#THE FUCKING. THE SHORT PAUSE. NO EXPRESSION CHANGE

[crehador]

genuinely some of the funniest delivery i've heard ever

[nochepsicodelica]

Suggestive

"Tojiii," you squeal when he picks you up, before using his back to shut the car door. You lean forward and take a long whiff of the cologne he spritzed on the collar of his shirt. "Mmm... you smell so good. You trying to seduce me?"

He chuckles at the way you go back and sniff around his neck, like a dog. "Is it working?"

You inhale deeply once more, sighing exaggeratedly before responding. "Uh-huh. Want you to fuck me. Ugh, Toji, baby, i'm ready for you," you say, getting a head start by kissing his neck.

"Nah, pretty girl. Can't do that to you, tonight." He pins you to the door to keep you balanced as he fishes for the keys in his pocket.

"What?" You say, pausing the movement of your lips, your mood quickly deflated.

"What?" Toji repeats, looking at you as he turns the key in the lock. He lifts you off the door before opening it, keeping his eyes on yours.

"Am I not fuckable? You really don't wanna do me?"

"What are you even talking about, ma?" He shuts the door, locking it before carrying you to the bathroom to help you out like he usually does after a night out with plenty of drinks at your disposal.

"You..." your eyes start watering, enormous tears quickly forming and gliding down your cheeks. "You said you don't want me."

"That's not how I meant it, baby. Don't cry."

"What. Ever. I don't care anymore. Just... just put me down," you say, pushing at his chest.

"We gotta get you ready for bed," he says, setting you down on the edge of the sink. He grabs the pack of makeup wipes from the drawer you told him you keep them in and pulls a wipe out. "Close your eyes."

You do as he says, but only because you're stuck there until he moves out of the way. "I'm..." you sigh, heavily. "I'm s-sleeping on the couch, tonight."

"Mm... and why's that?" He asks, while focusing on wiping off the mascara from your eyelashes, and the trail that made its way down your cheeks. He's not concerned for what you said, because he knows for certain that that won't be the case at all.

"'Cause you don't love me. You've made it clear that you don't want to touch me. If we sleep in the same bed, my leg might graze yours." You laugh. "Who knows what'll happen if that happens. I'm surprised you even wanna be this close to me, now."

Toji sighs, throwing out the spent makeup wipe. He rests his hands on the counter, on each side of you, before leaning forward and placing a kiss on your lips. "Just got even closer, mama. What are you gonna do?" He laughs at your widened eyes, and when your expression contorts to one of sadness again, he can't help but maintain the amused grin on his face at how quickly your mood shifted.

"Be sad," you respond, softly. "You don't wanna make love to me? How can you kiss me and not want more?"

The sound of your voice breaking softened him up a little more. That and the insufferable look of hurt in your eyes. "Hey, look at me," he says, cupping your jaw to manually bring your gaze back to his. "It's not like that, at all. Don't cry over this, sweetheart." He runs his thumbs beneath your eyes, brushing away your returning tears. "You know I love you and I want you all the time, but I'm not gonna touch you like that when you're drunk." Your pretty eyes are killing him with how sad they look. Your cheeks are reddened and warm from the mix of the alcohol in your system and your emotions, and your lips are trembling. "Baby, you can't even walk straight. I'm not gonna take advantage of you. Stuff like that is only done by shitty people. You understand?"

"No," you choke out through a sob, breaking open the dam of your emotions.

"Of course you don't," Toji says, a soft smile taking over his features as he picks you up again and carries you to the room. He sets you down on the bed, propping you up against the pillows so you don't fall over. He can hear your sniffling subside as he rummages through your drawers, searching for something to change you into.

"You wanna wear shorts or just one of your really big shirts?" He asks, spotting your favorite oversized t-shirt. You don't answer, keeping your attention on your hands, letting him talk to himself like he's a crazy person. He calls for you, again, nothing more than a "ma", just incase you don't answer again. As he expected, more silence.

"Oh, so you're just not gonna talk to me, anymore?" He asks, turning to look at you, catching the way you shake your head slightly, still not looking at him. He grumbles to himself about your little attitude, before turning back to the dresser. He closes your drawers and opens one of his, fishing out one of the black shirts he always wears, before making his way back to you.

"Arms up," he instructs, grabbing onto the hem of your blouse. You sluggishly roll your eyes and lift your arms, allowing him to pull it off. He unfolds his shirt and scrunches it up so that he can facilitate the process of getting it on you. "Alright, put your arms in," he says, when you just sit there, unmoving. Again, your attitude shows as you follow his instructions, but the second your arms go in the holes and the material of the normally short sleeves extends to your forearms, you gasp.

"Your shirt?" You ask, enthusiastically. "It's your shirt?!" You ask, again, with the most lovestruck look on your face.

Toji snickers. "Yeah, baby. That's my shirt." Your eyes are filled with so much light, it's ridiculous how little it took to get this reaction out of you. You're literally giggling to yourself over a shirt, and he can't see it as anything short of adorable. "Alright, alright. Let's finish up so we can go to sleep."

You're a lot more willing to listen to him, now that your mood is boosted. You unbutton your shorts and lift your hips to slide them off, handing the article to Toji so he can put it in the dirty clothes hamper.

"Gonna go get some stuff from the kitchen. Be right back," he says, glancing at you before leaving the room. Not even two minutes later when he returned, you were already fast asleep, quiet breaths flowing past your lips. You laid on your back, your arms folded above your head. Toji shut the bedroom door before walking over to your nightstand to set a couple of ibuprofen tablets down beside a glass of water. He swiped his thumb over the corner of your lips, collecting the small patch of drool that glistened on your skin and wiping it off on his sweats. He went back to turn off the light, and quickly made his way to his side of the bed.

He turned you onto your side, earning a few irritated whines from you due to the disturbance. "I know, I know," he murmurs, pulling his shirt down to cover your exposed hip. He stayed up a little longer, to keep you from shifting onto your back when you stirred. His hand stayed firm on your waist, preventing you from moving much at all, and occasionally he got to laugh through his nose at your nonsensical sleep ridden mumblings.

[pwinkprincess]

gojo and fucking his babygirl till she cant walk since she keeps stomping off when she has an attitude

satoru has noticed that you’ve changed. while you’re still his sweet girl, your attitude has gotten worse and worse. it really only comes out when he says something that you hadn't anticipated on hearing. 

after a long exhausting day of being the school’s golden boy and being recorded and having to talk rehearsed lines (‘perks’ of the gojo family funding a sufficient amount towards the school) it was all over. much to his luck, the frat house was completely void when he finally came home一well almost. you were sitting on the L shaped couch, waiting for him like an obedient puppy. he does little to hide his smile when he sees you jump to your feet once you realize he’s home. 

“hi, toru!” you’re smiling so hard and your arms are wrapping around him before he has the chance to fully respond.

“hey, babygirl.” he allows you to hug him. he pats the top of your head while basking in how comforting the interaction feels. “how’d you get here?” he asks. he remembers vividly dropping you off at your section of your dorm two nights ago.

“suguru dropped me off.” the smile quickly washes off of his face. a displeased scowl substitutes the once there smile. 

“i thought i told you to stay away from him?” not only did he tell you to stay away from suguru, but sukuna, choso, and mahito too. it’s not like he didn’t trust you, it’s them who he didn’t trust. innocent, naive, good girls; you’re their type. they would possibly do you even worse than how satoru treats you, and he knows that. that’s why he strives so hard to keep you separated from his friend group.

“he came up t’me, toru.” you explain. “‘nd i told him that i wanted t’see you ‘nd he told me that you were busy but he could drop me off here ‘nd i wait in your room until you came back.” 

even though your explanation seems logical and realistic, he still didn’t want the two of you to interact. no matter the circumstances. he lets out a frustrated groan. he’s too tired to lecture you. he’ll talk your words with a  grain of salt this time. 

“c’mon, baby. ‘m tired.” even with the two of you traveling a short distance upstairs and into his room, you still hold his hand. he doesn’t fight you on it, opting to allow you to do whatever keeps you satisfied.

you sit happily on the edge of the bed while satoru begins stripping out of his clothes. you’re shameless as you take peeks at his body, when did his little shy girl grow so confident?

“uhmm toru, while we were in the car suguru told me about the party that’s happening this saturday.” you comment. your words are hesitant as you bring up the new topic.

“yeah, ryomen is throwin’ it this time.” he nods his head mindlessly. he’s pulling out clothes through his drawers, searching for his plaid pajama pants that aren't folded and tucked in its usual spot.

“he invited me to go.” you squeak out.

satoru chuckles at your admission. “‘m gonna be busy this weekend, so..” he trails off.

“who’s gonna take me to the party then?” you ask in worry.

“no one. ‘cus you’re not going.” satoru pauses his rummaging to look at you. the expression on your face is almost comical. a mixture of shock and confusion is displayed.

“uh-huh, toru. i already told him i’d come.” you say in retaliation.

satoru makes a mental note to address suguru inviting you places without his agreement. usually, satoru usually doesn’t care when suguru offers to the girls he sleeps with, but you’re different.

"you're not going."

“...yes i am.” 

“no you’re not.” satoru replies, sarcasm is etched into his tone and he’s looking at you as if you have three heads.

“why not?!” your voice is rising and you jump up from your spot on his bed. you look up at him with a frown as you question him.

“cause ‘m not gonna be there.” he says it as though it is the clearest thing in the world.

“why does that matter, toru? i can handle goin’ alone.” you’re now defensive and upset. satoru can tell from your tone that you’re about to throw a tantrum and can only sigh as he prepares for the inevitable. 

“‘m not allowin’ you to go to a party thrown by sukuna alone.” he contradicts. 

“toruuuu.” you whine. “you’re being unfair!”

“am i?” he laughs.

you huff and whine some more. satoru ignores your whines, continuing to scavenge for his pants. the pile of clothes on the floor is growing increasingly larger and his drawers are growing bare.

“where the fuck is it?” he says aloud, his eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. 

you stop whining once you realize he’s ignoring you. frustration grows throughout your body as you look up at him with a scowl. you had grown used to satoru caving in quickly and to see him withstanding your antics absolutely enraged you.

“you’re so一stupid! i hate you!” you scream. you stomp towards the closed bedroom door while continuing to utter insults at him. 

there goes the new attitude, the loud yelling, the stomping, the insults. you’ve only done it twice before and satoru has had to put you in your place both times, this time is no different.

before you could even twist the knob, you feel a strong hand grasp the back of your neck. a sharp breath manages to escape your throat when you’re suddenly yanked backwards. it feels like your world is spinning when your back suddenly hits the mattress. 

satoru is quick to climb on top of you, his legs slot on either side of your body. 

there are angry tears pouring from your fierce eyes that soften up once you see the stern expression on his face. 

“t-to-”

“shut up.” he’s pulling your dress up to your stomach and shuffling to move to the side of you. he forces your legs open, his crystal blue eyes take notice of the way your panties hug your pussy. he could see a small wet spot seeping through your panties. he roughly yanks your panties down to your  ankles.

“t-toruuu..” you mewl. you know whats about to happen next and you try to brace yourself. 

the wind is almost knocked out of your chest when you feel his rough palm slap down onto your pussy. you flinch and kick your legs out of reflex. you squirm to move away from him which only makes him use his other hand to grab you by your throat. 

“fuckin’. rude. girl.” with every word, he’s slapping your pussy. loud screams escape out of your mouth, you try to shut your legs so that he couldn’t have any more access, satoru huffs out a breath and forcefully opens your legs back up. 

“stop.” his voice is deepened and the solidity is hard to disobey.

you could do nothing but lay there and take the slappings. every time his hand would strike down onto your pussy you would flinch and let out a weak moan. 

“of course you’d start moanin’.” he tuts. he moves from his position and stands at the edge of the bed. he grips your panties that are hanging loosely around your ankles and throws them elsewhere on the bed. he grabs you by your thighs and scoots you until your ass is hanging off the edge.

“i was jus mad, daddy, i didn’t mean anything i said.” you sniffle as you watch his cockhead rub against the entrance of your throbbing pussy.

“jus’ mad, huh?” he mumbles. he rubs his through your wetness for a few moments before sliding inside of you. on a regular day, he would’ve prepped you and made sure you were prepared enough for him to sink his lengthy cock into you. but its hard to be kind to you when you act like such a fucking brat.

“mhmm, d-daddy. was jus’ mad.” there are still tears lingering in your eyes that satoru ignores. “i don’t hate you, daddy.” you add on.

“‘s too late to apologize, babygirl. you know what happens when you act up like that.” 

you bite down on your lip while looking at him with a look of confliction. “‘m sorry.” you whimper. “are you一really mad at me or just a little?” 

“absolutely pissed, babygirl.” he says before snaking his hand back to your neck. he slams your head down onto the mattress and squeezes. 

his hips snaps into you, your wetness is already getting all over his cock and heavy balls <3. from his slapping, you feel sensitive, way more than usual. loud struggling mewls escape from your mouth as his hips speed up.

he keeps his hand around your neck but stops squeezing once his other hand goes to cover both your mouth and nose. “you’ve said enough today, babydoll. shut. the. fuck. up.” with every word, he grinds his cock deeper into your pussy. 

“rude little girl. gonna show you what happens t’girls who piss their daddy off.” he promises.

