

He tried not to act like it.

But on nights like this, it was just so hard.

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.

Again - he was hopeless.

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.

“Y/N, uh-”

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.

…

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.

His little secret piece of you.

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”

And what else could he do but obey?

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.

He was a man of simple, divine tastes.

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Stiles, please.”

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.

Though he knew that would never fucking happen.

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.

But what would they smell like?

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.

He could always imagine the other aspects so well.

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.

Fuck. He had fucked up.

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.

…

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.

The only problem?

Hang to dry.

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.

…

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.

Focus, Stiles. Focus.

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.”

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

#sundrop writes #stiles stilinski x reader #dylan o'brian x reader #dylan o'brien smut #stiles stilinksi smut #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf smut

2K notes · View notes

theamberparadise · 14 days ago

Text

JEFFREY WOODS THIRSTS

Includes three NSFW drabbles. read at your own risk.

TWs; mentions of mass murder, bloodplay, p3r10d s3x, reader using a kn1f3 handle to m45turb4t3, m4k1ng 0ut with an injured tongue, little mentions of nipple play, use of b1tch, s1ut, wh0r3, etc., heavy degradation, reader l1ck1ng blood off of Jeff's knife

A/N; uh oh uh oh uh oh uh oh

(Personal headcannon of mine that Jeff laughs/giggles mostly instead of moaning in bed) (hes fucked up ik)

After a crummy but successful mission, Jeff comes back to his room inside the mansion, only to find you on his bed, legs spread open, fucking yourself with the handle of his knife. He doesn't take it lightly.

It was an act of desperation.

He was away for so long-- too long.

So technically, this was his fault.

His fault that you snuck inside his room, looked for the closest object to being phallic, and chose his knife.

(The handle, of course. You weren't going to shove a literal blade inside you!)

You sat on the bed legs ready and spread wide open while your fingers gripped Jeff's used blood-soaked hoodie you stole from his laundry basket up to your nose.

Your panties were long forgotten and discarded on the floor, whereas your shirt is lifted up above your breasts. Your nipples were stiff and sensitive, given that your nubs were rubbing against the red-splotched hoodie while you began tribbing your clit onto the tip of the knife's handle.

Soon enough you were pulling the handle in and out of you vigorously, and you can only do so much as to bite Jeff's hoodie to muffle your moans while your free hand squeezed and tugged at your nipples.

Your legs were shaking, shaking, shaking. And every sudden jerk had your g-spot fluttering against the grip.

You were drooling all over yourself at this point. Every drop of your slick since you started made a big puddle of wet onto Jeff's bed. Small spurts spray from your cunt here and there, but you hold it in just like Jeff would make you every time you two would meet.

It wasnt long until the sounds of stomping and arguing that seemed to be aimed at Toby made you excited.

He was angry. And this was good.

You knew Jeff didn't have much to take his frustrations out on in this cursed mansion, so you offered a little gateway for his anger, and that lead to a three month fuck-buddy relationship.

You didn't mind, of course, it's going so well lately. Free dick whenever you wanted, and there's nobody to stop yo--

"You puttin' on a show for me, sweet'eart?" a gravelly voice that you know all too well rasped out.

You eyes shot open to see Jeff himself-- leaning on the door on his side, his head tilted while he closed the door behind him with his heel.

"What, cat's got your tongue?" he mocked, breathing in your fucked-out form.

He leaned in, seemingly to get a better look at you. "That my hoodie, babe?" Licking his lips, walking closer to snag the fabric from your teeth. He looked at you up and down, moaning at the sight of his knife handle being shoved inside the prettiest pussy he had ever seen.

Your hand was still holding the part where the blade meets the handle.

Your slick was everywhere. On your thighs, your fingers, even a part of the blade. You can feel Jeff's eyes burn into you as he started rubbing your clit while the knife was still inside your cunt.

"Fuuuck, baby girl," he groaned out, palming his own crotch. "Y'know, little twitch down there almost fucked up the whole shit-show," you whine at the contact, his rough finger pads circling your aching nub.

"And I've got a lot of... package... to sort through." as soon as you heard those words, you begin to pull out the knife, before earning a slap to your face.

"Uh, uh, uh. Since you decided to be an impatient little bitch today, you're gonna finish what you started." he removes his thumb from your clit and you whine. "But--" And before you could protest, he suddenly chokes you and angles your face to his. It terrified you, how his icy blue eyes bore into your very soul, and the sound of his wound ripping little by little as he smiled big and wide. Yet, more of your slick seeps through your cunt.

"Dirty sluts like you need to be taught patience and respect," he grips your throat tighter, leaning in closer-- so close that you can almost see his every intention.

"You will ride this fucking knife while you watch me jack off, until you squirt all over this damn floor three fucking times until you're damn near limp, before I fuck you into oblivion again and again," His grip tightened even more around your throat, you swear you could see stars.

Your cunt is a mess by now. Every deep echo of his voice is responded to by a flutter of your pussy, sucking in the knife handle that you were trying to remove further and further inside you.

Jeff slaps you again, and you moan. "Nod your head. Nod your pretty little head, pretty thing, show me you understand." he giggles maniacally under his breath, eyes crazing into yours.

With a half-assed effort, you bop your head up and down, whispering quiet little yes's from your front teeth.

"Good girl," He cooed in an awfully sick manner. He unbuckled his belt and pulled down his shorts while you gasp and cough at the sudden intake of air. Jeff stepped back a couple paces before starting to pump his cock in front of you. "Go on then, sweetheart," he chuckles once again. "Get to work."

You were a little too desperate during your period, and Jeff happens to be looking for a little distraction.

He had only gotten back from a stroll to ease his bloodlust when he heard you whining and begging to yourself from the kitchen inside of a little privacy hut both of you shared outside the mansion.

Jeff had only approached the open door with a few steps before he could see you bent over the sink-- seemingly filled to the brim with dishes from last night and soap suds. Your shorts and panties were both down to your ankles, drops of blood continuing to stain the fabrics.

Jeff grinned. You were giving him a show. He could see that your middle and ring fingers were ramming in and out of you repeatedly, making those blissful squelching sounds from both blood and cum.

Your cunt was covered in them, fluttering and spasming around your digits as if it was an invite for him.

And before you knew it, he shoved his cock inside you without warning, and you screamed out of pure ecstasy.

You had been craving for sweet release since yesterday, and you were so grateful that Jeff was so very kind enough to give it to you.

"Good morning, pretty girl," he giggles. "You waitin' out on me?" a few tears escaped your eyes while you nodded frantically.

"Poor baby-- all desperate and covered in all this delicious blood, no wonder you're crying," the smell was like heaven to Jeff, and the fact that it was your own blood that's being spilled, he's on cloud nine.

It only took one or two begging grinds from you before he started pounding mercilessly into your bloody cunt, causing you to writhe and scream with every thrust. Your heart thumps with every laugh he makes, eyes rolling into the back of your head while his tip abused your womb.

"Bleed for me, shitty fucking slut. Shit, you're fucking gorgeous like this."

After committing a family massacre, Jeff thinks it's sexy watching you get sprayed in innocent people's blood, and it's even sexier when you lick it off of his knife.

It was gnarly. All of it.

Poor family didn't have to die, if only they kept their fucking mouths shut.

The sight was rather horrifying to see. Well, for a normal person anyway. This was just another Tuesday for you.

But that couldn't explain how you got to the point where you and your partner were basically eating each other's faces out.

It all started with a cheeky compliment from him after you complained about being drenched in blood. Then a compliment from you, then from him again, until you both got a little too close and were all over each other.

Hands were everywhere. And soon enough, you were naked under him, the couch squeaking under both of your weights.

Jeff was shirtless too, only his pants were still on him and even that was unbuttoned. His cock was rock hard and he was too horny to even move to a real bed.

His teeth bit and prodded at your nipples, pulling them just right, making you grind your bare cunt against his thigh for some contact.

Both of you were absolutely drenched in blood. The red liquid was enough to seep through your clothes and stain your bodies.

Your tits, stomach, and thighs were covered in red. So is Jeff, his faint abs were glistening in blood, dripping down, down, down until his happy trail.

You were so turned on it was ridiculous.

The top of your head was against the arm rests of the couch, Jeff's knife was looming over you while his forearm dug into the same arm rest.

It wasnt until a drop of blood from his knife trickled down your forehead that you notice this.

Jeff felt your jerk and looked up, seeing his blood drenched blade making a mess on your face.

"Shit, sorry--" he grumbled a half-assed apology and tried to take the knife back and place it on the coffee table before you catch his wrist, pulling it closer once again to your face.

"Wait," You breathed. A mischievous smile slowly crept up on your lips. "Let me clean that up for you, baby," You opened your mouth with the most tempting pop! from your glossy lips, before lolling your tongue out fully, stretching it out to the bloody blade before running it from base to tip.

Jeff shivered. Then moaned.

You kept going, giving his knife little kitten licks while giving him the most precious puppy eyes, your eyebrows curling in planned lust.

Jeffrey quickly reached down and started to vigorously jerk his cock off, precum already dripping onto your pussy like icing. The sound of his wet dick was enough to make you whine like a dog.

Your tongue traveled to the edges of the sharp side of the blade, being careful enough to not split your tongue into two, but firm enough to get it clean.

His breaking point was when you gently pulled his gripped hands even closer to you, your tongue pressing onto the tip of the knife, making you moan like a whore when you feel the sharp point lightly scrape your tongue, drawing out a thin line of blood.

Jeff was drooling on you. And his hands worked harder and harder until he threw his head back, cock bursting with cum at the sight.

Without warning he threw the knife across the room, making clangs before colliding his lips onto yours, teeth clashing at the contact. You can feel his tongue enveloping yours, savoring the taste of your blood.

When you were out of air, you separated, leaving only a long, nasty string of spit connecting you two.

"That was fucking hot," Jeff moaned in your ear like he was in heat. "You're fucking hot."

You grinned, flashes of blood still staining your teeth. "Oh yeah?" you chided. "Come prove it to me then, motherfucker."

He's ready to pounce on you. "Right back at ya, bitch," And with that, he smashes his lips onto yours once again, and it doesn't take a full hour until the house you two broke in were filled with screams that aren't only in pain.

#jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta proxy #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #creepypasta #jeffery woods

204 notes · View notes

godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

The Best Thing - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Main Masterlist - Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This was so much fun for me. I love writing the chapters where they're just livin' life. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Mine by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary/Warnings: Sorta-Request from @myladyship! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat. Takes place ten months post-series.

That thing hadn’t been there, when Ben left the house this morning.

He was pretty goddamn certain it hadn’t.

But, as the mangy little creature stared at him from the couch, Ben ran back through the day in his head. Just in case.

He’d gotten up, fucked Her until she burst into flames, then made breakfast while She got ready for work. Normal morning. Perfect morning. Ryan had gotten on the bus—She’d be hesitant about him using that thing, worried about bullying, but it was working out pretty damn fine—and She’d come downstairs in a skirt that Ben had wasted no time in ripping off Her body. He’d buried himself between her thighs and tongue-fucked Her until she squirted all over his face, then he’d pulled out his cock and bent Her over the counter until she was screaming his name.

Normal morning.

He needed to buy Her a new skirt. She’d liked that one, and She liked Ben more, but he should still make sure She was a happy as fucking possible, all the damn time, because She was perfect and he fucking loved Her and there was nothing better in the world than taking care of Her and-

The creature yowled at him, and Ben scowled. It was looking at Ben like he was intruder, when this was his goddamn house, that had been bought with his fucking money—technically Her money, but as She frequently reminded him, the thing about marriage was that it was Ben’s money as well—and this thing didn’t have a single fucking say about where Ben did and didn’t go.

It hadn’t been here when he’d left this morning. He was fucking positive. After the kitchen sex, he’d made Her eat, then driven Her to work. She’d given him a blowjob in the car—Christ, he was the luckiest man alive—and he’d had to go back to the house to change his pants, because of what Frenchie was calling the No Cum near the Chemicals rule. Apparently it was dangerous, and not the fun kind of dangerous. The that’s how Homelander happened kind of dangerous.

So he’d changed his pants.

Everything had been good. She’d been humming and peaceful in Ben’s body, Ryan’s turtle had been in its tank, and when he’d left the house, that had been it. Nothing else.

This place was supposed to be fucking secure. More secure than the fucking White House, because Singer was replaceable, and She and Ryan weren’t. Hughie had promised this place was fucking secure, and She’d pointed out that even if it wasn’t, none of them could be killed, and there wasn’t a single place in the world someone could take Her that Ben couldn’t find, but She shouldn’t have to be taken. She should get to fucking rest, and if this place could be broken into, even by an animal, Ben was going to brutally maul a lot of people.

He couldn’t even be sure it was an animal. It might be a supe. Or a supes pet, sent to do something to them, and-

What’s wrong with you.

He scowled into the air. I’m fine, Sunshine, go-

I can feel you, Benjamin. Your throat is getting tight, and it feels like the world is spinning. There was a brief pause. You’re home for the day, right? I know Butcher’s been trying to put together that clean-up mission for some of the stray Vought scientists, but he promised to give me a week heads up before you left-

I’m home. Ben needed to cut Her off there. She’d hurt herself. And Butcher’s still flailing around like a fucking pussy with that mission, cuckfuck can’t do paperwork to save his life.

Then what’s wrong.

Nothing’s- He let out a long breath, glaring at the cat. He couldn’t lie to Her. Don’t lose your damn mind, beautiful. I’m going to handle it.

He could hear Her frown. Handle what?

Intruder. In the house. Ben’s fists curled, and the creature yawned. Like Ben was fucking nothing. Calling him a coward, in his goddamn house, sitting of his fucking couch-

Ben, there are no intruders, I was home an hour- There was another second of silence, then She snorted. You’re talking about Maeve, aren’t you.

Ben frowned. I thought you said that lady went to fucking Florida or some shit-

California. And she did. I’m talking about the cat.

It stretched, then curled into a tiny ball in the pillows.

Ben-

Ben grunted Her name down the connection. When the fuck did we get a cat.

Um, about two hours ago. And before you get mad-

His eyes narrowed at the air. He had to shut that shit down, now. I’m not mad. I don’t get fucking mad at you, I just didn’t expect a goddamn cat.

But-

No. I love you, and I’m not mad.