[mrderondncefloor]

“anything? that right?”

old!logan howlett x f!reader

summary: you end up in logan’s shop with an oil leak and can’t afford to pay him

wc: 2.3k (i’m in hell the brain rot is BAAAAD)

authors note: plot is very cliche like ik eat me. while writing this i took a break and got an edit of logan to tulsa jesus freak. yes i’ve lost my sanity. also i don’t know shit about shit with cars so yea

warnings/tags: MDNI. dubcon. unspecified age gap. logan is a little mean?? reader has no description besides hair long enough for logan to grab, wearing short skirt. logan grabs readers face. hair pulling. big dick logan (canon). pussy pronouns. spanking. throat fucking. degrading. tears. dirty talk. pet names. daddy kink. fingering. aggressive sex. unprotected sex (wrap it up). cream pie. orgasm denial.

your type doesn’t frequent this place, the auto shop on the edge of a town that’s seen better days. most of logan’s customers he’s had for years, he’d grown used to the faces that come through the shop, greeting people on a first name basis at this point in his career. like hell did he ever expect you. you, who stood behind him when he’s hunched down, working beneath the hood of a truck. he didn’t hear you coming, the radio on his workbench drowning out the sound of your footsteps. “shit,” he hissed, peeling back from the piece of shit he’d spent his afternoon working away at, white beater stained with oil and god knows what else. he paused abruptly when he finally noticed you, drawing in a slow breath. if he didn’t have enough on his plate, here you are. a pretty, young thing. in the thick of the summer you’re hardly dressed in much at all, a little top and a short skirt. “ain’t hear you come in,” the clear of his throat echoes off the walls as he walked towards his bench, wiping his hands with a greased up towel. “can i do for you?” his teeth clamp down on the toothpick stuck out his mouth, an oral fixation to try and keep his mind off smoking while on the job. it hardly worked for shit, nicotine always in the back of his mind. the radio gradually softens, pair of glasses pulled onto the bridge of his nose. “think i have an oil leak?” you sound unsure of it, logan nods, scribbling it down onto a forum he kept for his records. “bring ‘er in. take a look,” his boots thud quietly across the floor, walking past you to pull open the garage door. the wiring had gone out a couple months ago and he’s yet to get around to fixing it, muscles straining as he pulled the door up an over his head. he watched you pull your car in, sighing as you stepped back out. “well.. ain’t even have to look. engine sounds like shit, definitely a leak. i’ll pop underneath anyway, see f’somethin’s loose or if it’s a crack.” he nodded, wheeling his creeper out from beneath the bench with his foot. he tries not to groan as he sunk to the floor, his body too old for this shit. he pushes himself up underneath the car, brow knit in a tight furrow as he took a look around to access the problem. “oil pan has a crack, s’pretty fuckin’ bad. i can change it out for you, take me an hour.. hour an a half at most.” he nods, sat upright, an elbow propped against his bent knee. your expression flashes with annoyance and he thought to himself that you looked like a fucking brat, but god damn did you wear it so well. he fights back with the corner of his lips that threatens to tug up.

logan gathered up what he needed, not paying you any mind as you’re left with not much other choice but to sit and wait for him to finish on your car. dressed like this he figured you had better places to be, but he didn’t give a fuck. you came to him, and the way he saw it was your choices were limited to accepting the help and learning some patience or ruining your car. he’s good at the work he does, it’s why he has so many loyal customers, why he’s been in business so long. he could’ve given you some grief for the look you gave him when he told you about the wait- and he still might. “she’s good as new.” he nodded, sliding out from beneath the car with your cracked oil pan. his chest is slick with sweat, glistening under the dull lighting. he brushed his dirty hands against the thighs of his jeans as he stood, tossing your old cracked pan into the trash as he approached his work bench again, quickly jotting down the work that he’d done. “s’goin’ to be.. nine hundred fifty three. s’for the replacement, fresh oil and that god damn look you gave me earlier.” he nods, dropping the clipboard onto the desk. “take cash or card.” his arms cross over his broad torso, forehead creasing as his brow sunk in. “this is a joke, right?” you ask, scoffing out a laugh as you look up at him though his expression doesn’t let up, unamused. “do i look like m’makin’ a fuckin’ joke, sweetheart?” his jaw is clamped tight, his tone flat, serious. “you can’t charge me for a look?” “i can charge you whatever the hell i feel like. i had other shit goin’ on.. could’ve made you wait a hell of a lot longer.” you scoff out in disbelief at him, shaking your head. “i don’t have nine hundred dollars.” you finally admit and logan’s head dropped forward, a low chuckle coming from his lips. when you didn’t pull out a card he knew this shit was going happen. he saw right through you. “alright so.. let me get this straight, sweetheart. you came here for me to look at your car knowin’ you didn’t have the god damn money to pay for it? is that right?” he lacks sympathy for you, pretty as you were you had another thing coming if you thought you were going to pull a fast one on him. “i might be old, girl, but i ain’t no fuckin’ fool. i tell you what.. no money, no fuckin’ keys.” his voice is low, your keys dangled around his finger and he shoves them down into his pocket. he walks away from you, too god damn angry to be stood in front of you, having wasted enough time on you already. “please, you don’t understand.. i need my car. i can pay you what i have right now and bring you the rest next week, please.” you beg, coming up behind him where he’s hunched over again beneath the hood of someone else’s vehicle, the same one he’d been working on when you arrived. “ain’t my god damn problem.” he muttered, biceps flexing beneath his tanned skin as he tightened a bolt in place. “i’ll do anything.” you plea again and logan slowly stops what he’s doing, looking down at the truck battery he was working at. he sighed loudly, recomposing himself as he peeled back from the truck, walking towards the garage door. he reached up, muscles flexing across his back as he pulled the door shut, closing off the inside of his shop from the street view.

“anything? that right?” he’s standing before you now, looking down at your shorter frame. “anything.”* you repeat in a whisper. he drew in a slow, deep breath as your palm slid over the front of his dirty jeans, stepping closer into you until you’re tucked between him and the truck. he groans when your squeeze your palm around him through the denim, your lips curling up to a sinisterly sweet smile when you tug at his belt. he grabs your face hard, lips puffed out slightly when he pulled you in for a kiss. it’s sloppy, his tongue lapping across your lips before dipping into your mouth, an anger filled hunger. he’s pissed off, but you’re pretty enough that he’d be willing to accept your throat as some sort of payment. he looks down at you as you pull back from his kiss, sinking to your knees. he appreciates that you had no issue getting to the point. “i reckon you must’ve been thinkin’ about this the entire time, sweetheart.” logan mused as you grabbed his cock out from inside his jeans, moaning at the sight of him. “bet you ain’t ever seen a cock that big huh, girl?” the palm of his hand pets against the back of your head as you stroke him slowly, his shaft filling out your small palm. “hands behind your back.” he nods slowly, gathering your hair into his fist, holding the back of your head with a tight grasp. he taps the weight of his cock against your tongue before he lays his base flat against you, slowly pulling his hips back as your warm tongue licked over the veins that protrude from tightened foreskin. “nice an wide.” he mutters, feeding the head of his cock into your mouth, a grunt parting his lips when he brushed the back of your throat. god damn. “you’re goin’ to sit here and take it like a champ. reckon you ought’a think about havin’ my god damn money next time. stupid girl.” he warned you before his hips draw back and roll forward, pushing the length of his cock down the curve of your throat. it’s lewd, the repeated squelch of your throat as he pushes himself inside again and again. “should’a known you’d be this big of a slut when i saw you. cute little fuckin’ outfit, barely wearin’ anythin’ at all. just knew how to get an old man goin’.” he grunts, unbothered by the tears that have begun to roll over your cheeks. he’s selfish, using your throat to his advantage, balls slapping the underside of your chin. the cute outfit you’d turned up in ruined by your own slop of saliva as it dribbled out the corners of your mouth. “good fuckin’ girl. payin’ off every fuckin’ dollar.” his skin is slick with sweat, head lulling back against his shoulders, blinded by the dull white light above him. your throat is exactly what he needed at the end of a shitty week, and he had no shame in taking out his stress on you, sure you wouldn’t be forgetting him anytime soon.

when he finally lets up you choke out a cough, spit strung between his soaked cock and your mouth, breathing hard as you look up at him with watery eyes. still, you come chasing for more, hands sat on his denim clad thighs as you licked your tongue along his cock, gasping in a breath of air before you took him back into your throat, craving the feeling once more. “fuck’n hell.. look at you. must really need that god damn car, huh?” his fingers move into your hair again, yanking your mouth back off his cock so he could pull you up from the floor. “ain’t that right, princess? you’d do anythin’ for those keys back, huh?” “yes, daddy.” you choke out and what patience logan had left snaps, swiftly turning you around by the hold he has on your hair. he lifts the skirt up over the swell of your ass, palm of his hand roughly swatting against. you. once, twice, three times. your cheeks are stained red as your legs tremble, impatiently waiting for him to give you more. “let me see ‘er.” logan nods, bent over you and he pulled your panties to the side, spreading your cheeks so he had a perfect view of both holes, your pussy slick with your own arousal.

“you like gettin’ treated like a slut.” he acknowledged, spitting against his fingers before he brings them to your pussy, fingertips swirling your clit before he pressed two long fingers into your core, free hand wrapped around your throat. he stroked his fingers slowly at first but gained speed as your arousal coated him, making it easier for him to plunge his fingers into your tight hole, biceps flexing with each stroke of his fingers, feeling out the warmth of your walls, infatuated with the way your pussy sucks his fingers back in. he grins at the gasp you take in when he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, pushing yourself up straighter as he sunk himself deep into your pussy. “daddy,” you softly grab at the hand he has around the middle of your throat, moaning as his chest presses up against your back. “you ever been stretched out this good before?” he asks beside your ear, breathing out a quiet laugh when you shake your head no. he grabs your face again, pulling your lips back to his when he fucks into you, hard strokes that press your hips against the grill of the truck, sure to leave you with bruises in days following. he swallows the moans you cry out, roughly driving his hips into yours. he’s unrelenting, giving himself to you hard the way you deserve it, the way you so evidently love it. it’s been a long god damn time since he had pussy this good, and fuck was he obsessed with yours, cursing himself for fixing the troubles your car had given you instead of giving you the run around to keep you coming back for more. hell, with the way you’re fucking yourself back onto his cock you just might anyway. “you’re going to make me cum, daddy,” you choke out, and he grabs at your hips, pulling him deeper into your sopping cunt. “that right? this ain’t even about you, princess. this was for me, remember? who says you’re allowed to cum?” he is brow furrows, getting a rise out of the way you while beneath him, small hands grabbing at the truck. “please, i know it’s not about me but please let me cum, daddy.” you whine, legs trembling beneath you, threatening to cave under your weight. he doesn’t respond, just fucking into your stretched core while you beg him to cum again and again. he ignored you until he spilled first, filling you with thick ropes of his cum, hips flush against yours so you take every drop deep inside. “you want to cum now, sweetheart?” he asked and you nod, rocking your hips back against him as your chase your own high.

needless to say, logan was more than willing to return your keys. and you.. well you might purposefully pop a tire soon.

[alnilaem]

a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.

cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe

simon riley/reader

-

Something is wrong. 

Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat. 

Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.

Something is seriously, gravely wrong. 

You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.  

You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.

Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest. 

It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil. 

He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums. 

“Welcome home, Love.” 

The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.

“How was your friend’s place?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.

“How did you get in?”

Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.” 

“I changed the damn locks.”

“I got new ones,” he says.

“We broke up.”

“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”

“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”

“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”

“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”

“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”

You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless. 

“Fuck off.”

Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.

“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”

You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin. 

A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to. 

“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”

Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.

“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?” 

Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.

“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.” 

“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”

Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back. 

“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans. 

Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter. 

“Simon–”

“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.” 

Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones. 

He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear. 

“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you. 

“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?” 

Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal. 

He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”

You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed. 

If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion. 

He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.

A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.

Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down. 

“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”

Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt. 

“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.

“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”

He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.

“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”

A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.

It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.

You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.

You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin. 

You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids. 

“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”

A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.

[harmonictechnicality]

It’s the way Steve places a pin in that damn map of Hawkins. Two fingers, muddy knuckles. Fuck if Eddie knows the actual destination because all he can navigate is the curve of Steve’s index finger as he smooths out the edges of the map.

And it’s stupid, right? Because the world is folding in on itself and he’s looking at a guy in the kind of way Victorian novelists would only describe as ‘longingly.’ It’s objectively stupid. Probably some adrenaline bullshit that a doctor could explain with a brain scan.

The rest of the group has scattered, plotting amongst themselves. Pulling plans out of their asses. Finding layers of courage behind clues and cassette tapes.

Eddie should do that too. Plan. Make decisions. Do anything other than stare at the dirt underneath Steve’s goddamn fingernails.

“Please blink, Munson.” Steve says while clearing his throat. He’s been doing that a lot. Which is, like, understandable after coughing up lake water all night long.

He clears his throat again. “Show sign of life before I ransack the supply bag for that shit you call music.”

“That… shit?” Eddie spits out the words. Briefly forgets his swirly Steve feelings because of the fucking audacity on this guy. “Rightrightright, because Bob Seger is so fucking dignified, huh?”

“Uh-oh.” Dustin murmurs behind him.

“Because Old Time Rock and Roll is the highest ranking of ear candy?” Eddie searches through their duffel bag until he finds Steve’s Vecna Saftey Tape. Waves it around wildly as he speaks. “Forgive me. I didn’t know entry-level chord progressions were considered Carnegie Hall worthy these days. But by all means, call my music shit.”

He throws the tape at Steve’s lap before dropping back down to his seat on the couch.

“Well,” Steve smirks. “At least we know if the music won’t wake you up, mocking it sure as hell will.”