She sighed in the silence. I know. I love you, too.

Good. Explain.

Remember last month, when I said that I wanted a cat, and you said I could have ‘whatever the fuck I wanted’, and I said that I love you, and that’s very sweet, but if you don’t want a cat, you could just tell me?

Ben didn’t remember that. When did-

After Parent night, at school. Another Dad was talking about how hard it was to get gifts for his wife, and you got, um- She swallowed down the silent line, and Ben smirked. Her tone was growing softer, the way it only ever did for him. She was flushing, probably tapping Her fingers on her desk, and thinking about Ben with an infinite love he could feel, through his whole body.

Sunshine-

You told everyone that gift giving wasn’t hard at all, when your wife made you harder than anything else.

Ben remembered that. He specifically remembered how She’d wrinkled Her pretty nose and whacked his chest, and how all the dumbfuck parents had looked mortified—good word, maybe MM was onto something with this word of the week shit—at his words, like they hadn’t already all fucked at least once to get their stupid fucking kids.

She sighed in Ben’s ear. After that, when that bitch of a mom-

Fake Face-

Yeah. She asked you exactly how you were such a perfect husband, you told her that I was a perfect wife, and after she left I asked you the same thing, and you said that it was what I deserved, and you’d shoot yourself before you didn’t take care of me right, and taking care of me right meant fucking me right and getting me whatever I wanted and-

I ate you out in a supply closet. Ben grinned into the air, and the cat gave him an odd look. You nearly made the damn building burn down-

Yeah, because you decided that three orgasms ‘wasn’t enough’-

And I was right, brat. I remember you begging to cum for me one more time, saying please and taking it like a good girl-

Fucking- I’m at work, Ben-

Lock the door.

I can’t, I’m in a meeting-

Then why the fuck are you talking to me-

Because I’m trying to explain the cat, you horny old cunt.

Smartass.

You love it. The point I was trying to make is that, after the, um, supply closet sex, I made a joke that you’d never need to get me anything at all, as long I had you and your, um- She coughed between their heads, Her voice suddenly a little breathy, and Ben could really see that flush over Her cheeks. Cock. And you took that very seriously and told me that I’d always have your cock, but you’d also give me the goddamn moon, if I asked. And I said that I’d settle for a cat, and, yeah.

Right. Ben grunted down the connection. That tracked, and even if it didn’t, he didn’t really give a shit. If She wanted the cat, the thing could stay. Are you wet, Sunshine?

Benjamin- She sighed in his head. Meeting. We can’t have mind sex during another meeting.

Nobody fucking caught you last time-

Yeah, but I have to stand up and talk this time- She cut Herself off, and Ben could almost see Her pretty frown. Is that it? About Maeve?

Ben shrugged. You want to keep the thing?

Yes, but-

Then that’s it. He shot the animal another glare. It was really fucking ugly. Why the fuck did you name it Maeve-

I don’t know, it looked like a Maeve-

It looks like a fucking Frankenstein-

That’s rude, Ben. Apologize to her.

No.

Benjamin-

It’s a fucking cat. It can’t even hear our conversation-

Yeah, but you’re probably glaring at her and making her feel nervous. Calm down and apologize.

Ben let out a long, slow breath. For Her, he’d apologize to the fucking cat, because She wasn’t doing it to make fun of him. She was just perfect and kind and good, and genuinely wanted Ben to get along with this ugly creature on his couch.

“Sorry.” He grunted to the thing, and it just blinked at him. I apologized.

Thank you, my love. There’s food for her in the kitchen-

I’ll handle it, darling. Have a good meeting. Kick all their fucking asses up their heads.

She giggled down the connection. Gross.

You love it.

I do. I love you.

She did. And Ben could always feel it.

I love you too, Sunshine.

She hummed, and faded back into only love, deep and permanent in Ben’s body.

He’d feed the cat. For Her.

But he’d also do fucking anything for Her, so a cat really wasn’t that bad at all.

——————

“Where did you find her?”

Ben didn’t have to look up to the wonder in Ryan’s voice. The kid loved the damn cat. He’d come home and his jaw had dropped, his eyes lighting up the moment he’d seen the ugly thing sitting in the middle of the fucking hallway.

She’d shot Ben a smug grin, and he’d rolled his eyes, planting firm kiss on the top of Her head before stomping into the kitchen.

They could fawn over the damn thing all they fucking wanted. Ben would not fall into line like a fucking pussy for an animal. Over the weekend it had eaten all its damn food in a second, jumped up on their bed twice, and—worst of all—managed to distract Her from sex.

And after She’d let the fucker out into the yard, She’d come right back. Returned to their bed and crawled over Ben’s chest with a sweet, happy smile, laughing when he’d flipped Her over and pinned Her between his body and the mattress, then moaned his name when he’d fucked Her stupid.

“You’re jealous of the cat.” She’d whispered onto his lips, when he was still buried deep in Her cunt, and he’d scowled.

“Shut up.”

She’d laughed, holding Ben’s face between Her hands and looking perfect and beautiful and thoroughly, properly wrecked below him, and Ben had shut Her up with a long, deep kiss.

“I love you.” He’d muttered against Her still-parted lips. “Next time, let the damn cat out before you suck my cock.”

“Jealous-“

“I’m not jealous of the fucking cat,” he’d drawled Her name, pushing up on his elbows to give her a pointed look. “I just don’t want our fucking neighbors to see all my cum on your face, beautiful.”

She’d flushed, Ben had laughed and hauled Her up into his arms, and they’d taken a long, warm, uninterrupted shower.

But now the cat was back. She’d said it was an outdoor cat, and that it would do that, but still.

Now Ben had to listen to Her and Ryan fawn over it for doing nothing, while he cooked their fucking dinner.

“She was in the alley, outside my office.” Ben glanced over to see Her scratching the cat’s ear, and tried not to let it knock the breath out of his fucking chest. How beautiful She was. How fucking perfect She was.

He didn’t succeed.

He didn’t really fucking care, either.

“We’d all been feeding her, for a few months. And Ben and I had been talking about getting a cat-“

Ryan looked over to Ben with wide eyes. “You have?”

“Yes.” Ben grunted. “Listen to your mother talk.”

There was a brief moment of silence that Ben didn’t understand, and then—like nothing had happened at all—She continued. Explaining to Ryan how rescues were always better than breeders, and She’d been able to feel the cat’s joy when She’d held it, so she figured giving it a good home with them was the best possible option.

Ryan was asking a lot of questions about cat care, and the apparent fact that She could feel animal’s emotions—She’d explained that one before, something about them being slightly muted, but mostly through a barrier that was about biology or some shit—when the reason for the silence hit him.

He’d called Her Ryan’s mom.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that in his head, or at school meetings or senate hearings. But he’d never done it at home.

He wasn’t fucking wrong. She was, in every fucking sense but biological, Ryan’s mother. And the kid’s biological mother was long fucking dead, so as long as Ryan didn’t hate it, he’d keep doing it.

“You made Ryan really happy.” She told him later that night, and Ben frowned at Her from the dresser.

She was wearing one of his shirts, sitting cross legged on their bed. After they had this conversation, Ben needed to rip it off Her perfect body.

“I didn’t fucking do anything.”

“You accepted Maeve.” She hummed, smiling at him as he got changed. “And you called me his mom.”

Ben pauses, scanning over Her carefully. Her heart was at its normal rhythm, and she was happy and easy in his body but-

“I don’t mind that you called me that, Ben.” She whispered, tapping Her fingers on her knee. “I- It’s nice. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing a good job with him, and I’ve been really worried that Ryan’s going to think we’ll love him less, now that we’re thinking of having another kid-“

“That’s fucking insane-“

She shook Her head. “It happens a lot, when someone gets a divorce and remarries, then has kids in the new marriage. And this isn’t that, but it’s adjacent, and I know he still worries about us waking up one day and deciding he’s too much like-“

She swallowed, Her heart picked up slightly, and Ben didn’t need Her to finish the sentence. There was only one pussy fuck in the universe who was able to make Her fearful and quiet like that, even when he was long gone.

So Ben moved to kneel before Her, brushing her hair out of Her face and muttering Her name until she met his gaze.

“I’ll talk to Ryan.” He muttered. “Make sure he knows we’re never fucking replacing him, get that just like his father shit out of his head. And you are doing the best fucking job. You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, and Ryan fucking knows it.”

She nodded, leaning down to press Her brow to Ben’s, soft tears falling from Her eyes.

Ben had long learned that he couldn’t stop it. That these were the storms that She just needed him to be there for, to ride out at Her side and then hold Her for as long as She asked after.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to bring Homelander back to life, punch the fuckhead into the goddamn sun, then chop him up and feed him to sharks.

“He’s dead.” Ben muttered. “Gone. Ryan’s safe, because you fucking killed him-“

“Technically Butcher killed him-“

“Technically Butcher can gargle my balls. You did all the damn work.” Ben wiped Her tears off her cheeks, holding her gaze as he continued. “Ryan wouldn’t want another mom. You’re fucking perfect, Sunshine, so stop losing your damn mind.”

She gave him a soft smile, nodded, and kissed Ben gently. Like they had time.

And they really fucking did. This was going to be forever, so Ben could unravel Her slowly when she started to almost fall over him and scratch at his back, ripping his shirt off Her body just like he’d promised, taking Her nipple into her mouth until she was moaning his name-

The cat yowled. Outside the door.

It wanted to go outside again. And there wasn’t a fucking chance Ben was letting Her leave the bed, so pressed on last kiss to her brow, stomped outside, and opened the back door.

The cat trotted up behind him, looked between Ben and the yard, and sat down.

“Go.” Ben grunted, and it didn’t. It started licking its ass.

He gave up fast. His wife was waiting for him in bed, and She was far more important than the fickle animal—fickle, another good word, he was going to shove that one in MM’s face—so Ben slammed the door closed and returned to his bedroom with a scowl.

She slept easy that night. Wrapped in Ben’s arms, breathing even and heartbeat in perfect time with his.

When he woke up, he peeled Her off his body with a kiss to the top of Her head, gave himself plenty of time to admire how fucking beautiful she looked—happy, peaceful, almost glowing in the morning light—and forced himself out of bed.

She needed coffee. And Ben could give that Her, easily.

But he opened the door, and the fucking cat was waiting for him. Circled up outside their bedroom door, so comfortably settled that Ben would bet a lot of damn money it had been there all night.

“Fucking pervert.” He grumbled, stepping over its tail and walking to the stairs.

The cat only stretched, yawned, and followed Ben down the hall.

—————

Ben had the house to himself for the night. She was out with Annie and Kimiko doing whatever women did to have fun—crime? probably crime—and Ryan was back at Butcher’s, so Ben had the whole fucking house to himself.

He hated it.

It was empty. Quiet. Too damn much like life before the Russian’s got him—when the world had been boring and flat and he’d hated every single fucking pussy he had to talk to—and Ben fucking despised it. He’d agreed to a nice, big house in the suburbs because that’s what She wanted. Something simple, and normal, because the rest of their lives would always remain in pure fucking chaos. Ben would’ve lived anywhere She told him to, as long as She was there.

And She’d be back tonight. Ben knew She’d be back tonight, and he could feel Her halfway across the city—and there was no danger or distress down the connection, so everything was good—but he still fucking missed Her.

He should’ve damned the custody agreement and taken Ryan back for the night. It wasn’t even a legal thing, it was just Her being too kind, too good, and giving Butcher alternate weekends. Ben could’ve told Butcher to suck his fucking dick, because he wanted to take Ryan to an arcade, or watch a movie, or just go out in the yard and do some baseball-

But Ryan liked going to Butcher’s.

And Ben was a grown fucking man. He’d fought in a war. Two, if he counted all the shit with Homelander. He could survive for a goddamn night while his son and wife were gone, and then they’d come home, and everything would be good again.

Bonus, when he tackled Her to the floor and fucked Her dumb in the hallway, then on the stairs, then anywhere in their bedroom that She asked, Ben be able to grumble all the praise and teasing comments he wanted, and She’d be twice as perfect and needy for him than usual. Which was fucking saying something, because She’d already been an hour late to Her dinner, after a hand job, Ben ruining Her first outfit to fuck Her against the door, and fingering in the shower.

He fucking loved Her.

He could survive the night.

Dinner was steak, but he made too much and put some in the fridge for Her later. He did some training, and showered, and ended up on the couch, flipping through the shows to try and find something that he could watch alone.

Everything was better when She watched it with him. When they watched documentaries, She’d make little smart mouthed jokes that were funnier than the program, and when they watched dramas, She’d curl right up into his side, where She fucking belonged. If it was something She loved, She’d spend half the time talking over it—telling Ben a million little facts and opinions—and he didn’t care that he couldn’t hear the show, because She was more fucking important by a mile.

The best was when Ben would watch baseball and She’d pretend to know what the hell was happening. She was fucking adorable—trying to act like She understood the rules—and She’d get all damn riled up on his behalf when the ref made a shit call. Then Ben would explain it to Her, she’d stare up at him with parted lips and a slack, wanting expression, and he’d just chuckle, pull Her further into his lap, and kiss Her until she was writhing in his hold-

Ben started with a grunt as the cat jumped up onto his lap. A month living with them instead of the alley had done it well—smoother, cleaner fur, a lighter step, a proper stomach—but it had also seemed to grow, annoyingly, fond of Ben.

Fucking Ben.

He fed it the most. It was the only explanation. Ben was usually up first, so he fed the thing more than She or Ryan did, and that’s why it liked him.

He also let it outside the most, but that was just so She wouldn’t flash the neighbors. She cleaned its litterbox, and pet it more, and it should fucking love Her because everything should love Her, and Ben was not the one who had rescued it from a damn alley.

“I don’t know, Pretty Boy.” She’d smiled at him yesterday, when he’d grumbled about this over dinner. “I think you’re very lovable.”

“You’re fucking bias, Sunshine, you don’t count-“

She’d shrugged. “Agree to disagree. If I was a cat, I’d follow you around all the time.”

“Because you goddamn love me-“

“Maybe Maeve loves you.”

“It’s a fucking cat,” He’d grumbled Her name, and the cat walked into the kitchen, rubbing against Ben’s ankles and looking up at his like it fucking expected something. “See, it just wants my food-“

“I’m eating the same thing.” She’d hummed, giving him an amused look. “Why isn’t she trying to get my attention?”