“Guys. Focus.” Nancy steps into the center of the room. Everyone nods, even Eddie. They listen intently to her directions. Henderson doesn’t interrupt her, not even once.

Nancy’s entire demeanor is charged with currents of determination. It’s honestly impressive. Truly. She could convince congress to change the fucking constitution if she wanted. Have the supreme court eating out of her palm with how persuasive she can be.

And the only thing that distracts her, is the same thing distracting Eddie.

Two fingers. Muddy knuckles.

Eddie follows her gaze back over to Steve. Her expression softening when she sees him.

It’s cruel and expected. Cruel that Eddie has to witness such softness, knowing exactly how it feels. Expected because wedding bells can practically be heard every time those two interact with each other. No one can deny that.

But knowing all this doesn’t stop the cruelty from squeezing Eddie’s stomach till his insides feel raw.

He swallows down his flimsy fantasies. Keeps repeating those words from back in the woods:

It’s jealousy, it’s jealousy, it’s jealousy, it’s-

“Hey, man.” Steve says.

Man? Not ‘Nancy, my betrothed?’ Not “Nancy, my muse?”

… Man?

Eddie blinks. Glances up to see Steve looking at him. “Your taste in music isn’t complete shit.”

Which isn’t exactly an apology. But the teasing scratches an itch in Eddie’s brain that he hasn’t be able to reach for a very long time.

“Yeah.” Eddie says. “I guess Bob Seger’s stuff is… intermediate. Assistant managerial-level chord progressions.”

He pauses. Then leans in and adds a quick, “At best.”

They both laugh a little. It’s cut short by Steve clearing his throat again. One of the many reminders that they’re not well.

That nothing they’re going through is fair. Not even in the same universe as Fair. Eddie’s eyes fall to the red markings around Steve’s neck. Wonders if that makes his cough hurt worse.

“Look.” Steve nudges Eddie’s arm. Pulls his attention back into this moment. “We’ve got this, okay?”

Eddie can’t exactly tell if there’s softness in Steve’s eyes - the same kind Nancy gives to him so freely. Or if it’s just regularly scheduled Concern. But it doesn’t even matter because Steve said that.

We.

‘We’ve got this.’

Him and Steve.

And, okay, was Steve referring to a collective ‘we?’ Sure, yeah. Obviously. But Eddie is allowing himself to wallow in delusion while the world’s expiration date remains questionable.

So he aims a lovesick smile at Steve and sighs. “Whatever you say, Harrington.”

[lethalchiralium]

“What are you doing?!”

Simon quirked an eyebrow at you, side-eyeing you as you stood in the bathroom doorway. He continued to use the trimmers on his thick beard, you watched in horror.

“I’m not tryin’ to give you beard burn on your cunt, love.”

You ignored that comment, though it did make your insides clench. “Mellie hasn’t seen you without a beard.”

“Yes, she has.” He moved his head down, looking back in the mirror to make sure it was even. “When I first got back.”

“She doesn’t remember that, Simon, she was too little. She is going to scream her head off.” You leaned your shoulder on the doorway, watching your husband’s expression stay stoic as he moved his mouth up and down to help cut down the beard.

He took only a few more moments to finish, leaving short stubble where it was once a lush beard. He wiped down the counter with his towel, cleaning up like he always did. “She’ll be fine. She knows her Dad.”

“Let me explain this to you,” You took a deep breath as your husband glared at you. “You’re little, you love your dad with every fiber of your being and you love holding onto his beard gently all day. You do it every day.” You folded your arms over your chest, examining his nonchalant expression until you stated, “And any slight change makes you scream or occasionally throw up. Like she did when Gaz shaved his head ‘cause Soap paid him to do it.”

“Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right, buddy.” You shook your head, laughing to yourself before you reached forwards, patting his shoulder. “I’m not handling that, you put that on yourself.”

“Y/N-“

You kissed his temple before turning away, “Good luck with the screaming baby!”

“If you help me, I’ll do the thing.”

You paused, back turned to your husband as your smile grew larger. “What thing?”

He grunted, can of shaving cream hitting the counter. “You know what thing.”

You dropped the smile, looking over your shoulder - your lower stomach tightening when you gazed at your husband’s deadpanned face. “Care to elaborate?”

His eyes narrowed, taking a breath before he seethed through gritted teeth, “If you handle Mellie when she sees me, I will tie you up when we fuck tonight.”

“Promise?”

His stare is enough to make you laugh.

“Deal, baby.”

[stars-for-circe]

Summertide

Tags / cw: headcannons, neighbour!abby, suggestive, masturbation, gymrat!abby (kinda)

A/n: this is so bad because I rushed it but be grateful I’m feeding u guys at all tbh <3

Neighbour!Abby who woke up one day to the sound of a truck backing up the driveway to the house next to her, and decides to go check out what’s happening. She walks out barefoot, in only grey sweatpants and some wifebeater loose enough that - from the side - you’d be teased ever so slightly by the sight of her bare chest.

And, as she tucks the loose hairs that fell out of her messy braid behind her ear, and shields her eyes from that hot summer sun - already much too bright for 7 in the morning - she’d realise her guess to be correct, with two trucks parked outside the next door house, and you carrying the boxes inside. And ever since then, it would only be a matter of who caught whose eyes first.

First, it would be you, watching her from the kitchen window as Abby went to get the mail, finally realising how fucking hot your new neighbour was, and realising just how many of her windows lined up with yours.

Later that night, after you’d watch the bathroom window light up and get foggy, you wait for the perfect time and oh-so-conveniently knock on her door the moment the shower stops running, only to be met by Abby in shorts and a damp shirt, towel around her neck and wet hair dripping down her neck.

She’d raise a brow, trying to remain calm with the fact that her smoking hot neighbour was at her doorstep, fled her muscles ever so slightly (which you definitely noticed), and wait for you to talk first. A very small ‘hi’ would come from your mouth, followed by a pause before she reciprocates.

“I’m uh, your new neighbour, on the right.” You’d start awkwardly, trying to somehow keep the conversation going as long as humanly possible

“I know - saw you unpacking the other day.” A cheeky grin would spread across her face, and you really couldn’t help it when you saw her think she has the upper hand here-

“Oh, so you’ve been watching me?”

That grin on her face would disappear, replaced with a sputter and surprised blink, as yours now shows the expression she had before. And as you sway and turn around to head back to your house, letting that silky summer dress float around your hips enough for a good show, it seems the message is clear. A clear challenge between you both - who could crack first?

And after a week, it feels like it may be Abby, with how you keep your windows open, summer breeze blowing the curtains softly as she gets a view of your house and everything you do in it. From doing the dishes, sitting at your vanity, from doing your skincare and even changing - you make sure she sees it.

But on a particularly hot day, when Abby decides not even the fans around her house would help cool her down, when the garage it just too stuffy- you think it may be you, instead.

The first thing that would raise your attention would be the sound of her garage door opening, which makes you raise your head from the book your reading, and sit up against your headboard to see what she’s up to. Abby doesn’t own a car - you know this. So why would she use the garage at all?

You’re quick to realise - with a sharp intake of a breath - that you were entirely wrong in the garage serving no purpose. Because as the door opens, you find Abby dead centre in the space, working out. In sweats and a black wifebeater, this time, as she benches and lifts and hip thrusts so much more than you weigh, and so effortlessly, too.

You can feel yourself getting wet, as you squirm in your cross legged position. As you watch her take deep breaths as droplets of sweat roll down her muscles and as she throws around the weights like they’re nothing. God, you’d almost get lost in the sight, and let her win, if it wasn’t for the small smirk she’d adorn on her face as she looks your way and winks. She fucking knew you were watching.

You scoff, and promptly flip her off, before closing your window and drawing your curtains. But, as a secret kept tightly to yourself, she really did win.

Because you touch yourself that night, to the memories of earlier that day. Of Abby. Leaning against your headboard again, reminiscent of how it was that hot afternoon, on top your sheets and legs spread. You thank god for the fact that you don’t have roommates anymore, as you whine and moan her name in tandem with your fingers, going in and out - a soft, wet clicking noise following each thrust.

And as you grind your clit into your palm, watching your hand disappear beneath the fabric of your sundress, you make sure to spread your legs even wider and throw your head back as you cum. Because there is one small fact about your window. During the day, no one can see in, but during the night - with your lights on - everything is visible.

So, as Abby watches you from her bedroom, hand shoved under her boxers as she writhes and gasps along with you - as she knows your putting on a good show for her to lose, but can’t even bring herself to care at this point - she only really thinks about one (two) things: fucking you blind tomorrow, and calling for a draw.

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @littlegingerperson5 @flowersforvi

[p1nkprincess444]

𓌏 ⋆.˚𓉸 ғʀɪᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪʀᴛᴇᴇɴᴛʜ - ᴇᴜʀᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜs (ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴏғ ᴄʜᴀᴏs) 𓉸 ˚.⋆ 𓌏

(୨୧ not proof read ୨୧ )

female!reader x oystein aarseth

word count: 1,526

contents: 18+, cunnilingus

mentions: @fallout-girl219

He had promised you “ just the tip. ” He swore he wouldn’t fuck you, but he just wanted to feel you, but somehow you ended up with your face pushed into the cushions of the couch with cock slamming into your cervix. 

It had all started so innocently. Øystein asked you over to come watch a movie at his place. You looked through his extensive collection of horror movies before landing on Friday the Thirteenth. You wandered into his kitchen heating up some popcorn while he queued up the movie. 

Once the movie was ready Øystein crept into the kitchen sneaking up behind you. His hands gripped your hips, suddenly making you jump followed by his lips attacking your neck earning giggles to fall from your lips.

“ Quit it- I’m making popcorn.. Quit! ” My serious tone was overshadowed by my giggles before he pulled away. 

You rolled your eyes before pulling the popcorn off the stove and pouring it into a large bowl. You made your way into his small-ish living room where you joined him on the couch. You handed him the popcorn before tossing a blanket over your laps. Your head rested on his shoulder while the movie played. Øystein was never one for intimate gestures, but with you he’d let you do anything. As the movie progressed you both moved to more comfortable positions on the couch, Øystein being behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist as you watched the gorey scene on the tv play out in front of you. His hands began to wander as his lips pressed into your neck.

“ Quit- mm’ trying to watch. ”

“ Just keep watching princess.. ”

His hands slid under your shirt before they slipped under your bra as well. His hands groped at your breasts while his teeth nipped at your neck. You tried desperately to stay focused until you felt something poking your ass. 

“ Øystein stop it- I just wanted to watch the movie, and now you’re poking me, ” my tone was laced with annoyance as I sat up pausing the movie. 

He rolled his eyes in response as he sat up as well. “ You never seemed to care all those times when we were drunk. ” Your expression changed from annoyance to anger before you smacked his arm roughly. Your reaction only made him laugh as his hands wandered back under your shirt. “ Just one more time baby, c’mon just the tip.. ”

Your resolve slowly gave away before you looked into his shiny blue eyes, “ just the tip? You promise? ”

Øystein nodded as he began sliding off your shirt. You got comfortable on the couch once more as he kicked off his jeans and boxers before pulling down your shorts. He slowly pushed the tip of his cock into your cunt. His fingers dug into your hips as he eased in and out of you. His hips snapped forward, suddenly sinking all the way into your cunt. The sudden thrust made a loud moan fall from your lips.

“ I told you just the tip, ” I smacked Øystein's arm as I tried to push him away. 

“ Mm’ sorry baby she’s pulling me in. ” He slowly rocked his hips back n’ forth as he pressed kisses against your shoulder and neck. “ C’mon just one more time- please.. I’m already inside jus’ let me finish. ”

You could never say no to him when he was being sweet and sappy like this. He knew it just as well as you did, he looked up at you with those big blue eyes silently begging you to let him. 

“ Fine.. ”

As soon as he got the okay he had you pinned under him with your face pushed into the couch cushions. His hips slammed into yours as his fingers dug into the plush skin of your hips. He mumbled degrading words while his hands pulled your hips back making sure he was hitting as deep as he possibly could. Loud moans were falling from your lips as his hips snapped forward into yours. One of his hands moved from your hips to your hair yanking you up before it quickly wrapped around your waist. His teeth sunk into your neck and his thrusts never stuttered even as you screamed. He replaced his bite with gentle kisses as his hips bucked up with a new found desperation. His thrusts were brutal as he held you close to him. He could feel you tightening around him, he knew you were just as close as he was. 

“ You want it inside, baby? ”

You nodded in response your mind too fucked out to form a sentence. His teeth sunk into the soft skin on your shoulder blade sending you over the edge making you cum around his cock. Soon after, his cum shot deep inside you earning a small moan to slip past your lips. 

He laid you on the couch pressing gentle kisses down your body. He pulled apart your thighs before greedily lapping at your folds.

“ Hey- quit, ” I whined as I tried to push his head away.

“ S’Alright baby mm’ just cleaning you up, ” his voice was sweet and sultry as he slowed his pace while his hands held your thighs apart. 

His fingers dug into the plush skin of your thighs when your legs tried to clamp down on his head. A smirk spread across his face before his fingers moved to roll small circles onto your clit. Your hips bucked up against his face as his tongue lapped at your folds. 

“ You’re so fucking greedy, ya know that? ”

A whine tumbled from your lips before you shoved his head back down. His tongue lazily lapped at your folds while your hips pushed up to meet his movements. He watched as your head fell back into the arm of the couch as moans fell from your lips before he pushed two of his cold calloused fingers inside you. His fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot effortlessly every time. His tongue continued to lap at your dripping folds bringing you closer to your inevitable high. He could feel you growing closer and closer as his tongue and fingers moved in tandem until your juices were coating his face and fingers. Øystein sat up wiping off his hands and face as he smirked down at you. 