That had been a good point. She was so fucking beautiful and smart—Her wedding ring shining on Her finger and all of Ben’s love radiant in his chest—and that had been a damn good point.

So Ben had just rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“This a fucking calamity,” He’d grumbled Her name, and Her smile had widened.

“Word of the week?”

He’d grunted, and She’d giggled, leaning Her head on his shoulder. “You used it wrong, my love.”

“The website-“

“The website was wrong. I sent MM a new one to use a few days ago. Calamity is for disasters, it’s not intangible with just a bad thing. Like- A hurricane, or a war. Those are calamities. Not our cat loving you.”

“It doesn’t love me.”

“Yes, it does.”

She’d smiled up at him, pressed a kiss right over his beard, and Ben had let it go.

But now the cat was on his fucking lap.

Looking at him with big, shining eyes in the dark, starting to kneed on his leg like it was going to-

Christ on a fucking cross, the thing sat down.

He should shove it off. Stand up. Get it away.

But it was Her fucking cat. She adored this thing, and harming it would be, in a way, harming Her-

Ben narrowed his eyes at it. “One-time thing, you fucking pussy, got it?”

The cat blinked at him. Ben decided it understood.

It fell asleep on his lap. Ben fell asleep on the couch. And when he woke up in the morning they’d been joined by Her, tucked into Ben’s side with her arms wrapped around his torso. Still in Her dress from last night.

Ben grinned, running his fingers through Her hair until she let out a soft, happy sound, and still didn’t move.

There were much fucking worse places to be trapped.

———

Butcher’s days were fucking numbered.

The cuckass had said four days. This mission would take four days. They’d fly out, finish it in two, clean up whatever mess they left behind, then fly back home. The pussy scientists wouldn’t know something was wrong until Ben was punching them square in the face, they might catch a rogue supe or two in the process, and then Ben could go the fuck home.

But then the FSAB agents got fucking cocky, and tried to join in, and they’d had to spend a whole fucking day reworking the plan. Then they’d gotten into the lab, but one of the head scientists had seen them coming—none of the team had said it aloud, but they’d exchanged sharp looks of we did our damn jobs, this is the government’s fault—so they needed to track the pussy down. And the scientist had hid all his research, so they had to fucking find that as well, and if one more pussy suit from the FBAA asked Ben about a single goddamn thing, he was going to start throwing nukes out and crushing fucking skulls-

“That’s not very nice, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring at Her pretty face on the tiny screen of his phone. “I’m not trying to be fucking nice, I’m trying to come home-“

“I know, but I’d still appreciate not having to visit you in prison.”

“Prisons can’t fucking hold me-“

She sighed, giving him a flat look. “Ben, you know they’ve been developing things to hold all of us down if they need to, right?”

He sat taller in his chair, and the radiance in his chest growing white-hot, because nobody was allowed to fucking touch Her, not a single fucking pussy in the universe, Ben didn’t give a shit about them trying to put him back under, but She’d been held and broken too many fucking times, and Ben would be damned if he let it happen again-

“I’m fine, now, Ben.” She gave him a soft smile through the screen, and Ben really wished he could touch Her. Hold Her. Kiss Her and let Her melt into his arms, where She was fucking safe. “You’d feel it if I wasn’t.”

He would. That was true.

It didn’t make him relax, though.

“What the fuck do you mean, hold us down.”

“I-“ She let out a long breath, and Ben could see Her fingers tapping on the table. “We’re the most dangerous group of people on the planet, Ben. And we’re all friends and co-workers and it’s been established based on previous patterns that we’d do anything for each other. To the government, that’s a threat, especially because we haven’t exactly played nice with them historically.”

“We would’ve played nice if they weren’t fucking idiots.” Ben grumbled, and it got an adoring smile and easy laugh, so now he was mostly sitting tall with a glowing pride in his chest.

She continued, Her voice a little lighter than before. “Yeah, but to them it’s just not playing nice. It’s the threat thing. Butcher’s a known loose cannon, and now he can shoot laser out of his eyes. Annie’s sweet, but she can still fly and create electrical storms, and she killed the Deep. Kimiko can’t be killed, and she does have a terrorist background, and they-“ She cut Herself off with a long sigh. “I know for a fact that a lot of top officials in Singer’s cabinet are still trying to get Ryan taken away from us and locked up.”

“I won’t fucking let that happen, Sunshine.” Ben muttered, his hands moving forward on a useless fucking instinct to touch Her, but She was just an image in a screen. He did the second-best thing instead. I’ll fucking kill them, all of them, before they lay a single goddamn finger on you or Ryan-

I know. She gave him a small, sad smile. But they know that. We’re the biggest threat, Ben. They know what you’ll do for Ryan and I, they know Ryan’s attached to us and won’t voluntarily leave, and they- I’m the problem. The big one.

Ben scowled. She could be a problem, but only in the way where She’d get on Her knees and beg Ben to suck his cock, or become a pleading, needy mess below him. She gave him a million fucking problems every goddamn day, and he fucking loved it, but the goddamn government didn’t know that, so-

They haven’t gotten anything for me. She sighed. There’s literally no way to incapacitate me.

Good.

No, Ben, it’s- They’re well aware that if they knocked you down, I’d come get you in ten fucking seconds, and all bets would be off.

He grinned at Her. You’d break me out of prison, darling?

Of course I would, you smug ass-

You love me.

I do, but-

Ben said Her name, firm and strong down the bond, and She blinked at him through the screen. Nothing’s going to fucking hurt us again. Ever. Or Ryan, or any of our other kids.

She raised Her brows. Other kids?

He rolled his eyes. I fucked you full of my cum last week, smartass.

Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.

What, that I’m going to fuck you so good you’re never going to empty of me? Ben smirked, leaning a little closer to the phone so he could see Her flush. That I’m going to make you so cockdrunk you never come down, that I’m going to take such good fucking care of you while you’re carrying our kid that they’ll come out fucking glowing-

Babies don’t glow. She mumbled, but Ben knew that voice. And that flush.

He’d won. She was distracted from thoughts of the government, and looking at him with dazed, adoring eyes through the phone, and nothing was wrong in the entire world. Our babies could glow. Frenchie said they’d be supes-

Yeah, but- Actually, that’s a good point. This would be the first completely supe baby in history, and the first one with our V-

So it would glow.

We don’t know that it wouldn’t, but I doubt-

It’ll glow. Ben grinned at Her. It’s your baby, beautiful. It’ll glow.

She rolled Her eyes, the flush deepening. Kiss ass.

Brat. I’m going to fuck you so good when I get home, He drawled Her name between their heads, and could fucking feel Her want for him through his whole goddamn body. Make you fucking stupid on my cock-

Ben, please-

Save it, Sunshine. He winked at Her in the phone. Need to hear it when I’m buried in that perfect fucking pussy-

Ryan’s home, you asshole-

He laughed. Kid’s used to it.

Yeah, but- She cut Herself off, her gaze dropping away from the phone to something on the floor. “Hi, baby, do you wanna say hi?”

Ben frowned. “I didn’t give you a baby yet-“

She laughed, shooting Ben an amused look. “It’s Maeve. She heard your voice.”

“I was talking on the- How the fuck did she hear me.”

“I’m sorry, Pretty Boy, you were talking on the what?”

“The Ben’o’phone.” He grunted, leaning forward in his chair to see what she was looking at, Her attention remaining on the floor. The movement wasn’t helping. The image wasn’t moving. “Answer my damn question-“

“We were talking aloud earlier,” She shrugged. “And I’m wearing one of your shirts, so maybe she can just smell you.”

“Why the fuck would that matter-“

“Because she loves you. I get it.” She smiled down at the floor. “Come here, you can talk to him as well.”

Ben grunted Her name, and half a second later he was staring at a cat ass instead of his wife.

Then Maeve turned and started head-butting the camera, and Ben would be pissed if he couldn’t also hear Her laughing in the background.

The point of the call had been to fucking see Her. And, because She was perfect, she did pull Maeve into Her lap after a few seconds, continuing as if nothing had happened.

It kept looking at him, the whole call. She was petting Maeve’s ears as they talked, and it kept fucking staring at him-

“She misses you, Ben.”

He shook his head. “It’s a fucking cat, Sunshine, it’s forgotten I exist-“

“No, she misses you. Yesterday she was yowling at the door, and then she was disappointed when I opened it instead of you.”

“How the fuck-“

“I can feel it. She misses you.” She paused, and gave him a small smile. “I miss you. Tell Butcher to hurry up, or I’ll punch him.”

Ben snorted. “I don’t think he’s going to be that perturbed by that, beautiful.”

“Then let’s fucking test the theory-“ She paused, Her smile growing. “Perturbed. That’s good. Do you want me to tell you if MM uses it?”

“He fucking has to, that’s how word of the week works-“

She laughed. “It’s Thursday, my love, have you used it multiple times?”

“No.” Ben grunted. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her smile could build new universes, and the love in Ben’s chest was so fucking powerful, he was convinced it might.

“I love you, Benjamin.” She whispered, and Maeve made a little sound on Her lap. “We both do.”

Ben grunted. “I love you too, Sunshine. Just you.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, dropping Her voice to a mocking, fake whisper. “He loves you, Maeve, he’s just grumpy.”

He didn’t.

But he did love how fucking happy She was, wearing his shirt and being beautiful and sitting, safe and easy in their home.

If he didn’t get home soon, Butcher was going to have to die.

———

The flight had been too fucking long. Too many goddamn hours stuck on a plane sitting next to fucking Butcher, because the pussy was somehow the only person on the whole goddamn plane that wasn’t either talking shit about how dumb those scientists had been—Frenchie and Kimiko had holed up in the corner, and Ben wasn’t good enough at that sign language shit to keep up, so he couldn’t participate in the conversation if he wanted to—or trying to hit on him.

All these dumbfuck BSFA agents kept hitting on him.

“You look like you got a stick up your fuckin’ ass, gov-“

“Shut up.” Ben grunted, shooting Butcher a glare. “I want to get the fuck home, not have a conversation.”

Butcher just shrugged. “I ain’t tryin’ to talk to you either, but it’s lookin’ like it’s either that or leavin’ you to the bloody wolves over there.”

Ben didn’t have to follow Butcher’s gaze to know that he was talking about the giggly FSSB agents in the corner of the jet. He could fucking hear them, hear them talking about him like he was fucking meat, and he missed Her-

“Don’t know why they’re botherin’.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Half the shit you’ve said the whole mission is about how fuckin’ perfect your girl is-“

“Because she is perfect-“

“I know that, Gov, but I ain’t tryin’ to ride your dick, either-“

“Nobody rides my dick but-“

Butcher cut him off with Her name, giving Ben a flat look. “I told you. I know. We all fuckin’ know.”

Ben scowled, jerking his head to the agents. “They don’t.”

“Well, that’s their fuckin’ heads, ain’t it. She’d kill ‘em if she heard.”

It was impossible to stop the grin on Ben’s face. She would kill them. She was a lot more fucking possessive than people gave Her credit for, and She’d burn them all to ash, looking fucking beautiful doing it, then jump into Ben’s arms and ride him until She was moaning his name and cumming all over his cock-

“Bloody Christ, Mate.” Butcher grumbled. “I can see your fuckin’ hard-on.”

Ben didn’t really give a fuck. The conversation moved on to Ryan, and some book the kid was reading, and he got boners about Her around the team all the damn time. This was a lot better than when they had brain sex in front of everyone, so Butcher could fucking deal.

It only became a problem when one of the FFAA agents got real fucking bold, stood up, walked in front of Ben and Butcher, and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Soldier Boy-“

Ben grunted, shooting her a glare. “What.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you were really brave out in the field today.” The agent batted her lashes at him, and Ben almost felt fucking bad for her. She wasn’t ugly, but compared to his wife—more beautiful than all the fucking stars and planets and works of art in the universe, holy and sacred and fucking perfect—she was nothing.

“Well, I’m good at my fucking job.” He muttered, turning back to Butcher, and the asshat looked like he was going to start laughing.

The woman didn’t give up. “Yeah, you- you really are. I was just wondering, if you have any post-mission rituals to help us-“

“Gov’s gonna go home, ain’t he. Gettin’ his dick wet.” Butcher was grinning as the agent blushed, and the pussy was looking far too fucking amused for Ben’s liking. “Or he’s just knockin’ right out to bloody hell-“

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher.”

“Sorry, agent.” Butcher winked at the woman, and Ben was going to throw him out of the plane. “Old men ain’t good to sleep well when they don’t got their own bed.”

The woman sighed, giving Ben a look of fucking pity. “I’m so sorry, is it-“ She looked around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Nightmares?”

It was. Without Her there, the nightmares about Homelander rising up from the dead, locking Ben in a box, and fucking hurting Her always returned.

“I miss my wife.” He grumbled, and Butcher snorted.

“Your-“ The woman’s eyes widened. “I- I’m sorry, I just heard that your marriage was a front for, um, for the-“

“Sweetheart.” Butcher cut the woman off with a bored, amused tone. “I’m tellin’ you from firsthand experience, they’re the two horniest cunts alive, that marriage is a sham just as much as my tits ain’t real.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and the woman swallowed.

“But- I’ve heard the Anomaly’s story, with Homelan-“

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Ben snapped. “And you don’t know goddamn shit about her. I fucking-“

“You love her, Gov. We’ve heard.”

Ben scowled. “I do. I’m fucking rife with it. Love.”

Butcher raised his brows. “Word of the week?”

Ben nodded, and he was only vaguely aware of the agent, shuffling back to her friends with loud whisper about how, apparently, Soldier Boy and the Anomaly were really married.

Butcher hummed. “That’s a good one. You beatin’ MM?”

“It’s not a fucking competition-“

“Not with that shit attitude, it ain’t.”

Ben snorted, and he was almost home. So fucking close, Her presence over his skull calling him closer, because he was almost fucking home, and it didn’t goddamn matter what some pussy agents thought, nothing in the world was fucking better than going home, to Her.