“ Want to try for one more, baby, ” the head of his cock was dripping with pre-cum as he rubbed it up and down your slit. He could sense your hesitation as he stared into your eyes. “ C’mon I’ll make it so good for you. ”

A wide grin plastered across his face once you agreed. He wasted no time before ramming his cock into you. He tried to keep his thrusts slow and deep as he pressed sloppy open mouth kisses against the crook of your neck but he couldn’t help himself. His hips began to pound into yours the sound of skin slapping together filled the room. As his hips slammed into yours he whispered filthy things against your neck. He could feel himself getting close but he was more than desperate to make you finish first. He pulls his cock from you suddenly, making you whine in annoyance. His arms hooked under your legs before hoisting them up onto his shoulders, his cock rubbed teasingly against your entrance as you begged for him to just fuck you. Your hips rolled forward desperate to feel more of him as he teased your dripping cunt.

“ Do you want me to quit now, ” his tone was teasing as he slid the head of his cock in and out of you slowly. You shook your head in response, making him smile. “ C’mon use your words baby. ”

“ Please- Please Øystein. ”

Without warning he rammed his cock into your entrance with full force making it slam against your cervix. His fingers dug into your legs as he kept them firmly placed on his shoulders while he plowed into you. He leaned down his lips smashing against yours as he thrusts himself deeper into you. His tongue darted out to tangle with yours as groans fell from his lips. He’s close to his release now, but he wants to make sure you get there first. He started to move faster making your moans turn into screams as he pushed deeper and deeper until he felt your cunt clenching around him as you came your moans muffled by his lips. With a few more deep thrusts he buries himself to  hilt inside you and lets out a deep groan as he came filling you completely with his seed. 

He gently pulled your legs off his shoulders placing a soft kiss to your lips before sitting up and grabbing a box of tissues. He cleaned both of you off making sure to be gentle with your sensitive cunt. He lifted you from the couch before laying you on top of him. He covered you both with a blanket before he grabbed the television remote. 

“ You wanna watch your movie now sweetheart? ”

You nodded in response but not even ten minutes later you were passed out with your face buried against his neck.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

POWER CURES

tashi donaldson x fem!reader, word count 4.2k. NSFW!

your career in sports journalism has made you one of the most successful women in your field — a career you built on your own after you broke up with tashi donaldson at stanford. yet rivalry still burns between you, and whenever given the opportunity you can't help but add fuel to the fire. requested by @elaci who also writes for challengers so go follow :)

“It’s a miracle he’s still playing,” you say. “Art showed so much passion today, I could feel it. Maybe next time he could focus on hitting the ball instead of smashing ants on the court with his racket – it just sends the wrong message I think, not very eco-friendly.” 

Tashi shakes her head, attempting to brush off your comment, but you can feel the silent fury you’ve stirred up in her. Her expression is partially hidden by her sunglasses as the two of you stand at the edge of the court, her only guard from your scrutiny. It’s been nine years since you’ve spoken to her, but the four years you dedicated to her before that taught you every one of her tells. She’s different now – she wears her hair short, her makeup darker, age and experience have made her seem solemn. But you can feel it, that under all of the change she is still the same. 

“At least he still plays,” she says sharply. “You’re the critic, the journalist, but you would get on the court and get yourself knocked the fuck out. Art works, he doesn’t lock himself in the basement to write pity-party bullshit for money.” 

“Neither do I,” you smile. “I don’t write anything for money, though I do enjoy the benefits.” 

“You’ve always been greedy,” Tashi accuses. “You enjoy taking what isn’t yours, and destroying what you can’t reach.” 

You shrug. You won’t attempt to deny it – greed is what got you into this profession, and greed is what has held you up to survive it. Greed is what got you a million dollar mansion and the audience that paid for it, and greed is what has you standing at the side of Tashi Donaldson as you watch her husband step off the tennis court after losing another match to add to his streak this year. 

“If you write anything about this match, I will end your career,” Tashi says casually, because power means nothing to her, and using it is easy. She takes off her sunglasses, puts them in her purse that costs more money than your car. When she meets your eyes, there’s stoic sureness in her gaze. 

“It’s sweet that you think I only came here for you.” 

She gives you a hard look, searching you for the truth if she couldn’t trust it to come from your words. Whatever conclusion she would come up with was none of your concern – it’s true that you hadn’t come here for her, not completely. You’re here for another set of competitors, the headliners of the women’s division. If there was one thing you could use to define your career, it wouldn’t be the Donaldsons, or the Duncans – it would be your influence on women’s tennis. Your journalism through the years has put women in the spotlight of the sport, and for as long as you could you would continue the mission of keeping them there. 

But when you had seen Tashi’s husband playing in the final match of the day, and when you had seen her watching him alone at the sidelines, you couldn’t help but take advantage of it. Your comments and motives were petty, but deserved. 

You see Art begin to approach the two of you with his gym bag. “That’s my cue, isn’t it?” you ask. You try to avoid Art at all cost even after all these years, it creates a situation more awkward for you than for him. “I don’t think he needs me to lecture him, not again.” 

You begin to depart from Tashi’s side, but then you pause and turn back to her. “I’ll be in New Rochelle for the Challengers tournament in a few weeks,” you tell her. “Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat, for a change.” 

Tashi scoffs, and you take your chance to leave before you can be joined by Art or any of the reporters or journalists following in his wake. You’ve done your work for the day, your air-conditioned hotel room is calling to you and you’re all too prepared to run to it. 

When you stand at the exit to the tennis court, you spare a look back in the direction of the Donaldsons. Tashi is immersed in giving feedback to Art as he stands in childlike submission. Her hands are planted on his shoulders, she’s looking into his eyes, and when she spares a look at the court a sense of nostalgia washes over you as you remember how it felt to watch her play. How she used to win every game she signed to compete in, how effortless her victories were. 

In a way, you miss it. You miss her. The promise of her victories that would pull you through in college, that you could look forward to watching and writing about. The memory of it sparks a flare of anger within you – four years, erased, yet still so potent in your memory. 

You turn away from the court. You push through the crowd, in your pride you stand a little taller than the rest. Against you is the only match Tashi Duncan could never win. 

You pass by the doors of the locker rooms on your way out. You know Tashi must have waited with Art in his locker room before the match started – a private locker room, you would suspect, or one they bought out for the day in a grand show of money.

You frown. How many times had you waited with Tashi in locker rooms until tournaments began, how many times had you come in after her matches to listen to her talk through them while she got ready to leave? Enough times to know you weren’t alone in reminiscing, that Tashi could escape the memories with no more ease than you could. 

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO, STANFORD. 

You resist a smile – you can’t let her win, though you can see she’s trying inexplicably hard to. She never takes it seriously when you try to interview her for assignments for your classes at Stanford. 

“I can’t put that in my paper,” you tell Tashi. “I’d get us kicked out.” 

Tashi shrugs, stepping toward you as you stand in the locker room alone together after her match. “You asked what I was thinking about during the game. I was thinking about you.” 

You roll your eyes. You lean back against the lockers, and Tashi takes advantage of it, coming up in front of you to box you in. Her eyes meet yours – her intensity is unmatched, even after she’s won every game of tennis this season that’s been thrown at her by the university. Power means nothing to her, because using it is easy. 

“You don’t believe me?” Tashi asks. Nothing goes unnoticed by her, it was brave to roll your eyes. “You’re all I think about.” 

“Tennis is all you think about.” 

Instead of correcting you, she kisses you. Your hands find her waist, and wrap around her back when you pull her closer. She consumes your thoughts, your mind, and you’re happy to keep it that way with disregard to the price you might pay for it. 

Tashi’s hands slip under your shirt. One travels up your side, under your bra. You arch into her touch, senses clouded with her – until you hear voices outside the locker room, people leaving the building. 

You pull out of the kiss as the voices fade, and immediately she’s kissing your neck. “This is a terrible idea,” you murmur half-heartedly. You want her to prove you wrong. 

“No one’s coming in, I was the last match.” 

“But they could come in.” 

“They won’t.” 

You don’t seem convinced. Tashi moves to look at you, and tilts her head. 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” she demands. You see how she craves you, she’s willing to indulge herself after her latest victory. It wouldn’t be the first time you would find yourself here, against the lockers with every intention of letting her use you in the way she wishes. She sees through your words – she knows you want this just as much as she does. 

“No,” you say, because you do want this. You’ve wanted her all morning, since you saw her warming up for her match. And even if someone were to come in and find you with her, pressed up against the lockers and at her will, it would only prove a fact you dream of everyone knowing anyway: that in every way, Tashi Duncan is yours. Audiences may celebrate her, anyone might desire her, but at the end of every day it’s you she comes home to. It’s you she wants. 

“Good,” she mutters, and presses you harder against the locker, pressing space between your legs with her knee. She kisses down your neck, and one of her hands travels below the waistband of your shorts while the other is still at your chest. Her hands are cold against the warmth of your skin, sending a chill rippling down your back. 

“Be quiet,” Tashi orders, and you nod. An empty promise, but you’ll try your best. “Good girl.” 

Her praise has you biting back a moan as her knee moves away and her hand slides between your thighs. You can’t hold her gaze, the gravity it holds. 

Your hips chase her hand as she circles your clit – your hips buck back against the lockers, and the sound echoes through the room, and your moan would accompany the noise if not muffled by Tashi’s hand over your mouth. A quick reaction on her end, she knows your body better than you do. 

“Quiet,” Tashi whispers. She presses a kiss to the edge of your jaw, below your ear. You try for a deep breath, but it’s shaky. “I’m fucking you here, and you’re moaning? Anyone could hear you. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod again, her hand still over your mouth. Your eyes fall closed, her touch burns through you like fire. It’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s everything you need and more. 

Tashi feels the pleasure building in you – it inspires her to interrupt it, to pull both of her hands from you. 

You whine in protest, watching her in curious alarm. You need this, she knows you do. 

Tashi’s hands find your hips, and she watches you closely. A sadistic sort of smile pulls at her lips, one that has you squirming, reaching for her again. Your attempts are futile, your yearning feeds her desire to starve you, push you to your limits. “You have to be patient,” she says. 

And you will be, though everything in you aches for her. You will let her win, let her pick your cards and cheat the game to end in her favor. You’re content with it – a side that is not without reward to you as Tashi lowers to her knees in front of you, and when she looks up at you, she already knows she’s won. 

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER, NEW ROCHELLE.

The sun glares down at you through the windshield, but despite its best efforts, it cannot reach you. It’s cool in your car – it combats the sweltering heat of the morning in New Rochelle as you sit waiting for the final matches to start on the second day of the Challengers tournament. You don’t want to go sit down too early, there’s no point in submitting yourself to the discomfort of hot metal seats amongst the swarm of the audience until you have to. You’re content to sit here with your eyes closed for as long as you can, you finally have a moment to yourself after the chaos of traveling to New Rochelle. 

Tapping on your window makes you jump. Your eyes snap open, and when you see who waits on the other side of your car window, you wish you’d never traveled to the tournament at all. You knew he would be here, you saw him competing yesterday, but you had successfully avoided him and had left early after the first few matches.  

You roll your window down. Patrick Zweig stares at you with the most dumbass fucking smile you’ve witnessed in years. 

“Well, look who it is!” He exclaims. He leans an arm against the top of your car, but you shove him off of it through the window. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you snap. He frowns, and you sigh. It’s been nine years since you’ve seen him in person – since you broke up with Tashi – and not a day has passed in which you can decisively say you have missed him. 

“I’m competing,” he says. 

You furrow your eyebrows. “I know that. Why are you here, talking to me?” 

Patrick shrugs. “Can’t I take a second to reconnect with an old friend?” 

“An old friend?” you ask. “I don’t think we were ever friends.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you’ll be hoping I win instead of Art this afternoon.” 

You pause. “Art Donaldson? He’s here, competing?” 

“Yeah. You know, I was told you invited him and Tashi. It’s everywhere online. That’s why I came over here, to say thank you for setting up the match. Art and I are the only ones left in the division. I wanted to wish you luck, too, with whatever it is you plan to get out of having us all here.” 

You don’t respond for a moment. Vaguely you recall inviting Tashi to the Challengers tournament a few weeks ago after Art’s loss – Maybe there’s someone there your husband could beat for a change – but you had disregarded it. You had meant the entire thing as a joke, a jab at Art’s poor tennis performance. Never would you have expected the Donaldsons to remotely consider participating in a Challengers tournament. You regret leaving early yesterday, missing their arrival at a tournament so far beneath them. You would have enjoyed witnessing their shame. 

“I didn’t set anything up,” you tell Patrick, yet you doubt the validity of your own statement. “And I’m not planning on getting anything out of it.” 

“Whatever you say. I just know Tashi wouldn’t bother with something like this for the hell of it. Either Art’s tennis has gotten really fucking bad for them to stoop to a tournament this low, or she’s using him to be here with you. Or, of course, both can be true. I’m going with both.” 

You shake your head. “Tashi has no interest in me.” 

“It’s been nine years since she left you, and she still hates you. She would probably fucking stab you if given the chance. That’s not something to take lightly with her, it takes more than resentment to hold onto something that long. Even I’m not as lucky.” 

“I’m not interested in making amends with Tashi Donaldson.” 

Patrick shrugs. He gives you a look, I don’t believe you, that you want to punch him for. You have nothing to say to Tashi, no reason to wish to see her. You went up to talk to her those weeks ago at Art’s game because you wanted to taunt her with your presence. You wanted her to see that you were successful without her, you don’t need her. 

You wanted her to see you – you realize how it sounds, and that there’s no way you would win a dispute with Patrick if your only explanation for reconnecting with Tashi is I wanted her to see that I’m better than her husband. You look back to him with a facade of nonchalance. 

You don’t know what to say, so you shift the focus back to him. “You’re going to get killed in a match against Art.” 

“How would you know? You haven’t seen me play in years.”

“I don’t need to.” 

“Wow, thanks for having so much faith in me.” 

You roll your eyes. 

Patrick’s gaze shifts to something beyond your car, something his eyes trail for a few seconds before he turns back to you. “I need to go warm up,” he announces, and backs away from your car. “Write something heroic about me to publish when I win, will you?” 

You roll up your window. You watch him disappear from the parking lot. Peace still evades you once he’s gone – that Tashi would be coming to the tournament is enough to have you nearly in hysterics. The promise of her soon arrival has adrenaline coursing through you, though the emotion accompanying it is indecipherable. 

You loathe Tashi Donaldson. You hate her husband even more. But there’s something so addictive about being around her to prove it. To prove that it was a mistake to end things with you and pursue Art shortly after, that he could never live up to you. Your fame came from success in writing and journalism, Art’s fame came from Tashi and viral videos of Art flinging tennis rackets after his losses. It felt good for you to prove your worth in contrast to his. You finally have power over them, and you have every intention of using it. 

For better or worse, you still care about Tashi’s opinion of you. For better or worse, you still care for Tashi Duncan. 

A car pulls into the empty spot next to you. The glare of the sun against it burns your eyes, leaves you with the start of a headache. 

You turn to look at the owners of the vehicle. Immediately you understand what Patrick had been spying beyond your car, and why he had been so quick to flee. 

You missed them yesterday, but you wouldn’t miss them today. You turn your car off and get out. 

“Need help carrying that?” You ask Art as he picks up his gym bag out of the trunk of the car beside yours. “I don’t want you to break any rackets.” 

“That would look good for you,” he says dryly. He shuts the trunk. “To make it seem like you’re making amends.” 

“I have nothing to make amends for.” 

He’s silent. You have two thousand words to make amends for, actually, but you’ll never be caught apologizing. You wrote an article about Art’s tennis years ago that gave you much of your fame – an article that had suggested Art was one of the worst tennis players to come out of Stanford, and that it was a shame he was using Tashi’s injury to his advantage by convincing her to coach his mediocre games. You implied that he was using her, that he was a cheater in the very least as far as tennis was concerned. 

It was never your finest moment, but you would never regret it. He deserved it, and so did Tashi for the way the two of you left your relationship. 

A car door slams. You’re joined by Tashi. In a light blue dress she’s stunning, radiant beyond comparison with the man she comes to stand by. A man she knows she cannot defend, a man beneath her. 

She gives Art a tyrannical look. He’s going to go find the locker room, he says, as if he hadn’t played here yesterday, and with a final look between you and Tashi he takes his bag and begins his way across the parking lot. 

You’re left alone with Tashi. The two of you are silent – she’s waiting for you to say something, and you’re waiting to come up with something that sounds right. 

“I saw you talking to Patrick,” Tashi says at last. You nod. “Did he tell you he asked me to coach him?” 

A smile pulls at your lips. “No, he didn’t.” 

“Good. Now you have something to write about,” she says, taking a step towards you, “when he loses. You can write about how he tried so desperately to come out on top, and you can write about who he lost to.” 

It’s not about Art anymore. It’s not about Patrick, it’s not about this tournament. It’s about you. Tashi’s reversal, her revenge. She won when she left you ten years ago, you won with your article, and Tashi Donaldson has never been one to keep a tie. She’s been keeping score for nine years in preparation for an opportunity such as this, one to set the record in her favor. 

“I’m not interested in placing bets on failed prodigies.” 

“You’re not too good for it, though.” 

“You are. At least you should have been.” 

Tashi shakes her head. “What the fuck does that mean?” 

“You know what it means,” you say, and step closer. “It should be you on that court, not them. I should be writing about you.” 

You know you’ve struck a nerve. Tashi stills. Her expression was once unreadable, but now it reveals her resentment. At you maybe, but also at fate itself, because you’re right: it should be her competing. Winning for herself and not through others. She still bears the weight of power, but it’s no longer hers to use. 

“Your husband is going to lose,” you say, and you both know it’s a lie. But you will be there when Art wins, you will be there waiting for her to prove you wrong like she’s always craved. If it is winning that will let her make amends with herself, you will be the harbinger. You will let her cheat the game just so she can win. Maybe it’s all you’ve wanted this whole time, inviting her to the Challengers tournament. 

Maybe it’s your way of making amends. 

“Any final words before the game?” You ask, in the way you always used to ask her before her matches. Any final words. You used to laugh together about how apocalyptic it sounded, and Tashi used to watch you write about her after and use her quotes for assignments for your university classes. 

Tashi remembers the phrase, you see recognition sweep over her. She watches you closely, and behind her facade you see something too reminiscent to be hatred. “Fuck you,” she says, though her voice lacks animosity. 

“Is that on the record?” 

“Yes.” 

An uncanny way of making amends, but one you would welcome all the same. 

-

Her gaze sears into you as you sit in the stands watching the match. Tashi sits on the opposite side of the court, yet the two of you are positioned with a clear view of one another throughout the game. 

The score has fluctuated throughout the match. Patrick and Art have stayed consistent in score and loss – it’s closer than you thought it would be, enough that you see Tashi’s concern growing over the end result. Art is wearing, he’s becoming tired, and you know if he quits in his exhaustion he’ll leave with another loss. The Donaldsons will lose credibility, Tashi will disappear in the eyes of the media. 

You find yourself conflicted in all ways related to the match continuing before you. You want Art to lose every match he signs for – yet the thought of Tashi going down with him haunts you. Even after all she has done to you, all you have done to her, she deserves better than any path offered.  

You pause – the match has ended, the audience stands in applause. You stand to view the court, peering over shoulders, pushing your way out of the audience. 

Art Donaldson, standing in the middle of the court. He basks in the glory given by his victory, one long suspended in anticipation for you to be witness. He looks up to find Tashi in the stands, and you watch as something unsaid passes between them. An I told you so on Art’s end, and something unsatisfied from Tashi’s. 

You don’t need to watch the rest of it. You don’t need to see Art’s self-ordered victory lap, and you don’t need to hear the speech he’ll give the reporters waiting to flock to him. You don’t need to see Tashi by his side, so you leave the court. 

You make your way through the tennis complex. Fluorescent lights stare you down, their judgment shines brighter for you. You don’t give them anything to taunt you with, keeping your expression flat. It was obvious Art would win, and in his victory Tashi has been fulfilled. 

The click of heels trails you. You spare a glance over your shoulder as you walk, and you pause. Her eyes are on you alone in the empty hall. 

“Congratulations,” you say, dull. “Do you feel better now? I see Art does.” 

“Fuck Art,” she snaps. Tashi is empowered in her pride, which has not been placed in her husband, but in herself. This is not his victory, it belongs to her. She closes the distance between you, and if you moved back any further you’d be leaning against the wall. The door to the locker room is across the hall – your memories hardly feel like your own, hardly feel like they belong just the same to the woman in front of you, but they crash through you anyway. 

“This feels familiar,” you murmur, looking up at her. You look to see if the halls are empty, but Tashi wastes no such time – she pulls you against her, her lips on yours, hunger in her touch as the two of you realize how much time you have to make up for and so little opportunity for it. Her nails dig into the back of your neck until her hand weaves into your hair, and like you always have you melt into her every desire. 

“I win,” Tashi says once she pulls away. Her eyes bear into yours, dark and unforgiving, dominating. “I fucking win.” 

There’s nothing that could prove her wrong. Power cures, if you know how to use it. 

—

—

—

i wrote this fic so many different times honestly and i kept a few of the scenes I deleted from it bc it was getting too long so if anyone wants a part 2 lmk andddd i can put something together 😔

[michibap]

hockey!gf nsfw headcanons bc goonerbap is on the prowl

everyone say thank u @kiddiesmores for brain storming w me

-dating an athlete is NOT for the weak

-hockey!gf’s libido is actually fucking insane and as much as schlatt wishes he could keep up, he simply cannot

-learned the hard way that if he gives you free reign you’ll have him whimpering like a bitch nd shooting blanks

-and great as it is, it’s just not sustainable to be getting drained like that every day

-luckily!!! he’s more than happy to use his fingers or his mouth to hold you over

-he’ll pretend to be irritated or whatever because he’s a tease, but he LOVESS you being all needy for him

-just likes to hear you whine nd beg 🙄

-more than happy to shove hand down the front of your pants before you’re off to class, having heard enough of your whining about not being able to focus because all you can think about is him

-or if you’re feeling bossier (which is more often than not) you’ll walk to stand in front of the tv, nd he’ll pause his game and look up at you with raised brows like “wat.”

-you reach out to card a hand through his hair and he leans into it, a little confused but not one to question you being affectionate

-until your fingers are knotting in his hair nd pushing his head down, your other hand moving to push the waist band of your sweats down and he’s like “oh okay”

-hockey!gf thinking schlatt’s head game would be weak so she holds out on mentioning anything about it for a while

-until one day the two of you are chilling on the common room couch and he hears you set whatever you’re doing down and looks up to find you already looking at him with a thoughtful expression

“… Do you eat box?”

-YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK HIM TWICE

-he doesn’t even have anything to say, just looks at you with wide eyes before he’s cursing to himself and scrambling out of his rot spot to drop to his knees in front of where you’re sitting, fingers eagerly hooking into the waistband of your shorts

-trying to be cool nd nonchalant like “Brother chill” but the way he’s mouthing at you thru ur panties has you flustered nd squirming

-may have said this before but that man eats like an ANIMAL.

-muffled moans and growls vibrating against your sex, he’s shaking his head nd shit, hands locked on your hips to try and drag you closer

-he hears you moan nd pulls back with a smug grin like “Yeah?”

-but his cheeks are flushed nd smeared with your slick, his hair is all fucked up from you grabbing on it and his pupils are dilated

-what are you supposed to do if not drag him back by a fistful of hair to rut against his face???

-your back to the wall nd he’s on his knees between your legs, one of your legs hiked over his shoulder nd his hands are grabbing at your ass to try nd drag you closer

-he’s down there like mmfmgrmg

-WILL have to pull him off because his ass won’t come up for air

-dragging him away from you by a fistful of hair like

“Gotta take a second to breathe, champ.”

“guh.”

-sloppy girlhead would change his life and i mean it.

-the minute you’re seated between his knees he’s blushing nd straining against his boxers

-the way he twitches nd bobs is so cute :(( he’s shuddering as you drag the tip of your finger from the base to his head before firmly wrapping your warm hand around him

-pressing a wet kiss to his head that has his hips jumping and pulling back with a coy grin, looking up at him through your lashes

“You ready?”

“Would you shut the fuck up and get my dick in your mouth?”

-say less!

-but you’re getting him back for that fuckin attitude, meanly digging your tongue into his slit

-pulling off with a pop when you feel him getting close, but you can only get away with it so many times before he’s got his hand on the back of your head to hold you down while he fucks up into your mouth

-almost comically bad gag reflex but he’s into it, so you take it like a champ

-sometimes he’ll be in heat nd give you a run for your money

-pinning you to the nearest flat surface and fucking you mean

-sometimes even that’s too much effort, and the two of you will end up on the floor rutting into each other, gasping and groaning into each other’s mouths

-hands grabbing at anything they can get a hold on, anything to feel nd pull each other impossibly closer

-planting a hand on his chest and pushing his back to the floor so you can get the angle just right, nd he’s got his feet planted on the floor to meet your thrusts hmfbgj

-trying to fuck you in the air to be sexy but he gets frustrated nd ends up pressing u to the wall for better leverage

-something about you being all sweaty and breathless literally turns him into a different person

-so of COURSEE he’s fucking you in the gym, wrenching your head up with a hand in your hair so he can see you all fucked out

-getting frustrated bc the mirror keeps fogging so he just flips you nd hikes one of your legs up over his hips and gets back to business

-he has two wolves inside of him

-one of them loves eye contact

-the other is an ass man.

-there is a constant inner battle going on between him wanting to press his forehead against yours and watch your eyes go all gooey and roll back

-or wanting you on your stomach and arched for him so he can land a brutal smack on your ass whenever he gets the urge (and it’s often)

-though more often than not you’re riding the fuck out of him

-scratch marks on your hips from him holding on for dear life, throwing his head back and moaning embarrassingly high

-both of you always covered in bite marks from how often you sink your teeth into each other to muffle your moans lol

okay that’s all i rlly have for now but here’s a little cooldown period so i don’t send u back out into the world post goon

-if you’re wearing ur little spandex shorts out he needs at LEAST 15-20 minutes to grope at you so he can function like a normal human

-bc HOW is he supposed to be Normal knowing that you’re just out in the world looking like that

-running his hands over the smooth fabric, planting his hands on your hips so you do a little spin for him

-big hands grabbing a mean handful of cheek

-rolling your eyes when you feel him bite you over the fabric like alright now

-grabbing his wrist and dragging it away when you feel his hand inching to cup over your sex through your clothes like ENOUGH

-using your ass as a pillow nd biting you when you squirm too much

-GODDAMMIT WOMAN IM TRYING TO PLAY BLOONS TOWER DEFENSE

-definitely takes pics of his face squished between your forearm and your bicep

-or better yet your thighs lol

thanks 4 reading

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Eight: We'll Dance in the Street like Nobody's Watching

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 3.8k

Chapter Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings, unprotected p in v, flirting, dads being dads. Two idiots falling in love and finally fucking admitting it. Joel is his own warning. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad and Joel uses various terms of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, etc.).