Although he might have to start fucking Her in public more. Or at least kissing Her stupid and dizzy where the world could see it. That agent wasn’t the first to doubt, for some stupid fucking reason, that She and Ben weren’t really together. It was one of the hundred reasons why he never took his ring off, so everyone fucking knew, just a little more, that Ben was Her’s. That the tabloids and useless fucking gossip websites could talk all they fucking wanted about how She and Ben were just a front marriage, and Ryan was actually Her biological son with Homelander—that timeline didn’t fucking add up at all, but none of the damn idiots seemed to care—or that Ben was Homelander, in fucking disguise or some shit, but the truth was pretty damn plain and obvious.

She was perfect. Ben loved Her. And he’d launch himself into the fucking sun before he even thought about looking away from Her for a fucking second.

And when he got home, Ben knew She was already asleep. Ryan was as well, when Ben poked his head in the kid’s room, and Ben was a little fucking thankful about it. He’d hug Ryan and make him breakfast in the morning, but it was late. They needed sleep.

Ben needed sleep. He needed to sleep next to his wife, in his bed, and never fucking let Butcher take him on one of those mission again,

But when he got to their room, half tearing off his clothing as he walked to the mattress, his spot was fucking taken.

The cat was on his side of the bed, sitting tall and vigilant over Her body, eyeing Ben carefully as he glared at it.

“Move.” He grunted.

Maeve looked back to Her, stood up, and walked over to Ben, rubbing his hand with sudden purrs.

She rolled over in Her sleep, and Ben grinned. Christ, She was beautiful. A little drool falling out of Her pretty mouth, wearing his fucking shirt, a little makeup still on Her face that told Ben she’d been waiting for him. To come home.

Back to Her.

Something nipped at his hand. The cat.

He’d started petting the cat without thought, and it had fucking bit him-

Because he was staring at Her.

Maeve had been watching over Her, while Ben was gone.

And he could deal with that. Work with it.

When Ben crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Her, Maeve was still letting out soft hisses. Right up until She rolled over and buried her perfect face in Ben’s chest with a small, happy sigh.

And Maeve backed off, stretching and laying back down near Her legs, tangled in with Ben’s.

The thing was obviously damn smart, and it was still fucking ugly, but so was a lot of Ben’s life.

The best, most beautiful thing was Her. The most important thing was protecting Her, caring for Her, making sure She was happy all the fucking time.

So as long as the cat got that She was the whole fucking world, Ben was good.

End Note: Btw the cat is names Maeve because I miss her. Shoutout Maeve, none of this would've happened if she didn't tip Butcher off about Sunshine's existence. Our unsung hero.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask! (Separate from main taglist)

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd @sthefferrete

@lyarr24 @deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @Ambiguous-avery

@elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive @alwaystiredandconfused

@kamisobsessed @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @Jackles010378 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @immastealurkneecaps

@star-yawnznn @Chi-raz @Lori19 @wynnthewynnder @fultiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish

@jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka @allthetroubleiveseen @dyhsversion

@pillowjj @megara0224 @funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @kr804573

@bejeweledinterludes @solsborg @sheneedsjesus @bonkydarnes @whimsicalcherry

@maydayfigment @forzalando @roseblue373 @fxckingjo @angrydragon90

@biodegradable-glitter-fest

193 notes · View notes

bunny-jpeg · 1 year ago

Note

Omg I am GREEDY could I please request for max banana bread and a croissant with a side of coffee hard lemonade?! Just imagining max getting jealous with a rival Mercedes driver who is Toto’s daughter or something when he sees her flirting with someone else 😌😌😌 spicy please sir 🙏

the bakery menu

still many sweet treats on the menu and orders are still available! feel free to place an order! also to the anon who requested this, i love your beautiful mind for this! i was somewhat expecting someone to request the reader be either horner or toto's daughter, but combined with the other prompts, i rather enjoy your devilish mind! please enjoy!

in addition, this will probably be the largest bakery request, this sort of got away from me!

banana bread ("i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name.") + croissant ("i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me.") + hard lemonade (possessive behaviour) served to you by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, driver!reader, driver!max, rough sex, degrading language, rivals au, hate fucking, teasing, max & reader hate each other and their fathers, possessive behaviour/jealousy, mentions of marriage and kids

you were good, and that pissed max off. it wasn't because you were a woman, that didn't matter. anyone of any gender who was better than him left a chill down his back.

you were good, so therefore he had to be better.

"are you upset that you lost, princess."

the hateful nickname people gave you in formula one, you were the daughter of toto wolff and drove for the team he basically owned. your father was technically your boss and most thought that you were incapable of being good. that everything was handed to you by your father.

your jaw tensed, you were number two in the season. marginally behind max verstappen who was looking at you with a smugness.

"so what will be your reward, oh dear lord verstappen. how can i a humble peasant in the world of formula one be so thankful that you beat me." your tone was laced with poison.

"motor home at the end of the lot. the one right beside the one your father's team owns." he was almost cocky and it made you want to go at his throat.

but rules were rules and as much as you wanted to whip your helmet at him. this sick little cat and mouse would just have to continue, except this time max was the cat.

you were pressed up against the door of the motor-home hours later after interviews, max had you by the shoulders as he pulled you into a searing kiss. he had taken home the trophy and you were a seething little rabbit.

being rivals sometimes meant ending up in compromising positions. and you and max made quite a pair. you heard the conversations online about the idea of you two being a couple.

a few photos from your early days of racing had made the rounds off of a private facebook page that a former friend had and onto the likes of instagram and tiktok.

you thought that the photos were before the "arrangement" you had but you could see in the shit quality of the photo the prominent hicket on max's hip in one of the photos where he had his arms raised above his head and the t-shirt he wore had rolled up.

the most incriminating was one that was a tad blurrier than the others. it was you and max at a club somewhere in either mexico or brazil and max had his arm slung around you, and your nose was in the crook of his shoulder and you looked like you were half asleep. max looked drunk as hell. but it wasn't the position you were in, but rather the trail of deep red lipstick across his cheek and down his neck. you were both out of it, very drunk but it was obvious that you were kissing all over the other driver's neck. you tried to explain online that it was just a wicked bruise on his face! but when was the last time a bruise looked like lips?

if those were bad enough, if someone found the both of you in the position you were in now, the media would latch onto it for the next decade. until you two eventually got married and had the next heir to the verstappen racing legacy.

he pulled at your racing shirt, the logo of mercedes was starting to piss him off. he didn't want to see it stretched around your tits, he'd rather have the flesh in his lands and covering it in dark hickies.

his hat was on the ground soon after and you two kept a close distance as you made your way through the motor home, trailing clothes behind. until you got to the upstairs portion where if left you in just your mismatched socks and him in his tight briefs and red bull polo shirt.

"you look good."

"you act like you've never seen me naked before." you approached him and pressed yourself up against him and linked fingers with him, "we've been doing this since what, 2016?"

he looked down at you, "and yes you only get more beautiful, i keep wondering why you can never find a boyfriend. are they scared?"

you clenched his hand and said, "max verstappen, anytime a man with any kind of clout follows me on instagram, they always seem to unfollow me right after. i have my guesses on why that is happening, but i feel like you'd have a better idea." then flashed him a smile before you pushed him onto the bed.

max looked up and smiled at you. not the one who put on for the cameras, but rather a true genuine smile. he responded as he took his shirt off, "princess, i honestly don't know. could be your overbearing father for all you know. he would only want the best for you after all."

you straddled his clothed cock and placed your hands across his chest, "well, then i guess it wouldn't bother you if i said that two weekends ago i had a little post-race rendezvous with leclerc."

max's attention piqued. the green-eyed monster that lived in the driver reared its ugly head. he said, "you went somewhere with charles?"

you nodded and cupped his face. you smiled and replied, "oh yeah. nice big boat, lots of wine. he let me put the ferrari hat on when i rode him. but you're not bothered by that, right?"

max grabbed you by the back of the head and pulled you into a hot kiss. you could feel the tension in his body, the jealousy taking root. when you pulled away, he looked sternly into your eyes, he held your head and said, "you're a little liar. how would you father feel if he found out that you were a dirty fucking liar."

a sick little game. this what this all was. losing your career and favour with your father was not worth it, so the games continued until you both got bored. but it's been almost ten years and there was very little boredom.

"really, go ask him next time." you pushed further. you could feel his clothed erection up against your pussy. fucking freak.

max replied, "yeah, yeah. i'll ask him, and then i'll invite him over next time. he doesn't live that far away, princess. and i will show him how to actually fuck you. because i know if you did sleep with him, you were faking your orgasms."

you nodded a little and said, "yeah, verstappen. why don't we bring up the time you called me because you thought you got some girl in italy pregnant." you pressed your forehead against his. the sharp words were replaced with hot kisses.

max's briefs were soon off, followed by your socks. you two hated each other, it was a sickening affair. fueled by lust, hate and wanting some kind of release. you were your fathers' pet projects, a mutually assured destruction was the only way out of it. and it took the form and max's hands gripping your hips as he wrestled you onto your elbows and knees.

"i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name." he said, "maybe if you're lucky, it'll be your name in a few years." he rubbed his cock up against your slick pussy.

you wanted to reach behind you and hit him, but instead your muttered out, "yeah well your son will have the wolff last name then."

he yanked your hair and said, "not if i have anything to do about it. i'd rather our sons have strong a last name and good dutch first names." his voice was honey in your ear, you hated how that strong of words soaked your to your core. he chuckled in your ear as he slid in his cock into you. with both hands on your hips, "we can invite your father to our wedding, i think it would be a little rude for me not to. watch him hand over his only daughter."

"i'm going to kill you verstappen." you snapped and he pushed your face further into the bed. the light streamed through the large windows, asshole didn't even close the curtains. who knew what paparazzi was lingering around still.

"don't be mad, princess, it's not a bad thing that the only way you'll ever be close to the championship is to have my last name."

"i'm going to win this entire thing and i'm going to ruin you, max."

"not if i ruin you first." he rocked you against his cock. he hand you by the hips and drilled his cock into you.

you hated that you loved it, you hated how easily it was for him to get you into his bad. you hated that he was your biggest rival and the other fucker on the grid who could make you finish. you've heard the horror stories from former girlfriends.

max on the other hand took a sick pleasure in making your cum over and over and over again, until your voice was raw from the amount of times you said his name like worship.

you wanted him dead, but you also wanted him between your legs.

the sex between you two was hot, it was like touching a hot handle on the stove. you clawed at the soft white covers and let max thrust into you. you knew he was going to finish in you, after you told him you were on the pill, he took full advantage of that.

you thought it was a weird ownership over you. the thought of it made you frown against the covers. max kept you pinned as he fucked you.

the tumble of pleasure in the motor-home coursed through you. you felt hot all over, his breath in your ear and the weight of him on top of you. he kept you pinned between him and the bed.

"you're a sick fuck, verstappen."

"not as much as you, wolff." he said between heavy pants.

you had trained each other for sex to be a quick thing in stranger areas. there was no time for passion and romance. you rubbed your forehead against the covers and panted heavily. you felt close to your orgasm with your heart hammering.

"i'm gonna cum." you panted, you arched your back and looked up at him. he leaned over you for a hot kiss on your lips, his pace became more sporadic, and with that it sent you over the edge.

he broke the kiss and gave it a few more hearty thrusts before he finished inside of you. orgasm gripped him tightly and he let out a hard pant as he came to a stop.

"fuck."

"shit."

"max."

"i know."

he kept one of his large hands on your lower back as you panted heavily against the bed. you reached for him and ended up tucked into his side. he held you, it was almost tender.

"verstappen."

"wolff."

it felt good being next to him, even if he was your rival. while the sex was amazing, you knew that there would be a part two to his reward for beating you.

but for a moment you let yourself come down from the intense high of climax, slightly pissed that max verstappen was the one who was able to make you feel good.

fuckin' asshole.

"this is stupid, max." you said as you tried to adjust the shirt on your body. it was a little too big, but it would stroke max's ego.

max was seated at the edge of the bed, the shirt you were wearing was once on him. he said to you with a smile, "i think that you look rather good. i think you'd be better on red bull's team."

you looked over your shoulder, "or i could make you come to mercedes? we'd know how to take care of you." you giggled before you went over to him.

the shirt on you was one of many red bull polos that max owned, it was what he wanted on top of having sex with you. you got in his lap and spread your hands across his bare chest.

"i guess i can live with wearing these terrible colours, once." you tapped him on the nose and added, "but don't get used to it, verstappen. i'll make sure to get you a pretty thong with the mercedes logo on it when i win."

he took you by the back of the neck and pulled you into a searing kiss and said, "right, right. maybe next time i win, you can go to the paddock with my cock on your breath and the red bull logo across those pretty tits of yours." he held you closer and licked his lips, "now, schat. i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me."

you cupped his face and said, "you have twenty minutes verstappen, either you get another orgasm out of me or i'm leaving."

he laughed and cupped your breasts through your shirt. he said ina voice so painfully sweet, "of course, ms. wolff, would hate to get the best driver in all of mercedes waiting. i know you're all an impatient bunch." then was pulled into a hot kiss before you two ended up back fully on the bed. <3

#bunny writes #the bakery #formula 1 smut #formula one smut #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 #formula one fanfiction #f1 smut #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #max smut

862 notes · View notes

kteezy997 · 5 months ago

Text

Beyond Business-part ten//t.c.

•continued directly from last part!

Warnings: THEY BANG! 18+ readers only please!

Timmy made you lay down on the island countertop in the kitchen. He sighed onto your stomach just before planting kisses there, his hands splayed over your hips. His hands roamed upward, tickling over your ribs. He grabbed your breasts through your unlined bra, your nipples hardened against his palms, making you moan.

Your breath quickened as his lips traveled lower, grazing over your belly button. The tip of his tongue teasing just above the hem of your underwear. “Fuck, Timothée.” you whined.

“Now who’s eager?” he smirked.

“Fuck you.” you giggled, pushing your hair away from your face.

He tucked his finger into the sides of your panties, pulling them down in swift movements. He parted your thighs, kissing each one teasingly, watching your reaction.

You were a puddle between your legs, you just knew it.

Timmy put his fingers to your clit, rubbing slowly.

You shuddered at the contact.

“Pretty girl is so wet for her boss.” his voice purred just inches away from your pussy.

“Oh, you’re just my boss now are you?”

“Technically, I always have been.” his fingers applying more pressure to your wetness. You could practically hear that cocky grin on his face, you didn’t have to see it.