This chapter includes the scene that sparked the entire story idea. I've been patiently waiting for it to see the light of day. hope you enjoy!

Thank you so much to everyone who reads this self-indulgent story and extra thanks to those who comment and/or reblog - you all make me feel like a rock star!

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Seven | Main Masterlist

“So, how was it?” Grilling you for the past twenty minutes, Emily was relentless in her pursuit to find out just how good Joel was in bed, after congratulating you on the new job, of course. “Come on! I need to know!”

“Alright, alright! I had no idea you were such a needy bitch. Is your hubby not dicking you down enough or what?” you laughed before regaling her with tales of Joel’s prowess.

“I fuckin’ knew he’d be big and know how to use it! He just gives off that BDE, ya know what I mean? Just how big are we talkin’, anyway?”

Rolling your eyes, you laughed again. “Well, I didn’t fucking measure it, but it’s a definite handful. Besides, you’ve never even met him, Em! How could you possibly get that vibe?”

“I’ve seen photos and heard stories, that’s more than enough to pick up on that sorta thing,” Emily replied with the confidence of someone who damn well knows what she’s talking about. “I need to know more. Gimme all the details!”

“Yeah, yeah. Speaking of BDE, I gotta finish getting ready. Joel said he had something special planned for tonight to celebrate me getting the teaching job.”

“I bet he does. You’re gonna get another deep dicking from that huge—”

“Bye Em!” you cut her off and hit end call before she could carry on anymore.

Tossing the phone on your bed, you finished putting a light layer of makeup on, putting in a little more effort to look good tonight. Ten minutes later, dressed in a pair of dark, fitted jeans and a dark blue, long-sleeve, vee neck shirt that showed just a touch of cleavage, you wandered out to the living room.

“Alright Dad, I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Leaning over the back of his recliner, you press a kiss to his balding head.

“Have fun on your date and be careful, Spud. Call me if you need a ride home or anything,” he replied, patting your hand. You turned to leave, grabbing a light jacket from the hook by the door just in case, when your dad’s voice carried from the living room. “It’s funny, Joel told me he has a date tonight, too.”

Freezing for a moment, you squeak, “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Quite a coincidence me thinks.” He paused again, but you were at a loss for words and grateful that he couldn’t see your expression. “Enjoy your night, kiddo.”

Knowing a dismissal when you heard one, you take off through the door. Your mind raced on the short drive to Joel’s. He knows. Your dad so knows. You start to panic for a moment wondering if he’s upset before the realization hits that he didn’t seem remotely mad about it. More like he got a kick out of the idea and enjoyed teasing you. You and Joel had to fess up very soon, but that was a tomorrow problem. Tonight was meant to be all about you and Joel.

Walking through the front door, you expected to find Joel in the living room or kitchen, but the downstairs was empty. Lugging your overnight bag up the stairs, you thought maybe he’d be in his room or the bathroom still getting ready, but again, no sign of him. Where the hell was he?

Making your way down the stairs, you peeked out the window to make sure you didn’t imagine his truck in the driveway when you parked – it was there, right next to your car. He had to be around here somewhere. The sound of soft music hit your ears suddenly. Following the sound, you slipped out the back door and gasped.

A soft glow spread across the yard from lights strung from tree to tree, a plaid tablecloth covered the patio table on which sat a vase of brightly colored tulips, an open bottle of pinot noir, two stemless wine glasses, and two covered plates. Just beyond the patio, a hammock hung between two large live oaks with another set of string lights dangling above it. As your eyes took it all in, Joel stood off to the side watching you with a warm smile.

“Joel,” you whispered, afraid to disturb the dream-like quality of the moment, his name a drawn-out breath in the air when you finally turned to him. His dark eyes glinted from the string lights as he stepped forward out of the shadows, one hand stretched out towards you. There was no hesitation in reaching for him and you clung to each other for a few minutes before he stepped back to pull out a chair for you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, settling into the seat. When Joel took his place across the table from you, you added, “This is so lovely, Joel.”

A bashful smile graced his lips as he removed the covers from the plates and filled the wine glasses. Your gaze soaked in every little movement he made, in awe of the gorgeous man before you and all he’d done to make this evening special. Holding his glass up, he toasted to you. “Here’s to your new job and the start of a very rewarding career. Congrats darlin’.”

Clinking your glass against his lightly, you beamed at him. He looked so handsome, thick curls pushed back away from his face, tanned skin glowing in the soft lighting. “Thank you, Joel.” Already buzzing from the way he made you feel, you sipped lightly at the wine before digging into the meal before you.

Bursts of flavor hit your palette at the first bite, the chicken cooked to perfection and the sun-dried tomatoes adding just the right tang to the red pesto coating the rigatoni. A soft moan escaped before you caught it, cheeks heating up with the way Joel looked at you with hooded eyes.

“I reckon you like it?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his gravelly voice.

“This may be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, Joel. Did you make this?” You took another bite, savoring the flavors that exploded in your mouth.

“Mmhmm. It’s my mama’s recipe, she made it a lot when we were younger, and it’s always been my favorite. I’m glad you like it.” He watched you enjoy another forkful, obviously proud.

“I don’t just like it, Joel. This is fuckin’ delicious. I didn’t know you could cook like this!”

His cheeks turned pink as he cleared his throat. “I can’t, usually. I practiced a lot with this one.” That melted your heart further.

You ate your fill, making small conversation between bites, until your wine glass was empty, and your belly satisfied. Joel poured you another glass, which you sipped leisurely as he cleared the table and placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher for later. He wouldn’t let you lift a finger.

“Dance with me?” he said upon his return outside, voice deep and gravelly as he plucked the glass from your hand and placed it on the table.

“I’d love to,” you replied softly, lips tilted upwards in a sweet smile. Holding his left hand out, Joel helped you to your feet and let you off the patio.

A new song began, volume a little louder now, and you stepped closer to him. A warm buzz spread through your veins when Joel pulled you against his broad chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other bent to hold your hand over his heart. You could feel the thump of his heartbeat beneath the green flannel he wore as he swayed you slowly around the grassy yard, careful to not stray too close to the pool.

Nothing ever felt as right as being there in Joel’s arms, dancing in the yard like the world beyond the fence didn’t exist. Your feelings for this man were overwhelming, growing deeper each and every day – hell, each and every second was more like it – and that four-letter word bubbled in your throat. You swallowed it down, settling your head against Joel’s shoulder, eyes closed and focused on the moment.

Joel’s chin tilted downward, nudging against the side of your face, his lips near your ear, and his breath sent delightful chills down your spine when he began to sing softly.

“Fall into me and I’ll catch you, darlin’. We’ll dance in the street like nobody’s watching. It’s just you and me and the song on repeat in my head, playing over and over…”

My god, how could you not fall in love with this incredible man?

The intimacy of it all brought tears to your eyes as your fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head. Stomach alight with the flutter of too many butterflies, the urge to speak from your heart became too much, you could hold back no longer.

“I love you, Joel.”

You loved him.

What did he ever do to deserve something like that?

Heart clenching deep in his chest, Joel guided you to the hammock, music still carrying softly through the air. With amazing finesse, he settled you both on the hanging fabric, bodies snuggled together until you nearly became one.

He ached to say the words back to you, but they kept getting stuck in his throat. Instead, he settled for showing you how he felt, just like he did with dancing and singing in your ear – he could have written that song for how relatable it was to the feelings you brought out in him. Dark eyes stared into yours as his hands moved over your body, pulling you impossibly closer.

I love you, his lips said as they pressed heatedly against yours.

I love you, his tongue said as it licked softly into your mouth to tangle delicously with yours.

I love you, his hands said as they touched you with utter reverence.

I love you, his body said as he pressed it tightly against yours, trying in vain to crawl beneath your skin.

Joel kissed you with singular focus until you were both breathless and overwrought with need.

“Take me to bed, Joel,” you whispered when he finally tore his lips from yours. “I need to feel every bit of you.”

Your angelic voice music to his ears, he scrambled from the hammock, scooping you up in his muscled arms to carry you inside and up to his bedroom. His mind occupied by one thing and one thing only – making love to you until you knew every part of him and he knew every part of you – the string lights and last bit of wine were left forgotten in the yard.

Loving the way you clung to him, Joel swept through the house and up the stairs with an urgency he’d not felt before.

His lips moved to brush down your neck, nipping at the tender skin as he went. Once in his room, he closed the door even though you were the only two there. Joel kissed each new patch of skin bared as he removed your clothes until you were completely naked. Easing you back onto his unmade bed, a low growl rumbled from deep in his chest when your fingers slid along his scalp and tugged on his hair. Fucking lord did he love how you touched him.

“Fuck, I need to taste you, pretty girl.”

He’d never seen anyone or anything more beautiful in his life as your naked body writhed on his bed, eager and yearning for his touch, and Joel knelt to worship at the altar of you.

Starting at your delicate feet, Joel’s fingertips traced every inch of you until he reached the apex of your thighs. Leaning forward, he let the scruff of his facial hair tickle along the flesh of your inner thighs, pressing open-mouth kisses along the soft skin as he went. Grinning as you trembled, he met your wide gaze as he leant forward, tongue exploring your folds.

The first taste of you set his soul on fire. Sweet like honey yet more addicting and thrice as satisfying, Joel licked at your clit, tongue occasionally dipping down into you, slurping greedily at the very essence of you.

He couldn’t have thought of a more delicious dessert.

His movements elicited sensuous moans that shot straight to his cock, his jeans quickly becoming too tight and uncomfortable. Seeking a little relief, his hips began grinding against the mattress as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, fingers soon assisting his tongue in driving you mad. Just when he thought he might blow his load in his jeans, again, you came, crying his name out, the syllables drawing out in a beautiful, lyrical drawl. Working you through it, Joel drank down every bit of your release like a thirsty man in the desert.

“Fuck, darlin’. You taste fuckin’ delicious. I could live here, between your legs, for the rest of my life, surviving on just you.” Joel stood as he spoke, gazing down at your blissed out form on his bed as he tore off his clothes, one large hand palming his cock before he practically dove into bed with you.

“You’re too good at that, Joel Miller,” you said, the words falling lazily from your lips as you recovered from the singularly intense orgasm. Swooping down, Joel kissed you passionately, offering you a taste of yourself lingering on his tongue.

Letting his body continue to do the communicating for him, Joel shifted his hips, grinding gently against you while his mouth devoured yours. Groaning as your nails scratched down his back, he reached a hand down to guide his cock toward its home in your pussy. Dark eyes opened wide, Joel watched your face as he entered you, delighting in the scrunch of your nose and the way your eyes squeezed shut before popping open again at the sensation of him splitting you open.

With long, slow, oh so deep, strokes, Joel made love to you, telegraphing the depth of his feelings in the only way he knew how, until you were writhing in pleasure beneath him. Afterwards, he cleaned the mess between your thighs and held you close until you fell asleep with your head resting on his chest. Only then, did he finally whisper the words he longed to say all night. “I love you, too.”

Joel stayed awake for a while, listening to your gentle snores and the soft sighs you made in your sleep. He loved that you let your guard down with him, that he was the man who got to hold you while you slept. In the darkness of night, Joel made himself a promise that he would not fuck this up before falling into a deep sleep of his own.

His dreams were particularly vivid, the sensation of your mouth around his cock so strong he’d swear it was real. He’d never experienced your mouth around him like that before, though, so it couldn’t be real. Joel let his dream-self enjoy every moment, your lips around his shaft and tongue teasing the throbbing vein along the underside of his cock a divinity he’d never known before. At one point you took him so deep that a loud, guttural moan escaped his lips, hands clenching in your hair.

Eyes popping open, the moan carried on, rumbling from deep within Joel’s chest as he glanced down to find you feasting on his hardened length. It wasn’t a dream after all.

“Fuuuccckkk,” his voice, still rough with sleep, drew out the word as he watched you go down on him. Your mouth a form of heaven he suffered too long without, the cheeky, mischievous look in your eye making the pleasure more intense. You clearly enjoyed the act nearly as much as he did.

It didn’t take long before your wanton rhythm and sinful mouth had him coming down your throat, your name a prayer recited over and over in that gravelly voice. “Jesus fucking Christ, darlin’. Where’d you learn to suck cock like that, hmm? Your mouth is like God damn heaven.”

Joel’s chest heaved as you gulped down every drop of his spend, tongue darting out to lick the last bit from the little slit on his cockhead before sliding over your lips. You visibly swallowed, savoring the taste of him; his eyes glued to your mouth the whole time. His hand came up, caressing your face with the love he couldn’t yet voice shining brightly in his eyes, and his thumb traced along your plump bottom lip.

“My little gummy worm,” he murmured, delirious from coming so hard. “Felt so good wrapped around my fat cock.”

Crawling up his body, you settled your weight atop him and pressed your lips to his, letting him taste a hint of himself on your tongue as licked into his mouth, returning the favor from the night before. The kiss was languid and sloppy, perfect for a lazy morning waking up together.

“You tasted good, all salty and musky,” you said once you broke away, voice raspy from having his dick halfway down your throat.

“You can wake me up like that any time you’d like, darlin’.”

The two of you cuddled for a while, neither of you too eager to start the day knowing you didn’t have anything pressing to do. Those unspoken words bubbled in Joel’s chest the whole time, begging to come to the surface, to be spoken aloud and given credence. Still, he hesitated without quite knowing why. Finally rolling out of bed around 10, you jumped into the shower while Joel threw on some clothes and ran out to grab some breakfast.

He just pulled back into his driveway, a bag with a few bagel breakfast sandwiches in one hand – he got an extra in case you wanted pork roll instead of bacon – a coffee and orange juice clutched in the other, when JB’s truck pulled up in front of his house.

Settled on the couch after your refreshing shower, legs tucked under you while scrolling through your phone, you heard Joel’s truck pull up. Waiting for him to come in with breakfast for you both, you were caught off guard by the deep voices rumbling in the front yard. You sat up, peeking through the blinds to find your dad out front, hands on his hips as he spoke to Joel.

Oh shit.

You couldn’t discern their facial expressions from that angle and moved to the front door, quietly easing the heavy wood open to peek out and eavesdrop. They had to be talking about you, right? There was no hiding or pretending you weren’t here, especially with your car parked in the driveway right next to Joel’s. After your dad’s comments last night, you wondered if he planned this ambush then.

“I knew she’d be here,” you heard your dad say, but you couldn’t read his body language clearly. His hands were on his hips still, but there was a smile on his face. “You sweet on my baby girl, Joel?”

You couldn’t hear Joel’s response, his gravelly voice pitched too low for your ears to catch across the distance, but you could see him smile hesitantly even as his broad shoulders hunched slightly. Whatever it was caused your dad to chuckle and punch Joel playfully.

“I knew it!” your dad exclaimed, the sudden loudness startling you. “I knew you two would hit it off, I just wasn’t sure how long it’d take.”

You caught Joel’s response this time, his surprised voice pitching upwards. “You’re not upset?”

Walking toward the house without invitation, your dad paused. “Why the hell would I be upset? You’re a good man, Joel, and I know you’ll treat her well. And she’ll be good for you, too, I have no doubt. Now, you got enough in that there bag for breakfast for three?”

Your shoulders sagged with relief as you eased the door open. “I thought I heard voices! Hi Dad,” you greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey Spud. I could ask you the same thing, but I knew I’d find you here.” Pulling you in for a hug, he ushered you inside. “I got tired of waiting for you two to come clean and thought I’d put you both on the spot.”

Eyebrows shooting up, you glanced at Joel before meeting your dad’s gaze again. “How did you know?”

Giving you a shrug, he said, “You two weren’t exactly subtle and a father always knows.” Nudging your shoulder, JB turned to Joel. “You’ll find that out soon enough, my friend. I can’t wait for the trouble that Sarah will give you.”

The three of you sat at the small dining table, digging into the breakfast sandwiches, your dad insisting you tell him how long you and Joel had been seeing each other and how it all started. Relieved to finally have the truth out there, you told him the story and JB chuckled.

“That about tracks. That’s right around when I started to notice something different between the two of you. And it sure explains why you hardly gave Annica the time of day on your date.” JB gave Joel grief about that failed date for weeks knowing that there was something – or someone – else drawing the man’s attention. JB had the feeling back then that it was you, his baby girl, his grown-up Spud, who captured the single father’s attention.

“You sure you’re okay with this, Dad? I mean…” your words fell off, not really knowing what to say. You’d be heartbroken if your dad wasn’t okay with a relationship between you and Joel, especially now that you verbally admitted to being in love with him.

“Are you kidding? I’m happy as a pig in shit that the two people I care about most like each other.” Your dad was all smiles, beady eyes sparkling with mischief. “In fact, I was planning on setting the two of you up if you didn’t figure things out for yourselves first. Tommy was in on the plan, too, and was the one who suggested we give it a little time. Little shit never told me it became official, though.”

Sitting back in your seat, you giggled with relief. All that time spent fretting over what your dad might think, feeling guilty for dating his best friend and hiding it from him for so long. It was all for naught. You should have known he’d love the idea of you two together.

“So, when’s the wedding?” JB asked, a shit-eating grin spread across his lips as you and Joel froze, eyes darting to each other in wide-eyed panic. Your dad practically guffawed at his own humor while you two were practically having a panic attack. “I’m just kidding – there’s no rush. Just make sure you treat her right, Joel.”

Recovering from the initial panic – not that he didn’t want to marry you, eventually, just not quite this soon – Joel laughed a little nervously. “Of course, JB. I’ll always treat her right. I, uh… I love her.” His gaze shifted to you, heart showing firmly in those dark chocolate orbs. “I love you, darlin'.”

tbc

Taglist: @mellymbee @untamedheart81 @anoverwhelmingdin @runningmom94 @leilanixx

@pedropascalfan221 @lovelyjess69 @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @tammythr

@lulawantmula @islacharlotte @allyourfavesinoneblog @lover-of-books-and-tea @pedropascalsbbg

@ashleyfilm @brittmb115 @lilmizmoz @loveisacowboyyy @shotgun-shelby

@deninoe @casssiopeia @caitlynsixxx @skysmiller @missladym1981

@marirxse @lizzie-cakes @tynakub

[sunflowersteves]

i'm not cute || m.o.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!reader

summary || Miguel always loved when you played with his hair.

author's notes || this is my first miguel fic and im v excited!! there will be much more to come <3 also, my spanish is v v v limited and i tried following what ppl were saying in the miguel tag but please let me know if I need to fix anything!!

warnings || none, fluff, it's tooth-rotting

“Did you just braid my hair?”

You paused—froze even. Your hands stilled in between his luscious, soft hair, and it took every ounce inside of you to not continue to feel through each strand of his. 

“Uh, no?” It was bashful. 

You inwardly winced at the extremely unconvincing tone of your voice. You couldn’t see, but his lips curled into the smallest of smiles. His spidey-DNA, as you liked to call it, sensed the heat that radiated off of your body. 

After an unsuccessful mission, Miguel came home in a state of ire. His eyebrows were furrowed, anger rolling off of his body in waves as his chest heaved up and down. But as soon as your hand placed itself across the plains of his chest and soothed the fabric of his suit, everything started to dissipate. 

The anger, the grief, the guilt—everything. 

You gently pulled his wrist, and he blindly followed you into the living room of your makeshift apartment he built in Nueva York. You sat right above him on the couch, brush in your hand as you stroked through each strand of hair. His frame practically barrelled over you, despite him sitting on the ground with his back to the legs of the couch.

 In return, he wanted to desperately turn around and press light kisses into your skin, but he refrained. He knew that all you wanted to do was comfort his tense muscles. 

“That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You bite your lip, sheepishly, as you ignored his comment and started to braid another part of his hair. You very carefully twisted the fluffy soft hair between one another and grinned at the What he didn’t have to know wouldn’t hurt him, right? Well, apparently, you were wrong because once you tugged on his hair, yet again, and he practically jumps. 

“¡Ay!” He yelps and turns his head to look at you, “¿Qué mierda haces?” 

Your eyes widened, “Miggy! Oh—I’m so sorry!” You go to reach for his head again in an attempt to soothe the pain that you caused, but he caught your wrist. 

If you weren’t too concerned about tugging on his hair, you would have noticed the slight change in his lips that turned into a sly smirk. “Cariño,” He warned. His voice was gravelly and rough—the sound sending shivers down your spine. “¿Qué voy a hacer contigo?” 

In one motion, he’s hovering over you. “Hmm?”

Your mouth opens in surprise—the spark in your heartbeat not going unnoticed by the man before you. “I–I just, Miguel—” You were starting to get nervous under his gaze—just like you always do.

Pure adoration flashed between his ruby eyes, and his finger gently rubbed against the side of your cheek. It was so gentle and affectionate that it almost created tears against your waterline. He loved when you got nervous and playful—it always struck against his chest and seized him whole. He wanted to see the effect that he had on you in every waking moment, it seemed. 

He smiled. “You’re cute.”

You gasped, attempting to turn the tables around and flip him over. “I am not cute!” Alas, you were unsuccessful. 

He laughed. It was hearty and pretty against your ears. “You’re right. You’re the cutest.”

You grumbled under your breath, and it took every ounce of control not to kiss the puffing of your cheeks. “Whatever, you’re the cutest. Not me.” 

Miguel smiled—teeth showing and entirely genuine as he took in your playful expression and fingers that twisted the short hair against the base of his neck. 

“I’ll eventually make you admit it, mi alma. Don't you worry."

~~

¿Qué mierda haces? - What the fuck are you doing?

Cariño - Honey

¿Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am i going to do with you?

Mi alma - my soul

[wandasslut3000]

Who’s in charge?

Pairing: G!pNatasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, alcohol consumption, powerbottom!reader, dom/sub dymnamics, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (n receiving), handjob, teasing, missionary, mommy!kink, dirty talk, fingering, edging, begging, praise and degradation.

WC: 1.5k

       ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You and Natasha are sitting with the rest of the avengers in the common area, it's nearly the end of another one of Stark's parties.

And that also means good drinks and silly party games.

"So Romanoff, what's it gonna be?" Tony asks her, "Truth or dare".

"Truth"

"Who's the top in your relationship?" A crooked smile creeps onto your face as you watch your girlfriend look back towards you.

You quirk an eyebrow, "Go on Nat, tell 'em"

Her expression changes slightly before she turns back over to face the multimillionaire. "Me, duh."  The attitude in her voice making your jaw tighten.

"Is that so?"

"No ma'am." her eyes widen at the realization of the words that slipped past her lips. "I- I mean yes-". The other avengers were watching with great interest, the infamous Black Widow become a flustered and stammering mess.

"Uh huh", you pause, clicking your tongue as your eyes turn into slits. Then miraculously, your mood suddenly changes, acting cheery and innocent for the moment, startling her.

"Well you guys, I think Natasha here's a little tired, so we're gonna go to bed" She looks at you confused as she shakes her head.

"But I'm not-" You send her a look and she shrinks in her seat, a small tent forming in her sweatpants, the rest of the group still observing the scene in amusement.

"Fine, yes I'm tried, let's go". She huffs, Tony snickers at how quickly she was proven wrong, however this also earned him a hard glare from you.

Turning and walking away, a turned on Nat behind you, she got a perfect view of your ass, your sleeping shorts tight and not leaving much to the imagination.

She watched your hips sway in a seductive movement on your way back to your shared bedroom, you lure the widow into your trap, the moment she enters the room, you slam her against the nearest wall, your hand wrapped harshly around her neck.

"What was all this about you being the top, darling?" She whimpers at your tone, a slight twitch peeking through from the fabric of her pants.

"I don't- I don't know."

"You know damn well it's me who makes you cum every night, fucking slut. I just don't know where you get this big mouth from." You tilt your head to the side, your grip on her neck tightening.

"Say you’re sorry" you look up at her, sinking your teeth into your lip for a brief moment. "Don't you want me to make you feel good baby?" You sigh out against her.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry"

"See Natty, it wasn't so hard to was it?" You move your free hand to palm her hard-on.

"Ohh, seems like it was hard for you. You need me?" She nods, pressing her forehead against yours. "Please mommy."

You pull her into a kiss, moving both of her arms to grip onto you, pressing your crotch against hers, a groan from Natasha vibrating into the kiss.

Wrapping your arms around her neck, you jump into her hold and let her take you both to the bed. You move your legs to grip at her waist before flipping her over. Natasha's red curls pressing against the pillows.

Trailing your kisses down her jaw and onto her neckline, your hands slip under her shirt as you start to toy with her breasts through her bra. Grinding yourself against her covered member.

You go to take off Nat's tank top as well as her sweatpants, leaving her in her tented boxers, a deep flush on her face. Lightly, you move your hands up and down her thighs, her breath hitching as you got close and closer to where she needed you most.

You play with the hem of her boxers, dragging out the moment, wanting to tease her as much as possible.

Slowly, you slide them down her legs, throwing away the unnecessary garment and eyeing her hard cock hungrily. "Look how much my dirty little slut's leaking, all for me?" You smile down at her, a whine prying itself from the back of her throat at your actions.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

She nods, but you don't make any movements, "I need you to tell me what you want." Nat shivers and your hands move closer to her dick but make no action in touching her.

"Want your mouth" she whispers. "Want your hands and mouth on me please." You smirk.

"There's my good girl", you move to grab at her veiny cock, taking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the tip. "F-Fuck" she breaths out as you hold eye contact, your eyes clouding with tears as you take the cock deeper into your throat.

Your hands move to her balls, taking them into your palms and massaging them, pulling more moans from the redhead. "Mommy, that- that feels so good." She whimpers, her hands moving to grip into your hair.

"Ohh fuck yes! God-" taking your mouth off, you replace it with your fist, pumping it with your hands

Natasha groans, her cock twitching in your fingers as she got closer and closer to her release

"I'm gonna cum" she throws her head back moans and that's when you stop, bringing your movements to a halt and watching as she goes to look back at you with wide eyes.

"No! Please- please make me cum!" She babbles, tears welling up in her eyes at the loss of her upcoming orgasm.

"You're the top aren't you? Aren't you supposed to be the one fucking me?"

"I-" You cut her off, pulling her up and laying down on the bed, switching your positions, slipping off your shirt and bra before taking her spot as she leans unsurely over you. "Go on, you were so confident before."

Nat moves to slip off your shorts only to discover you weren't wearing panties. Her lip between her teeth.