You lay back flat on the countertop, eyes closed, your senses focused only on his pleasure and his provoking words. “Well, boss, I really want to feel your fingers inside me.” you dared. He wasn’t the only one with some biting wit.

“She makes demands, does she?” With that, he prodded at your opening.

You bit your lip, stifling a moan in anticipation for more. He circled your pussy; his long fingers felt amazing already.

With a soft plunge, his fingers were inside of you, sliding in and out. You whimpered, melting against him, you bucked your hips softly in time with his fingers.

You felt his hot breath down there too, then his wet tongue, lapping up drips of your arousal. You cursed under your breath.

He curved his fingers inside you, plucking harshly at that wall, making your pussy feel numb. He kept it up, ramming those damn fingers until you saw stars and basically wailed, like a cat in heat.

“Oh my god.” you panted, your body shaking for a moment, orgasmic convulsions taking route.

Timmy removed his fingers, then lapped his tongue between your soaked folds.

You sat up on your elbows, balancing as best as you could. You watched him devour you, you ran your fingers through his hair. You pushed away the dark fringe threatening to cover his eyes as he looked up at you. You could not believe you were sharing such intimacy with him. Any two people could engage in sex, but this was a session of giving real love to another person. You could tell by the passion in his eyes that he cared for you, that he wanted to make you feel good.

……..

Timmy had carried you from the kitchen to his bedroom. You were left on his bed as he used the bathroom. You had never been in his room, you had walked by it, seen the door slightly opened, but never a full glimpse of the inside. It was rather bland, like a really nice hotel room with little mementos from fans scattered on the dresser along with some ball caps, a watch and a bracelet or two on the nightstand, it was very evident that he slept in this room, and not much else.

You heard the light switch in his en-suite bathroom, and his quick footsteps back into the bedroom.

He was naked now, he went to grab you by the ankles, but you realized you didn’t hear the sink being used.

“You didn’t wash your hands.”

“What?” he frowned at you, frustrated that you were keeping him from doing what he really wanted.

“You didn’t wash your hands after going to the bathroom. Go do it, you nasty.”

He twisted his face at you, “You’re still on my hands too.”

That was too much for you to stand, “Okay, ew, just go!” you waved him away and he laughed at you, but obliged your orders.

………

He came back in, hands clean, but he was more aggressive. He grabbed you, rolling you onto your front, up on your hands and knees.

He smacked your ass, making you yelp in surprise and slight pain. But you didn’t mind that it hurt, it only turned you on more.

He took a second to unclasp your bra and you helped him take it off of you and you heard him fling it across the room.

Then there was a slap to your other ass cheek. You gasped, your back arching at the sting. “Timmy.”

“Too much?” he asked from behind you.

“No,” you shook your head, “I liked it.”

“My baby wants me to be rough?” he asked, grabbing you by the hips.

“Yes.” you answered, your stomach tingling as you heard him call you ‘my baby.’

He let out a breath, “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long.” He pulled your ass toward him. His cock touched your pussy. He pressed the head against your wet hole.

You trembled as he slowly filled you, “Ughhh, I’ve always wanted you, Timmy.” You gripped his comforter hard as he bucked his hips against you.

“Yeah?” he pounded deeper, “Always? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ah, because you’re my boss,” you collapsed onto the bed as he fucked you harder. Your face against the plush comforter, you added, “dumbass. Ahhh!” you moaned as he wiggled his hips, somehow sliding in deeper.

“Oh shit.” you heard him mutter as he held your waist for dear life as he pounded his cock into you, smacking against your ass with each thrust. He cursed under his strained breaths and you were reduced to a moaning, whore-ish mess.

…….

He flipped you onto your back, nearly spread eagle for him and he stuck his cock into you again.

You watched him fuck you, holding onto your own legs to keep yourself steady. His ab muscles rippled before your eyes, his body shined with sweat. You looked up, seeing a few curls flop over and get stuck to his sweaty forehead. His biceps bulged as he held your hips down. He looked like a girl’s wet dream, but you actually felt everything.

You moaned as you reached forward, touching his flat tummy, feeling him contort with his thrusts. “Oh, Timmy feels so good.” you cooed. You were more sexed out than you had ever been in your life.

He took ahold of your hand, intertwining your fingers together. “Your pussy feels like heaven, baby. I knew it would be amazing with you.”

His cock hit your cervix over and over. Your eyes rolled back, the friction inside you caused the numbness now. You bit your lip. “Mm, tell me how long you’ve wanted me, baby.” You needed to hear even more from him, though you were surprised you could even think in this moment.

“Oh fuck, since that first day I interviewed you. I think I subconsciously hired you because I knew this would happen one day.”

“That you’d fuck me?” you tucked your legs around him, eager for the answer.

“Yes.” he leaned onto you, cupping your face in his hand as his movements slowed, his cock slowly seeping out of you, your pussy sucking him slowly back in. He kissed you deeply, “And I’d get to love you. I’ve wanted this feeling my whole life, y/n.” Suddenly, he grunted and his lower half moved rapidly for a few seconds before his cock shot off inside of you.

You both moaned loudly in relief, and you swore his neighbors would hear you both orgasm. But you didn’t care.

Timmy slumped his weakened body onto you, his face in your chest.

You combed your fingers through his hair to soothe him as you both tried to catch your breaths.

February 1, 2025

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive @timhalchala @heatherpi

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothée imagine #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet #timothee fanfic #timothée chalamet fanfic #timothée chalamet smut #friends to lovers #personal assistant #slow burn #love story #smut fanfiction #hollywood

123 notes · View notes

bandgie · 8 months ago

Text

Dolly From the Garden | Ep.4

MASTERLIST | Kink: Overstimulation

🗝 Reality is often cruel, much like the thorns you pick from the abandoned garden. The man who lives on the other side of the hill decides to pay you another visit, but this time, he brings gifts.

6.3k words

warnings! MDNI 18+, fem!reader, reader is a bit of a dom/mean with han, finger sucking (m!), cowgirl, mating press, PIV, no protection, sex outside, cumming on tits, pussy eating/play, multiple orgasms (f!), face riding (m!rec), hair pulling (m!rec)

notes! chat, I did not mean to make it this long 😔 we're getting near the end so there will be a bunch of info dumping sorryyy. is the smut as good as I wanted it to be? you tell me.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a nightmare. Not the kind where you wake up scared or in a cold sweat, but when the dread of your dream sits in your stomach.

Something isn’t right.

Trying to shake off the feeling is harder than you thought. Even when kissing Chan and Changbin goodbye, you watch almost mournfully at the front door. The car engine runs and they soon drive off to the studio.

You wish they didn’t leave. Maybe if you kissed them harder and held onto them a little together, they wouldn’t have left you alone in the apartment. Each groan and crack of the old building sounds like laughter, mocking you in a way that feels silly and shameful.

You need to get out.

You planned to clean the garden. The sky might not be the bluest, but you almost find relief in the dull colors. The sun is covered by clouds, which would be gloomy in any other instance, but cools down the sweat dripping down your back.

Pull by pull. Weed by weed, you tug the plant from its roots.You’re not wearing any gardening gloves, but the dull pain of thorns helps your mind from wandering to your nightmare. The black cat. The blue eyes. His warnings.

If you come back here again, we won’t let you leave.

But they can’t keep you hostage in a dream. All you have to do is open your eyes and be back at home with Chris and Changbin, safe and sound. You’re the one dreaming about these guys. You're making them up in your head because you can’t keep it in your pants. The thought of them being real, of everything being real, that’s just not possible.

Is it?

“You’re gonna need way more than one person to clean up this garden.”

You scream before the words register. You hadn’t even heard Jisung’s footsteps. Not if they crunched the dead leaves or squashed rotten fruit. His wide eyes are all you see when you whip your head, arms out like you're ready to shield yourself from the threat.

“Jesus fucking christ! You scared the shit outta me!”

He puts his arms up in surrender. “Fuck! Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Jisung brings his hand to his ear, rubbing it in soothing circles from your screech. You only feel a sliver of guilt, but when you remember this is the second time he’s scared you in a matter of a week, it fizzles away.

“Are you following me again?”

His cheeks flush. “No! Stop saying that! This garden doesn’t belong to you!”

“I live here! So it does, actually.”

“You’re wrong. I own the Pink Palace, so technically, it’s mine.”

You would like to keep going back and forth just to see his cheeks pout, but you raise an eyebrow instead. “I thought you said your grandma did.”

Jisung blinks, “Same thing.”

Weirdo. “I don’t see your little cat anywhere.” You look around the garden. “Did he finally grow a brain and run away?”

Teasing Jisung is too much fun. You grin when he lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “He didn’t run away and he’s not my cat. He’s on time-out.”

“Time-out?” You laugh a little. “What’d he do?”

Jisung’s fingers squeeze his biceps anxiously. His eyes dart around before they land on the ground. “Just be a bad kitty.”

They like things that listen. They want a pet. And I’m hardly one to behave.

And you have to ignore the mischievous glint in Jisung’s eyes when he says ‘kitty.’

You clear your throat. Memories of your…dream rush back. As creeped out as you were when you woke up, your underwear was still drenched. “A-anywho, help me clean this garden up. An owner is supposed to take care of their things, right?”

He shrugs. “I try.”

Jisung rolls his sleeve and grabs a garden shovel, kneeling on the dirty ground just like you.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. The point of his tool hits the hard dirt, barely making a dent. He stabs the ground with murderous intent but only specks of dirt fly.

He notices you watching him. “What?”

“You’ll need a way bigger shovel, but I can have my roommates do that part. Just get the hose.”

You hear him mumble something about the fact that he can do it himself, but he listens anyway. Jisung reaches for the hose and hands it to you. “Now what.”

“Turn it on, doofus.”

“Oh.”

You giggle when he stands, walking towards the edge of the garden to twist the faucet. It doesn’t take long to hear the water running, but nothing sprouts from your end. You hold the pipe to your face and close one eye.

“Is it on?” Jisung’s voice carries in the air.

“No.” You shake your head. “There might be a kink-”

“Oh shit. I’m standing on it.”

Water shoots on your face almost immediately. You open your mouth to yelp, but you end up choking. You can feel the coldness run down your neck, soaking your shirt and the top of your shorts.

At least you aren’t sweating anymore.

“Oh my god.” Jisung’s approaching steps are cautious. “I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t know you were holding it.”

The hose now lies on the ground, turning the dirt into mud. You stand and wipe your eyes, flicking the droplets off your fingers. The shirt clinging to your torso feels uncomfortable but you don’t notice how Jisung’s eyes fall to your chest. The first thing you see is his blushing face and gawking stare.

Your bra is evident underneath. Although wearing a white top isn’t ideal while gardening, it was an old shirt you didn’t care to dirty.

You didn’t plan on it turning transparent.

“What? Never seen a girl in a bra before?” You try to sound snarky, but it comes off flirtatious.

Jisung gulps and struggles to make eye contact. “I just- I didn’t expect that- I didn’t mean-” His brain goes haywire when you step closer, smiling like you caught his hand in the cookie jar.

“You’re a real perv, you know?” You prowl towards him. “Stalking me, watching me, accidentally getting my shirt wet...”

“It-it-it was an accident!”

“Now look,” you ignore his panicking. “You can see everything.”

You have to keep yourself from laughing when his eyes bug from you pressing your breasts together. Water drips off your shirt from the squeeze, but the sight is arousing. You grip yourself in slow circles and let the material hug your body as it pleases.

“You could have just asked, you know?”

With your hands trailing to the bottom of your shirt, you peel the dripping shirt off. It lands on the dirt with a wet plop leaving you in your bra.

A bold move you would never do so openly, but there’s no one for miles. There’s only you, Jisung, and his half-boner poking through his shorts.

He covers his eyes and walks backward. “Wait! I didn’t- this wasn’t my intention.” You can see the flush in his neck as you stalk towards him. “I-I’m not a perv and I said I was sorry!”

“Oh.” You pout. “So you don’t like them?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t say that- Ah!” He trips, falling on his ass with a thud that makes you wince. You kick the loose brick away and get on your knees, straddling Jisung’s lap and pushing him down until he’s flat on the dirt.

His entire face is red. He’s still hiding his eyes behind his hand, but you can see his quivering lip and pink ears.

“Aww, are you okay?” You mock sympathy, rubbing your hands up and down his torso. “You should really look where you’re going.”

You laugh when he whines, pathetic and anxious. Jisung has enough bravery to lower his arm just slightly, revealing his teary eyes.

“I feel like you’re making fun of me.”

You grin. “Maybe a little. But your dick’s poking me pretty hard, so I think it’s safe to say you like it.”

It’s been a while since someone’s looked at you so submissively. You’ve been on the bottom for so long now that you can’t help the way your cunt buzzes from Jisung’s doe eyes.

A grind from your hips makes him gasp.

“Right here?” He has to whisper it. “Don’t you live with roommates?”

Geez. Maybe he is a bit of a stalker. “They’re at work, but I can call them to come back if you want.”

“No!” Jisung shouts this time. “D-don’t be mean.”

But it’s hard not to. He’s too easy to tease. Jisung can only whimper when you slowly rut against his cock, gripping onto his pecs for leverage. He opts to cover his mouth instead of his eyes, muffling the mewls that sound like music to your ears.

Jisung only moves his arm away from his face when you reach for his elastic band. You think he might stop you, but his fingers dig into your waist instead. Jisung helps you hover just enough to pull his shorts down, his bulge prominent in boxers.

“For me?” You laugh when he blushes again. All that scaring you and whining about how mean you are was simply him trying to hit on you.

The pitiful attempts are almost cute.

Jisung doesn’t say anything as you reach into the slit of his boxers and pull his erection out, hot and heavy. He hisses from the cold air, but your warm hand is quick to soothe it.

There’s a dab of precum on his flushed tip that you roll over with your thumb. His hips buck from the sensitivity, but he keeps his hands on your hips obediently.

“Such a good boy, huh?” You tug upwards on his cock, watching his back arch and thud on the ground when you stroke down. “Good boys are my favorite. You know that?”

He shakes his head, a bit of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. Your free hand reaches for his pink face and scoops the saliva back into his mouth, popping your thumb between his lips.

Your shorts are loose enough to pull them to the side, abandoning his cock for a moment. You pull your underwear along with it and plant your bare, wet pussy on him.

Jisung sucks your thumb with a groan.

“Yeah.” You find momentum easily. “Keep sucking it, baby.”

You briefly think about how much fun Chan would have with him.

Jisung’s tongue rolls over your digit encouragingly. It must taste like sweat and dirt, but he moans at the flavor nonetheless. The tip of his tongue flicks your thumb quickly, mimicking how he would if it was your clit.

You can feel how your pussy throbs at the thought. His cock is more than hard enough beneath you, but his mouth is so warm. If you close your eyes, you can perfectly picture his tongue and cock rubbing on your cunt, licking at your nub, and prodding your entrance.

Moving into a squat with your feet planted on the dirt, you angle his cock upwards. His eyes lock with yours and he squeals with your thumb in his mouth.

“Don’t cum too quick.”

Jisung’s lips release your digit when you sink down. Every vein, curve, and dip of his cock drags between your walls. You break eye contact and watch how your cunt opens for him, folds spreading and lewdly squelching.

His cock is the perfect medium from Chan and Changbin. Not quite as thick, not quite as long, but still good. It makes you clench around his length when you settle fully on him, thighs burning.

“Oh! Oh oh oooh.” His eyes roll back and he can’t help but press his hips up, flush against you. It makes your legs quiver, but Jisung has the mind to move his hands under your thighs for support.

“Tight. Y-you’re so warm. Mmm.” He lifts his head to see where you connect. “D-don’t move.”

You scoff. He’s twitching inside you, pulsing rhythmically. His hazy eyes and drooly lips make it seem as though you’ve been bouncing on his cock for hours when in reality, he just slipped in.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Slowly, you raise a few inches. He thrashes his head side to side when you slide back down.

“Wait! Please! I wanna be good. Let me be good! I can’t- I’ll cum.” His voice breaks off in a whine when you keep bouncing.

The slide of his cock is too addicting. The last dick you had inside of you, awake, was almost a week ago. As much pleasure you feel with your cunt gripping and leaking, there’s a sense of relief having sex outside of your dream world.

Both of your hands land on his shoulders. Your legs scream for a rest, but putting some weight on your arms helps. It’s easier to rock rather than bounce this way. Your hips roll deeply until Jisung begins to move with you.

“Thought you said you didn’t wanna finish.” You pant. The sun beams on your back uncomfortably, sweat gathering on your bra. You use a hand to swiftly pull your tits from the cups, right in Jisung’s view.

Eyes lock with your breasts immediately. A guttural sound leaves his chest and the grip on your thighs tense, making your body bounce again. Jisung’s skin slaps on yours harshly until your tits jiggle uncontrollably.

You moan so loudly it almost sounds like a scream. Jisung’s thrusts force you to match his pace, to feel his tip hit the deepest part of you repeatedly. Even if your legs burn, it’s nothing compared to the fire building in your stomach.

He doesn’t have to use both hands to support you anymore, choosing to use an elbow to prop himself up until his mouth can swallow one of your tits.

Thrusting into you is a lot harder in this position, but you’re grateful for the slowness. You can feel how his cheeks hollow and suck. Even when his teeth lightly bite on your nipple, tugging until he can feel it harden in his mouth.

And when he flicks his tongue on it harshly, you clench around him.

“Fuck. ‘m trying. I’m trying so hard not to.” Jisung sits up more, popping your breast from his lips and wrapping his arms around your torso. You don’t have an option other than to wrap your legs around his thin waist and let him guide you down, reversing the position until he’s on top of you.

He licks your boobs again. “But your pussy’s too good.”

You nearly laugh, but a sharp thrust has you keening instead. Your ankles cross around his torso and you arch your back, having his cock hit a gummy spot that makes you see stars.

Jisung’s doesn’t have to rub your clit to bring you close. He fucks you so deep that his pelvis rubs your peak perfectly. It makes that desire in your belly grow, clenching and leaking until you think you‘re going to finish first.

“Yesyesyes. Fuck me, Hannie. Feels so good.” You tug on his hair as he sucks on your nipples.

A desperate whine leaves him, looking up at you with boba eyes. Jisung licks over your boob one more time before he lets go, eyes shining. “Yeah? Am I good?”

“So so so good.” You pull him up until he’s inches from your face. “Gonna make me cum.”

Maybe it’s the close proximity or the heat of the moment, but Jisung kisses you. His lips crush yours uncoordinatedly, but you welcome it happily. You can taste your sweat on his tongue. He runs the muscle over your own and swirls his tongue.

The two of you pant and moan into each other’s mouth until he pulls away, strings of saliva connecting your lips. You chase him for a second, looking up at him in a daze and biting your lower lip.

“Can I- can I cum on your tits?” Jisung’s out of breath. He’s steadily pounding into you like he’s a pro, but you can tell his need to cum is getting to him.

Yours too, if you’re being truthful. The back of your shorts is soaked with arousal and your underwear is far worse. Even with all the sweat and drool seeping down, you can feel that your cunt is the wettest.

And the picture of him finishing on your breasts has you oozing more.

“Only if you make me cum first.” You smile only a little evil. “You’re almost there, Hannie.”

His moan is a mix of need and understanding. You think he’ll go back to your chest or lips, but he straightens his back and lifts your legs. You uncross your ankles and let him take off your shorts and underwear to push your thighs back until your knees are close to your face, spread and open for his cock to bully into.

Oh, he’s going to fuck you.

You didn’t think he could have it in him, but you’re proven wrong by the first thrust. It goes deeper than you thought was possible, straight to the back of your throat. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, eyebrows pinched, and upper lip pulled back until you see his gums.

Every slam of his hips, every drag out and in, it feels too hot. Like the inside of your pussy is melting from his pistons. With his hands gripping your thighs and your hands helplessly clawing his back, you can’t do anything but take it.

Cream slides down your ass, pooling on the dirt you know will be a pain to clean off your skin. The sounds you’re making can hardly be considered moaning, closer to a panting dog, but neither of you cares. Jisung gets his dick to fuck your sweet spot until you’re pushing at his shoulders instinctively to stop, and you’re glad he doesn’t.

“Oh my god! Fuckfuckfuck! You’re so fucking deep. Hannie! Hannie I’m-” Your toes curl, your hair sprawls in the dirt and Jisung thinks it's beautiful in the most poetic way.

His pretty flower in his garden.

He lets you squeeze on his cock, convulsing and twitching until the only sound you can make is babbling.

It’s not for long that he lets you ride out your high. You’re still creaming and clenching when he slips out. A surprised squeal tumbles from your lips when he releases your legs and straddles your torso, cock in hand.

He’s so wet, still dripping with your orgasm and white arousal on his cock when he strokes himself. You have to reach between your legs and play with your clit to come down properly, but it doesn’t bother you too much.

You open your mouth and watch Jisung fuck into his hand. He squeezes his tip, getting that pre cum to ooze on your tits until his climax builds again quickly. It hardly takes more than a few tugs before he spills on you, groaning and panting with his head thrown back.

He moans again when he picks his head up. “Oh wow. Fuck. You look so pretty.” Jisung smears his cum with his tip. “Perfect.”

You blush, pulling your fingers from your cunt. Jisung carefully gets up from you and helps you sit up.

Your hair’s a mess, your tits are sticky, and your bra is nearly off. Jisung doesn’t have to do much but tuck his soiled cock back into his boxers. You’re a little jealous.

“Maybe the water hose will come in handy,” he jokes. Jisung reaches for the running hose and helps you stand. You have to pretend that it’s not cum he’s spraying off your naked body in broad daylight, but it doesn’t help that your nipples harden under the cold water and his cheeks flush from the sight.

“This is by far the weirdest aftercare I’ve gotten.”

He smiles a little, awkwardly meeting your eyes. “Yeah. H-here.” He tosses the hose back down when he’s done, shrugging his shirt off and handing it to you.

You could feel his muscles underneath the shirt, but you didn’t think he’d look so fit. His hips are a drastic difference from his shoulders, almost hourglass-like. You blink a few times before you put his shirt on, the end going barely past your ass.

“Thanks.” You try not to stare at his soft stomach. “Hopefully your grandma doesn’t ask where your shirt went when you get back.”

Jisung laughs genuinely this time, gums showing and eyes pinching.

Maybe it’s the sun, but he looks cute.

Or maybe it’s because he’s shirtless.

“Oh! That reminds me.” Jisung rummages in his pockets, pulling out what looks like a toy.

You step closer to him and look. It’s not just a toy, but a doll. A small, stuffed doll with jet-black hair, sharp cheekbones, and gray buttons for eyes.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

“My grandma found it and said to toss it, but when I saw it, I thought of you.” He smiles sheepishly. “A house-warming gift, maybe.”

He’s beaming so sweetly, but you can’t stop the fear coursing through you. It doesn’t matter whether you’re awake or asleep, those damn buttons can’t leave you alone.

…we won’t let you leave…

“Hey,” Jisung sounds concerned. “Are you okay?”

You can’t find your voice. You're choking on whether to lie or tell him that his grandma’s apartments are haunted. His eyes look so sincere, so worried. But the fact that he gave you a doll like this can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m…yeah.” You clear your throat. “Yeah, sorry. I just remembered that I have to unpack more boxes right after this. I’m gonna be so tired.”

You try to smile with Jisung, but everything feels wrong all over again. He apologizes profusely about getting you wet and ruining your plans to get the garden done. The two of you share goodbyes, the doll in hand as you walk back to your apartment.

You need your best friends. Chan and Changbin would know what to do and what to say to make you feel better. But when you look at your phone, you see a text saying they’ll be staying at the studio well late into the night.

Don’t be needy, you think.

You thumbs up the message, blinking back tears and hurrying to your room.

Unpacking the remaining boxes might help distract you, but everything feels so overwhelming. It’s been so long since you felt this anxious, this lost. You and your friends moved here for less stress, but all you’ve felt is a pit in your stomach that never seems to fully go away.

You throw your dirty clothes in the hamper and toss the doll on a chair, flopping on your bed and ignoring the lump in your throat.

It’s just a bad day. You’ll feel better after a nap.

The space between your legs is hot. Everything up to your chest feels on fire with every swipe of a tongue. You groan softly, blinking until your vision focuses on the ceiling. The shadows on the walls tell you it must be nighttime.

Maybe one of your roomies found you passed out, underwear missing. You can’t decide if it was Chan or Changbin who put their mouth on your cunt, but it doesn’t feel like either.

It’s too messy. Chan is coordinated and intentful whereas Changbin is hungry and desperate. This tongue is…eager. Eager to get your taste and suck on your clit. It almost reminds you of the first time someone would ever eat you out.

Finally, you lift your head. The dark does little to help, but you can make out the black hair. It isn’t curly when you thread your fingers through it, and the eyes that look up to you aren’t eyes at all.

But buttons.

You yank him off your cunt brutally. He comes up with a groan of pain, dark gray buttons looking offended. “The fuck?”

“Who are you?!” You cross your legs, tucking them into your ass and grabbing a pillow for defense. “How did you get into my house?!”

His hair sprawls in different directions from your tugging, but the mess looks strangely good on him. His jaw ticks with irritation like you’ve interrupted him from something very important. His chest is bare, everything is nude. The deep lines on his stomach are similar to Chan’s, strong and urging you to reach out and trace them. This makes the shadows on his face deepen. The buttons, the cheekbones, the hair…

You look to your chair, noting that the doll is nowhere to be seen.

“This isn’t your house.” He rubs his scalp, sitting on his knees and crowding you until you back into the headboard.

“Not yet anyway.”

“How did you get in?” You ignore his comment.

The doll narrows his eyes. “Do you normally ask this many questions? Everyone’s been telling me you let your pussy do all the talking.”

He laughs when you turn red. A large hand rests on your knee, slightly urging you to spread your legs again. But you can ignore his slender fingers a little longer.

“So then…I assume you’re from the Other Side?”

The smile is enough of an answer.

“But that doesn’t make sense. I didn’t go through the door.” You shake your head in disbelief. Is it possible you slept-walked into the tunnel? No, that can’t be. Your room is still the same and the clouds that you can see from your window aren’t as bright as the ones from the Other Side.

“Go through the door,” he snorts. “Haven’t you been telling everyone that this is a dream?” His hand goes up your thigh, under the material of Jisung’s shirt, and smoothes over your hip.

You shiver from his touch.

“Is it really?”

“Does it matter? Lay back down and let me take care of you.” He grabs your waist and yanks you down, surprising a yelp from you. He’s strong, but he never overpowers. It doesn’t take much effort to spread your legs. For his digits to find your clit and rub.

“I…I need to know what’s going on.” You grab onto his wrist, stopping his movements.

He doesn’t look annoyed like you thought he would. His buttons are curious, a dark wonder that sends shivers down your spine. The deft fingers on your cunt swirl on your clit again, and you have to dig your nails into his wrist to get him to listen properly.

“Why don’t we play… a game?” His teeth are sharp when he grins.

You breathe heavily, loosening your grip on his hand just a bit before questioning, “What kind of game would it be?”

“The quiet game. You stop asking questions and finish on my tongue, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Too easy. “That’s it?”

“That’s one question. Three strikes, you’re out.”

You huff, glaring at his cocky smile. It's only a win-win situation for you. You win, you cum and get answers. You lose, you still cum and move out.

“Fine. But you have to tell me who you are first.”

He raises an eyebrow.

He laughs, resuming his fingers to their rubbing. He moves until he’s flat on his stomach, inches from your cunt. You spread your legs enough to have him fit, but your thighs still rub on his cheeks when he wriggles closer.

“Someone’s trying to find a loophole.” Still, he smiles endearingly. “But it’s Jeongin. My friends call me I.N though.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not your friend.”

Jeongin giggles. “Maybe not. But I think you’ll like my tongue.”

His teeth gleam in the moonlight when his pink tongue breaks through. You watch as it plants on your cunt, flicking upwards. The tip of his tongue swirls on your clit before he sucks it into his mouth.

The pleasure hits you like a ton of bricks. A small gasp echoes in the room and you widen your legs, allowing Jeongin to scoot up more and open his jaw until his tongue can lick from your clit to your entrance.

His mouth is warm on your cunt. It doesn’t take long for your hips to match his pace, catching every suck and lick.

Your back arches off the bed and into his hot mouth. Jeongin has to tilt his chin up to follow you, saliva and arousal dripping down to his neck. Every gulp is followed by a moan that makes you shake. Your legs only tremble more when his tongue glides up and down your folds.