"Make me cum Natty, you do that, and I'll give you the biggest reward" you wink at her and she nods, a furrow in her brows as she slides her dick into your entrance.

Pulling out for a moment before going back in, she repeats the actions, her thrusts gaining more speed as she helps you chase your high.

"Baby give me your hand" you moan and she doesn't hesitate to give into your request. Quickly you bring her hand over to your clit.

"Don't be shy, play with me."

She groans, thrusting harder into you as her fingers play with her your clit. The knot in your stomach tightening, "S'close- You're gonna make me cum, Natty, keep going, just like that." You blabber mindlessly, words and moans spilling out of your mouth without your control.

"You feel so good around me mommy" Natasha grunts against you and you whimper, your lips trembling as your brows furrow in pleasure.

"Yes fuck- almost there.. a little bit more."

She'd just hit your spot, that perfect spot that had your legs trembling as you clenched around her, cum dripping down your thighs and down Nat's dick.

Your chest heaving as you try to come back down to earth, your legs trapped around her and keeping her still, the frustrated tears refilling her eyes at the feeling of being edged once again.

"You did so good for me Natty, you’re definitely getting your reward" you smile, having Nat pull out and flipping her over once more, straddling her.

Grabbing her cock, you spit down onto it, coating it in your saliva, you grab her shoulders moving to line it up with your hole, using your wetnesses as a lubricant. She slides into you, your pussy sucking her in easily.

Her hands move to your hips as she pulls you down onto her, hitting your g-spot repeatedly, making you see stars. You grind down on her, your bundle of nerves bumping into the apex of her thighs, earning a high pitched moan out of you.

"This fucking cock was made for me I swear." You moan out as you bounce on top of her, the sound of your skin slapping echoing the room.

"There you go hun, let go, cum inside me" She nods as she thrusts herself harder inside you. "Fill me up so good- uh!" You squeal as you reach your peak once more, Natasha's load painting your walls. Your legs trembling as you both gasp into each others mouths.

Hopping off of her, you return your mouth back to the head of her cock, sucking diligently and having the last bits of her seed slide down the back of your throat. Giving the tip a quick lick before kissing up her body.

Removing her bra and taking each of her breasts into my hands, pinching and pulling at them. "You like that?" You whisper against her only for hum in response.

You latch your mouth onto her nipple, biting and sucking diligently on the bud. 

Pulling away from her chest you kiss her passionately. "Who's in charge?" You mumble against her lips.

"Mommy."

[sktrhoon]

nap time ; park sunghoon

idol!sunghoon x gn!reader

warnings: arguments (very brief), talks of self-doubt & being over-worked, that’s it really ??

wc: 614

synopsis: you simply wish sunghoon would communicate with you more

“Sunghoon!”

“I don’t know what you fucking expect from me anymore, y/n,” Sunghoon paused to let out a dry laugh before looking back in your direction. He was never quite making eye contact with you, as if he was avoiding it. “You want this one second, this the next, I’m too fucking busy.”

All you could do was feel yourself freeze at the sound of his words, they stung in a way you don’t think you can articulate. You were aware of the sacrifices you made two years ago when you started your relationship with the idol, and you deemed every single one worth it. You had Sunghoon, that was all you needed. Oh, how naive you were.

“I’m so sorry for wanting my boyfriend to act like one,” you paused to collect yourself in an attempt to hold back the poison-filled words threatening to leave your mouth. “You’re never home, Sunghoon. I know this is your job and dream, and I’m so happy you get to experience it. But I want to see you for more than thirty minutes in passing in the morning.”

You watched Sunghoon’s flat expression falter before he spoke, still avoiding any form of eye contact, “I can’t stop doing this now y/n and you know that. You know that better than anyone. I- I’m getting solo activity opportunities and I just, I can’t turn them down.”

“Why, Sunghoon? Why can’t you turn them down?” You finally took a few steps closer to the man in front of you, forcing him to make eye contact with you.

“Can’t let the boys down, can’t let ENGENE down, can’t let myself down, can’t let,” Sunghoon paused for a second before continuing, “let you down.”

“Do you really think you can let me down, Hoon?”

“I- yeah, and for myself, I have to say yes to every opportunity given. I have to be grateful and do it, no matter the cost,” his face fell flat once more.

“But what about your health Sunghoon?”

You reached to grab his hand before holding it between both of your own, “Don’t you think the boys, ENGENE, and myself care about your wellbeing more? This isn’t even about me, Sunghoon. When I say let’s go out to eat, let’s watch a movie, whatever- I say it so you’ll have a proper meal, you’ll relax, just something.”

“But the company-”

You cut him off before he could even finish his sentence, “Yeah, fuck that.”

Sunghoon couldn’t help but finally smile at your remark, glancing down at your intertwined hands, “You know it’s not that easy…”

“But we can pretend it is.”

Hoon couldn’t help but laugh at your words, “I wish it was that easy love, I really do…” He removed the hand that was glued to his side to wrap it around your waist to pull you even closer to him.

“How about this, promise me instead of acting like everything is fine, bottling it up, and running yourself into the ground, you’ll talk to me. Even if it means nothing changes for a while, but you at least talk about it, hm?”

You remove both of yours hands from his to run one through his hair, purposefully ruffling it up with a smile on your face.

“Yeah… I can promise that,” Hoon finally pulls you into a hug and does his hardest to hide his face in the crook of your neck before pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.

“So, can we go take a nap now? I think my Hoonie needs some very much deserved rest.”

All you heard was a short hum of agreement in response.

“Nap time it is.”

[beenbaanbuun]

brothers best friend pt 2 w/ jeong yunho

part 1

so i forgot to pause my queue and you’re getting this a day early… whoops

yunho looks so massive towering above you like that

there’s an unfamiliar look on his face, cheeks flushed, lips parted, nostrils flared, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous under his watchful gaze

maybe he’s angry, but you can’t think of anything you’d done to upset him

hell, you’d fallen asleep pretty much as soon as he told you to! its like you could’ve—

oh fuck… the dream

you sit up as quick as humanly possible, any semblance of sleepiness slipping away as you realise exactly why he’s looking at you like that

like you’ve just committed the greatest crime known to man

you can’t look at him, embarrassment and guilt flowing through you like blood

“yun, i—” he cuts you off with a shush

it confuses you for just a second or two; surely he’d give you the chance to explain your self right?

it’s hardly like you deserve to have that chance, perverted little slut

but still, yunho is a nice enough guy; he’ll let you try and wriggle your way out of it… won’t he?

“yunho, i can ex—” again, you’re cut off with a sharp shush

you whimper in response as the tears that begin to gather along your lash line turn his silhouette blurry

“i don’t need an explanation from you,” he speaks softly, “i don’t want one, either. i don’t think it would change anything, do you?”

his face is still set in stone, eyes steely as they stare you down

it only makes you feel even more pathetic, like a child being scolded for making a mess

you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how he saw you; nothing more than his friends kid sister making a mess of things again

you’re always making a mess of things…

your eyes begin to burn with tears

“why are you getting upset, sweetheart?” yunho asks from above you, voice stern and commanding and nothing like the teasing tone he usually uses with you

“it’s embarrassing,” you sniffle, trying your hardest to stop your voice from wavering under the influence of your tears, “i’m sorry.”

he hums, nodding slightly as though he’s seriously mulling over your apology

as if he’s actually considering accepting it…

its cruel, making you wait for your judgement as if he’s not going to end up kicking you out at the end of it all

maybe you were wrong about him being a kind man…

“why is it embarrassing?” he hums, and your heart sinks just a little further

great; he’s going to humiliate you before kicking you out

your eyes meet his, begging for just a little mercy

he doesn’t seem to waver, eyes still icy and face still wearing that unreadable expression

“yunho,” you whisper, mentally preparing yourself to beg for forgiveness

he shakes his head, a hum of disapproval leaving his lips, “tell me, honey; why are you embarrassed?”

and just like that the dam breaks, your chin wobbling as a long keen leaves the back of your throat

the first tear rolls down your cheek, swiftly followed by a second

yunho catches them with his thumbs

“tell me…”

you suck in a shaky breath, forcing it out through your pursed lips

it doesn’t really help to soothe you like you thought it would…

“i had a wet dream about you,” your voice is so timid and small… you’re pathetic

“yes, you did,” yunho agrees, “but i hardly think that’s a good reason for all this fuss, hm?”

you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice

it almost sounds affectionate under that thick layer of condescension that only ever comes out when he’s talking to you

“after all, you didn’t see me crying when i was thinking all those dirty thoughts about you crawling into my bed…”

what?

your jaw hangs slack as you let his words soak in

he has to be teasing you, right?

“your pretty pussy was showing through your shorts, baby, but you didn’t even realise, hm?”

he takes your chin in his hand, forcefully snapping your mouth shut

“you were clenching around nothing,” his pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip, “practically begging for me to fill you up and you didn’t even realise.”

you squirm, everything he does working against you and your barely intact sanity

his words that he says so nonchalantly as if you’re not utterly filthy

his hand that remains firmly on your chin, his thumb dancing back and forth along your jawline

that damned tongue that he can’t seem to keep inside of his mouth for more than a second

you can’t help it when you whimper; after all, he’s the only one to blame

“yuyu,” you sound as pathetic as you feel, but you don’t have the brain power to feel humiliated, “please do something…”

he smiles down at you

“do something?” he asks, “like what, honey? you’re going to have to be more specific if you want yuyu to do what you want.”

the sound of him teasing you so effortlessly goes straight to your cunt, and you clench your thighs around nothing

it doesn’t help ease the ache between them at all

in fact all it does is smear your wetness over your thighs, leaving you with a sticky, uncomfortable mess

you desperately need something more; some friction to ease that ache in your clit and something inside of you to fill up your empty hole

and there’s yunho, your brothers best friend, standing above you looking like a fucking god

that’s all you need to push you over the edge

“yunho, please fuck me,” you whine, bringing a hand up to rest upon his wrist

your fingers wrap around it, tugging softly until his grip slips from your jaw

you drag it down, heading lower and lower until his hand catches on the duvet that still rests over your lower half

and then you stop, passing the proverbial ball to him; it’s in his court now and whatever happens next is up to him

whether he fucks you or not… it’s his choice

but you have no time to worry about what might not come to pass when he grabs the covers and tosses them to the side

his eyes hone in on those fucking shorts, and he swears he can feel his cock jump in his shorts

fucking hell, they’re practically see through with just how wet you are

he can see everything and what a delight that is

your pretty little pussy, wet and waiting for him to ruin it with his fingers, his cock, him cum

he needs so badly to see the real thing

“these damn shorts, baby,” he groans as he hooks his fingers over the waist band and tugs, “i might just have to keep them, if that’s okay with you?”

his words make your pussy clench, a sight that has him humming in appreciation

“i take that as a yes?” he tugs them down over your thighs, wasting no time in stripping your bottom half bare and tucking your shorts in the pocket of his pants.

with your glistening hole now exposed to him, he wastes no time in getting on his knees at the bottom of the bed

at first he just watches it, studying it as intensely as a college student studies their textbook the night before a final

you’re about to say something, to beg some more, when he reaches out a hand and slides a finger through your sopping folds

you gasp as he brushes it gently against you clit before pulling it away entirely, slipping it between his lips without so much as a second of hesitation

his eyes flutter closed and his cheeks hollow

the moan he lets out is nothing short of pornographic; you find yourself in awe of the show he’s putting on for you

“taste so good, honey,” he purrs as he tugs his finger free, “i’d eat you up forever, if you let me…”

he pauses, letting his eyes flicker up to meet yours

“will you let me?”

you nod, too dazed to say anything

“good girl…”

he wastes no time in laying down and throwing your legs over his shoulders

his giant hands find your thighs, gently caressing your smooth skin under the calloused tips of his fingers

they squeeze, kneading your flesh as he lowers his face to your aching core

“ready?” he hums, the word propelling a cool blast of air against your clit

you squirm and nod, but he shakes his head

“i really need your words this time, baby,” he says, “i’ve been lenient so far but i won’t do anything without your explicit permission; are you ready?”

“y-yes, yun…”

and just like that, he presses a soft kiss to your clit, the tip of his tongue just barely grazing it before he pulls away

it draws a whine through your gritted teeth

yunho chuckles before going back in to lick a stripe over your dripping hole

an obscene slurping sound echoing around the room as his tongue collects as much of your juices as he can before going back for more

he licks and prods are your hole, seeming to tease it until it leaks some more, all which his nose bumps gorgeously up against your clit

you hands fly to his hair, holding him against you in fear of him leaving you high and dry

he’s making you feel so good, the last thing you want is for this to stop

he just smiles against you as he feels the tug of your fingers in his locks, scraping his teeth against you in a way that has your body going limp

it’s even worse when he brushes them against your sensitive bud

you don’t quite register the sound your own mouth makes, too lost in the throws of pleasure to fully comprehend anything other than yunho

“so sweet, honey,” he grunts before he takes you clit between his lips

he suckles on it, hollowing his cheeks out as he pulses the pressure

he alternates between hard and soft sucks

it’s enough to make that knot in your stomach tighten

you’re getting close

“yuyu,” you cry as you let your hips buck into his mouth

it doesn’t phase him at all, so you carry on seeking your high

and when yunho sharpens his tongue to a point, letting you grind against the very top of it, that’s when you come undone

that’s when the knot snaps and your world turns white for just a second

fucking hell, yunho knows how to eat pussy…

he continues his ministrations for just a moment or two, letting you get it all out of your system before he pulls away and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand

“how was that, pretty girl?” he hums, “think you can take my cock next?”