It’s so soft. It’s perfect on your cunt when he smears your arousal on your skin. You run your fingers in his hair and guide him, getting Jeongin to follow a pace that makes you clench around nothing.

“Oh, fuck! Right there.” You plant your feet on the bed and shove his face flush against you. “Harder.”

You wouldn’t sound so demanding if you were allowed to ask questions, but neither of you mind. Jeongin obeys and wraps his lips around your clit. The suction makes you instinctively shy away from his mouth, but his fingers hook on the underside of your thighs and force you to stay still.

You squeal, wrapping your legs around his head and squeezing his face. Jeongin’s buttons look to you, but they’re not panicked. They almost seem to glow with delight, wiggling his head deeper into your cunt until you can feel his hard teeth beneath his lips.

He’s trapped between your legs. He doesn’t seem to mind how your hips buck on his face, nose touching your clit until it shines with your wetness.

Jeongin doesn’t have to suck anymore. He knows all you need is a tongue to ride on, opting to stick his out and follow your erratic movements. You clit twitches in his mouth. The grip on his hair is so strong that he thinks you might rip some strands out.

But you don’t, of course. You’re too busy face-fucking him to realize that his groaning is mixed with pain and pleasure. All you want to do is chase that high building in your stomach, rubbing up and down until pleasure bursts.

You freeze with a moan, letting your body spasm from your orgasm. But Jeongin doesn’t let you rest for long, latching his lips back on you and swirling his tongue on your throbbing nub.

He picks up your thighs and pushes your knees by your face, exactly how Jisung did hours ago.

He must have been watching.

So he knows that this position makes you vulnerable and forces you to feel pleasure beyond what you can handle. Cream slides down your cunt and to your ass, but Jeongin keeps twisting his tongue on you until more arousal drips down.

“Jeongin! Wait! I’m- I just came!”

But he doesn’t care about your sensitivity. Doesn’t care how your moans turn into cries from his relentless licking. The crude sounds of his sucking and your hiccups fill the room. You can see with bleary eyes his wet face. There’s white cream on the tip of his nose that he buries into your cunt once again.

You tug on his hair weakly. “Pleeasee. ‘m so sensitiveee.”

A mean suck has you gasping. You convulse in his mouth, trying desperately to twist away. It’s only when you grip your breasts instead of his hair that he lets go.

You don’t even moan in relief. It feels like his tongue is still on you when he lowers your hips slightly, angling his pretty, pink cock in your entrance.

“God. I almost came eating you out.” He licks his lips hungrily. “Been so long since I ate pussy. You won’t mind it I cum in it, will you?”

He laughs at your babbling response. Pinching your nipples through the shirt keeps you somewhat sane. It helps you focus on the feeling of his head sliding on your swollen pussy, finding your entrance, and slipping through your folds.

You can’t even moan, mindlessly opening your mouth and looking down at him splitting you open. Inch by inch, he settles in, not stopping until his pelvis presses against you.

You fall back on the bed and look at him, vision blurring and bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Uh-oh.” Jeongin grins. “Did my cock break you already?” He adjusts on his knees and pulls out a few inches, pushing it back in torturously slow. “Looks like I’ll have to put you back together again.”

He doesn’t start slow at all. The way his cock bullies into you makes you think this is the only thing you’ll feel for the rest of your life. You’ll know nothing but clenching, the endless cream that oozes from your pussy and drips down his balls.

Jeongin grunts with effort, sweat gathering on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his face. His abs tense from the movement, finally convincing you to reach and touch him.

His hard stomach quivers from your fingers. You can feel every vein, every muscle that works in earnest. It proves to you that everything you thought was a fantasy was real, but your brain can only properly comprehend the twitching of his cock between your walls.

“Mmm, you feel that?” Jeongin moans. “Gonna cum all in your pussy. So much in here, baby. I could taste Han’s, you dirty girl. It’s never enough for you, huh?”

He’s close. You can tell by his sloppy thrusts and veiny neck. If his words are meant to make you feel gross and used, it has the opposite effect. You pussy clenches on him happily. It’s not your fault you’ve had so many different cocks in a week.

And judging the moaning from Jeongin, he likes that fact too.

Hot spurts of cum flood your cunt. Jeongin throws his head back and buries deep, making sure every pulse of his cock is inside you.

The walls of your cunt are so numb that you can hardly feel him finishing inside, but you can feel how hot your pussy gets. Jeongin slams his hips to ensure he leaks everything inside before he pulls out.

You shiver from the sensation. The head of cock slips out wetly and you can feel the arousal dripping from your hole almost instantly. Jeongin keeps you spread by the ankle to watch it, smiling proudly to himself.

“Good pussy. Eats so well.”

He lowers back onto his chest, ignoring how your legs still tremble and playing with the cum instead.

You have to force yourself to keep your eyes open, to make your brain work. Your body is still glowing in the aftermath. Remembering why you let him do what he wanted in the first place is a challenge.

Slowly, you raise to your elbows and clear your throat to get his attention. “I think…I think I deserve my question now.”

His buttons blink to you. Jeongin’s finger mindlessly plays with your slit, but he nods. “Go ahead. But remember, only two left.”

His finger is only slightly distracting. You let him play with the cum ask, “How did you get here?”

“You brought me here, remember?”

“No-” you groan. “Like here. On this side or whatever. I thought you guys were only in the Other world.”

He grins, “Do you believe in magic?”

“I’m not messing around.” You glare at him.

“Me neither. We’re mostly on the Other Side, bound to it. But The Beldom likes to grant us wishes sometimes. Only if we’ve been good.”

The Beldom. You’ve heard of that word. An old folklore about a witch or fae that steals people. But why? There’s too many different answers on the internet that don’t give a clear reason.

…they want a pet…

You don’t want to waste your last question on something he might not know. You pull apart his answer, trying to grab onto a clue that can help.

“Bound to it, huh? Are you guys…stuck. On the Other Side?”

Jeongin stops his touches, buttons turning hard and almost sour. He scrunches his nose and lays on your thigh, focusing back on your cunt.

“Now that’s a good question. Let’s just say we made a deal with the devil. We wanted an easy life. It gets hard out here, you know? Like you’re suffocating. Living on the Other Side, sewing buttons in our eyes, it seems like a small price to pay.”

You have to hold back your shock. The pain they must have gone through. To choose needles in their eyes rather than deal with harsh reality.

Hesitantly, you console him by massaging his scalp.

“Stuck is…a tough word. The other guys can’t really leave, but they can see. Seungmin and I are the only ones that can come and go as we please, but not in our human form. Not entirely at least.”

It only makes a little sense. You have to refrain from prying too much. Instead, you decide to focus on the other mystery. “Seungmin?”

Jeongin tilts his head up. “The cat? I’m sure you’ve seen him around. He’s a bit of an ass.”

You recall the cat with Jisung. The cat that warned you.

“He…he told me not to go through the little door anymore.”

“We know.” His voice drops an octave. “He got a lot of shit for saying that. The Beldom wasn’t too happy with him.”

He’s on time-out.

Was that…a coincidence?

“The Beldom. Is that who you made the deal with?”

No response.

“Who is The Beldom, I.N?”

He sits up abruptly. The sudden movement makes you jump, flinching as he grabs the covers and tosses it over your body.

“You’re out of questions, pretty. And look, you called me I.N. Guess we are friends after all.”

A wave of sleep hits you. You know it’s not your own tiredness. This is probably what they did every time they were done, putting you to sleep to get you to stop thinking.

Your eyes close without you willing them to. It’s like a strange form of paralysis, hearing steps, and being stuck in your body.

Slipping into the dark unconscious feels so close, but you hang onto a single thought for a moment longer.

That you can free them. Or try to.

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #skz han #skz jisung #skz i.n #skz jeongin #jeongin smut #han jisung #han jisung smut #horror october!#yang jeongin skz

221 notes · View notes

zinnie-zoloft · 1 month ago

Text

Edwin starts using the word pussy after Crystal used it to refer to twitchy richie because he assumes it simply means cowardly, as in pussy cat, and that seems to make sense with the context he heard Crystal use it in

No one corrects him because technically he isn’t wrong he just has no idea that it isn’t referring to scaredy cats, it’s not until much later that he learns it’s full modern meaning

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #dbda #crystal palace #twitchy richie

77 notes · View notes

adventuringblind · 1 year ago

Text

Teach Me Part Two

Max Verstappen x Reader Part One

Genre: Hurt/Comfort with a speck of spice (technically speaking)

Summary: Max teacher his girl about subdrops and helps her through one of her own

Warnings: Softdom Max, mentions to a past toxic relationship, mentions of choking, subdrop, minor insecurity, Implied smut but nothing graphic, Lando is mentioned for like a paragraph because I can

Notes: For @nurse-sainz who has fueled my brainrot to an unhealthy amount

Side Note: My inbox is open and I crave attention... :)

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Max had come to the conclusion early on that she would inevitably hit a subdrop at some point. As much as he would like to make it so she never has one, he knows it's going to happen eventually. It's - unfortunately - hard to predict and often random.

Crashing out of a subspace too fast, A used safeword, maybe even just too much stimulation. He's had partners be in that lovely place in their heads and fine only to fall from it without grace and send them into a panic.

“A subdrop? I don’t think I read about those-”

“It’s one of those things that they don’t talk about as much. Hitting a subspace is hard because you have to let go, right? A subdrop is when your mind is stuck between the two. It’s trying to take back control but can’t.” Max pauses the movie they hadn’t been paying attention to. This conversation takes precedence as far as he’s concerned.

She hums and rubs the side of her face against his arm like she’s a cat. “They sound scary. I’m not sure I want to have one of those.”

“Just remember that if you ever do, I’ll be right there with you, yes?”

“Yes.”

He smirks at her. The idea had already been planted in his head. “Yes, who?”

She grumbles. A furious shade of red making its way across her cheeks. The honorifics is a relatively recent thing. The effect it has on her has Max cooing; debating if he should ever let her out of his arms again.

“...Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

~~~♡~~~

Choking had come up a few times in the past. They’d talked about it but not done anything with it. Not since she wasn’t sure. She’d even brought up how her ex (the bastard) had tried to choke her out before she managed to flip them over and bolt to Max’s own room.

He wasn’t going to push for that. Never something that could be triggering. They’d decided that his hand gently putting pressure on the back of her neck was enough. She liked that and Max liked that she was communicating.

But sometimes - even that can be enough to bring back memories. He’d been lucky so far to not have triggered anything. Max knows from experience that even movements that are too quick can have an adverse reaction.

It’s not late, the sun is barely setting over the Monaco sky. Though - he’s not paying attention to the time so it could also be rising. He’d never know the difference. He’s only focused on the mess of a female he has underneath him.

She’s not formed a coherent string of words since orgasm number three. Only able to squeak out his name alongside little whimpers. It’s safe to say Max is pussy drunk and can’t get enough of her. He’s not satisfied yet, and wants to see how far he can push.

Max isn’t sure which touch triggers it. He’s pressed up against her in most spots leaving it hard to decipher where he ends and she begins.

He only notices she’s slipped into that awful middle headspace when he pulls back for just a second, intent on picking his pace back up. The confused fear that settles over her expression makes him freeze, patiently assessing the situation.

Her teeth clatter together, the pain of something evident. The breathing pattern he’d been waiting to even out only gets worse. “Schat, can you take a big breath for me?” He settles the palm of his hand against her rapidly beating heart. His concern only grows when she doesn’t show any signs of hearing him.

She makes a defensive movement to cover her throat with her own hands, silently pleading with her eyes not to touch her in such a vulnerable location. It dawns on him, that in his own flurry of movements, it’s possible he brushed her neck and set off her emotions.

“I’m going to step away from you for a second so I’m not touching, okay?” Her eyes go wide with panic and he knows she’s probably struggling to comprehend. The sadness of her expression kills him as he detaches.

Tears prick her eyes the second contact breaks completely. She snatches hold of Max’s own wrist and in a last ditch effort to make him stay, tries to press his fingers around her airway. “Nonono, schat, I know you don’t want that.” When he’s able to hold her gently once more after having resituated, the sobs she’d been biting back finally escape. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe, I would never do something you didn’t want.”

Max doesn’t grimace when her nails press into his bare skin; when she’s clinging to him for stability. He holds her, hums, helps her to try and steady her breath.

“Mm’ sorry-”

“Shh, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Rest now.”

~~~♡~~~

Max manages to coax her into sleeping. She’s cute like this, curled up against him with her ear pressed against his chest. He presumes the rhythmic sound of his thudding heart is helping calm her mind. He makes a mental note to invest in some kind of white noise for if (he knows it’ll be a when, but he’s choosing to be optimistic).

“Max?” Her eyes crack open, only to shut tight again when she yawns.

“Hello beautiful, how are you feeling?” He tosses his phone aside to give her his full attention.

“Better - I think. I’m not sure I liked that feeling.”

“I would be concerned if you did, schat.”

She stretches her limbs out and flops further over the top of him. “Thank you… I was scared I messed up and you were going to leave.” He has to take a deep breath and remember that anger at the man who put these crazy thoughts in her head is no longer able to come close. He made sure of that with a few cryptic messages glued together in newspaper words and Lando’s artistic assistance.

“You’ve bewitched me! Body and soul… or something-”

“Are you trying to quote Pride and Prejudice?”

“Is it working?” He’s blushing at his own lame attempt. Victoria would have his head for this later. Problems for future Max.

She giggles. “Not really - but I’ll give you a pass this time.”

Max gets her out of bed and into a bath. He makes a show of letting her pout to join her inside win out. He lost that battle before it even started, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s nice… trusting someone like this.” She relaxes against him, the water now lukewarm and the bubbles having dissipated.

“You still trust me?” Oops - Max hadn’t meant to let his own insecurity about the ordeal leak out. Oh well…

She tilts her head in confusion. “Why would I not?”

“It happens sometimes after a drop like that. At least - I’ve heard it can. I figured I was lucky enough that it hadn’t.”

“I think you’re just good at this. Not like you were trying to hurt me.” She shrugs. “I trust you, Max. You have given me nothing but your undying love and support.”

“...Now look who’s being sappy!”

“At least mine is original.”

“Can you at least pretend that I’ve also given you some really good dick?”

“Fine! Nothing but your undying devotion to me and some really dick. Happy?”

Max sighs happily and drags her body as close to his as he can manage. “With you? Always.”

255 notes · View notes

joi-me-hoi-me-noi · 11 months ago

Text

Rafayel x Reader - Blurbs

A/n: might be a bit of a hot take lmao but Rafayel isn’t my favorite character 😂.

For some reason, I feel like Rafayel would have a weird pull near creatures of the sea

Like if he ever took you to the aquarium, you’d be real surprised

As he leads you through the aquarium, you both decide to rest on the bench

“This was a great idea, Rafayel. I had no idea there was an aquarium.”

“It’s the most expensive too. They have every sea animal you could think of.”

You smile as he basks in your compliment of his choice of a date. Then you notice something. You place a hand on his shoulder and point at the aquatic critters through the glass.

“Rafayel, they are just looking at you? Is this like a Lemurian thing?”

He nods before speaking. “Yes, they recognize me as a Lemurian. Technically a Lemurian God.”

A group of school kids pass by, looking at the both of you in awe. Rafayel lightly taps your palm as if to say ‘watch this’. He raises his hand in the air and then snaps, causing the aquatic animals to scurry off. A bunch of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ and other words of amusement tumbled out the children’s mouths.

Soon their teacher gathers them and continues with their tour. Most of them continue to look at Rafayel as they are led away from the scene. A smile appears on your face as you turn to your lover.

“It’s very sweet of you to do that for those kids. They’ll be talking about it all day.”

“I know, I’ll be the talk of the school.”

You stretch and then stand from the bench. You outstretch your palm to him with an upturned lip.

“Let’s continue where we left off, I wanna see the whale sharks and manta rays.”

---Added Part---

Now we all know Rafayel's worst enemy!!

Cats...

He cannot stand or be next to cats

He's so fucking silly and weird but whatever

You want to help him grow as a man

So, you invite him over to your apartment

"Welcome in, make yourself at home." "Can do. Wanna watch a-" You heard him stop in his tracks, your cat appeared and is now right beside him. "Rafayel, it's okay. This is c/n, he's very sweet." The way the fish man looks over at you makes your heart melt. His lips are pouted, and his eyes are big but still darting between you and c/n. "Y/n, you know damn well I don't like cats." "This is a growing experience, please just try for me. I'll sit in between you and c/n." "Fine." "Cool, let's watch a movie." During the movie, he keeps side-eyeing your cat and making sure it doesn't even think about moving closer to him. "Rafayel, you can pet him y'know." "Absolutely not." "Ok but how are you supposed to get over your fear." He sighs and then reaches his pointer finger over to your cat. C/n simply sniffs his finger and Rafayel already looks like he's about to pass out. "Ok, ok. You can retract your hand. I don't need you passing out on me."

In my writer opinion as a person who loves cats and plays LADS...

Rafayel is a pussy!

Again for the people in the back:

RAFAYEL IS A PUSSY!!!!

79 notes · View notes

2005noroithecurse · 2 years ago

Text

↳ MEA CULPA

Latin - an acknowledgement of ones fault or error, often said in apology

› my contribution to the sicko satoru agenda brought to u by nyquil & fever dreams <3

› yandere satoru x f!reader

› word count : 2.5k+

warnings : rilegious imagery, masturbation f & m mentioned, voyeurism, stalking, panty stealing, home invasion technically, hes mad obsessive, noncon revoked consent, taking advantage of a drunk person, alcohol consumption, satoru is a bit of a sadist & a masochist to me, creampie, prone bone, backshots, reader has hair long enough to pull, installing spyware on someone's phone

If there is such a thing as a soulmate Satoru knows you're his. Knew it from the very first moment he saw you buying coffee on that mid thaw spring day. He hadn't been able to ignore the ever growing thump of his heart in his ears, hadn't been able to forget the way you looked, nor how your eyes had lingered on him for a second longer than what was considered polite. The instant intrigue had him snared, helpless against the trap that was you.

Without a doubt you're what keeps his heart beating.

The sweetness that permeates your whole being sates him better than any treat could hope to. He sees it in the way you often chat with your next door neighbor if you two pass by either coming or going, a kind smile on your face or even an indulgent giggle here or there. Its in the way you stop to pet a stray cat on your walk back to your car, scratching under its chin as you coo at it.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't make something ugly twist in his gut, it should be him that gets to hear your laughter, him that you fawn over and speak so softly too. It's jealousy, he's aware enough to recognize it but couldn't ever bring himself to admit it makes his jaw clench and his fingers ache to cause some unfortunate mishap with your neighbor. The little cat would find itself whisked to a shelter, no longer diverting your attention on your way home.

But by far his favorite thing about you, and what makes him forget all about that foul envy constricting around his mind like a cobra, is seeing you in the waning hours of the evening when your bedroom glows faintly orange from the soft lamp at your bedside.

Never had the act of undressing looked so religious. His hands shake with pure need, the need to trace every plane of your skin and map you with his lips. When you lay down his breath catches in his throat, your hand disappearing between your legs has him groaning softly from just beyond the windowpane.

Self pleasure as some divine ritual with him as the figure observing the rite, breathless at every expression you make while your fingers play with your pussy until you're cumming and your lips part. He hopes his name will be the prayer that completes the sacrament, that one day he'll be lapping up your arousal to drip like wine down his throat instead of feeling himself spill into his own hands outside the confines of your home.

Still, Satoru finds your most convenient quality is that you don't possess much situational awareness. You never notice the aquamarine eyes peering into your window, nor the second shadow that follows you down streets. He's abundantly thankful you've never noticed a presence in your home: the one that switches on a second alarm so you're never over sleeping, or how many pairs of your underwear have been stuffed into his pockets, and have never woken to his lips ghosting over your forehead as you rest.

The feeling you give him is like when swallowing a shot of tequila, the straight burn up and down the throat and the accompanied warmth that spreads in the cheeks and chest. He almost giggles as he traces a finger along the bridge of your nose in the hazy dark of your bedroom, a lovesick smile on his face.

Getting you here hadn't been a big task at all, it's jarring how open to suggestion you are when you're drunk. It was easy, with smooth words and his natural overconfident air, to make you believe in a matter of seconds that of course he knew the friends that had left you at the bar. Of course, he'd been there all along, you must not have noticed silly girl. You were so cheery getting into his car, so open and gregarious. All too happy to have the convenient ride home.

"Have we met before?"

The question had stopped him dead, it felt like the second an airplane cockpit experiences violent decompression: all air sucked out and the flight left doomed.

That is, until he turned at the red light to see you drunkenly ogling him. Your eyes, even unfocused from the booze, didn't fail to notice that he was tall, well built, nor did it escape him the way you looked a second too long at his crotch and thighs. It made him feel like a blushy teenager again, the magic of you.

"Hm, maybe here or there," he said noncommittally, after all he had to keep up appearances as a mutual friend.

"Well, I'd remember someone as gorgeous as you," you giggle, clearly feeling the liquid courage blooming inside your head. Fortunate that it also blotted out your memory of seeing him at the coffee shop in the very beginning.

It was adorable, Satoru swears he's never seen anything on this earth as whimsically beautiful as you.

After a bit of flirtatious banter coupled with the drive lulling you into a drunken stupor he gets you right where he wants you: hanging off his arm like he's all that kept you standing as he guided you to your house. Luckily you never stopped to ask how he knew where your house was to begin with.

His lips find yours as soon as he walks you into your bedroom, the tang of leftover liquor on your tongue does nothing to dampen how sugary you taste. It made his head spin, cradling you in his arms and keeping you so firmly pressed against himself it was as if he were trying to merge you two completely.

You'd been just as starved, fingers winding through his ghost white hair and it had made his brain short out- touching you so freely was something he'd only fantasized about for the last six months, only allowing himself the barest of touches when he would slip into your already familiar bedroom, and this time there was no anxiety fizzing on the edges of his mind.

"Satoru," you'd sighed against his lips, nuzzling your nose to his while his saliva glistened on your lips. You'd pressed back into him, hands roaming his muscled back as he pressed sloppy, open mouth kisses to your throat. Your voice had been so low with lust it made him hard instantly, straining against his pants.

Visions danced across his mind, the way you'd sound beneath him, the way your ass would feel in his hands, what it would feel like to grope your chest and finally, finally be inside you, making you squeeze around his cock and cum until you're braindead. It was all right there, you were right there for the taking.

"Please just fuck me," you whined against his cheek and he could've cum before you finished speaking. Its the four words he ached to hear, they made him groan against your bruised skin as his hands slipped beneath your shirt to snake upwards, squeezing your breasts through your bra.

Desperation practically bled from his hands as he pushed you down onto the bed, grinning wildly climbing over you, his tongue sliding across yours as he tugged down your pants and underwear, yanked up your top and nearly ripped the bra from your chest.

You'd yelped into his mouth, clearly hadn't anticipated his movements to mimic those of an over eager animal tearing into prey. It hadn't deterred you though, hunger the constant note in all of the frantic little movements of your hands and the way your lips moved against his, all teeth and spit. He only reluctantly broke the kiss to yank his own shirt off, biting your bottom lip a little too hard in the process.

"You don't know how fuckin' hard you make me," he'd groaned leaning back over you, biting and sucking along the tops of your breasts, "How badly I've wanted you."

You were too overloaded by lust and liquor to catch exactly what he'd said, reaching for the waistband of his pants before palming his cock through the material. To him it was downright romantic and he'd made no move to stop you as you worked them open, wriggling them down with his boxers enough to let his cock spring free in your grasp.

Being that hard was painful, almost heart attack inducing. Your glossy eyes had widened, lips parting cutely in surprise as you'd taken in the way he was flushed pink with precum oozing from the tip to smear onto your fingers.

"You're massive," you'd mumbled, an adrenaline shot to his ego like no other. He'd even throbbed in your grip at your words.

His lips met yours in another tidal wave of desire, moaning into your mouth as you stroked him while his fingers frantically dipped down to spread your slick folds, rubbing circles around your clit to make you gasp and arch your back. So caught up in it you hadn't even heard what he whispered against your lips.

"You're even better than I thought you'd be."

His fingers became coated in arousal as he flooded you with the plush feeling of pleasure, his tongue exploring your mouth so thoroughly it was as if he'd been committing the map of it to memory. The way you stroked his cock had him impatient, rutting into your hand and whining each time your thumb would rub against his swollen tip.

"I need to fuck you," he whined in a daze, sounding almost close to tears, hips aching and eyes taking on a fishbowl perspective towards the string of spit connecting your mouths.

You rubbed his thigh, hand slowing its motions on his shaft. "Please-"

The word barely escaped your lips before he was gently replacing your hand with his own, sliding between your folds and encouraging you to hold your legs by the back of your thighs as he nudged at your entrance. "So beautiful," he choked out watching the way his cock disappeared inside your pussy, your walls constricting around him in a steady, massaging rhythm.

He'd had to focus hard on his own breathing to make sure he didn't cum inside you right then. "Gonna treat you so well, I promise-" the bite of your nails against his shoulders made him wince, but he'd take any pain so long as it came from your hands.

Pressing your chests flush together, his pubic bone grinding against your clit, his rhythm slow and deep as he'd pressed his forehead to yours and let himself become unmoored in your lust blown eyes, a willing drowning victim.

It was all he's wanted, and he never wanted it to end.

To him heaven is just a word, the real thing lives inside you, taking form in the way your pussy clenches around him, the way you moan and toss your head back into the mattress, the way the moonlight from the window plays across your skin and makes you look otherworldly beneath him.

You whined his name, hips rising up to meet his thrusts as you rubbed your clit and your eyes rolled back while Satoru had wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking hard and scraping with his teeth just to hear you yelp and feel you claw at his skin again.

What no one realizes about him is the longing for pain, both giving and receiving. What you don't know specifically is that there's nothing that can give him that, nothing he would allow except you. What could be more devotional than that, in his mind?

Its what makes him pause, ignoring your whines as he slips out in fact nearly ignoring you altogether, drunk off your body and a fervor that grips his mind like madness. The desire to both give and receive, all things in balance. He guides you to turn over, roughly pushing your ass up and forcing your head down into the duvet.

His mind had been entirely clouded, too focused on needing to see your soaked cunt greedily swallow him whole. It was mesmerizing, both the sight and the way your body grips him like it'll never let go again while the mess of slick against your inner thighs glints in the moonlight. Starved and desperate he fucked you without care, fingers digging into your hips and ass so hard bruises would stain your skin like watercolors, showing the exact position on his fingers come morning.

"I'm gonna make you cum, angel, all over my cock," he panted through rough, recklessly deep thrusts. He leaned down so one hand could fist in your hair, a cruel grip that had you crying out in pain. It was a sickening sort of thrill that overtook him watching your hands flail blindly above your head before scratching and gripping at his hand.

Now it's you who knows what it's like to be caught in the snare.

"Stop! It hurts!" You'd sobbed out, but he was beyond the point of stopping, beyond the point of reason. He did make an effort to placate you, pressing you down into prone bone flat to the bed and leaving messy kisses on the back on your neck but it was in the distinct tone of forgiveness.

You don't hold out much longer, sobbing and nearly wailing as your abused cunt spasmed around his throbbing length, liquid dripping down from the base of his cock to smear against his and your thighs as he fucked you through it before being unable to last against the onslaught of your pulsing walls, burying himself inside you and filling you up with hot, sticky spurts of cum.

He'd stayed pressed against you, laying on top of you for a while, simply listening to your sniffles as he fiddled with your hair. Really Satoru was loath to pull out of you, pull away from you.

Every silent pass of his fingers against your skin was an apology, and eventually those teary sniffles had subsided into even, deep breaths as sleep closed it's fingers around you instead.

So the moment had passed, the rope cut so that the rabbit might yet run out of sight, it's heart pounding and leg twinging in pain.

He'd been lost in reliving it already, coming back to himself and placing a chaste kiss to your lips as he tugged his shirt back on and made sure you were in a comfortable position beneath the duvet he'd tucked you into.

Of course he'd also taken a moment to unlock your phone with your index finger, installing just a tiny little program that would allow him to get copies of all your phone activity.

One last kiss to your temple before he slips out the door, down the hallway, and back into his car.

One last silent query of forgiveness.

#jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut

337 notes · View notes