#every other line is just (HEAVY BREATHING)

[kenzan-kiwami]

i ripped some of hanawa's voice lines from gaiden cause someone asked me to and uh. damn. hanawa more like no stamina

[bwere]

ONE OF YOUR GIRLS !

fwb with choso, nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna, toji who swear theyre not falling inlove

ꫂㅤ۪ᰍ 2.6k wc + not proofread, hair pulling, degrādation, pssy eating, raw-dogging, humiliation, toxic, controlling, just smut

CHOSO KAMO

THEY CAN’T TELL BUT I LOVE YOU, CAUS’ YOU’RE LOYAL BABY

Fwb!Choso who’s not entirely sure why he agreed to be friends with benefits with you. You told him you felt the same way about his intense desire for you, and all he knows is how to quench it. Fwb!Choso who doesn't want to lose this, but he's too shy to ask you to be his girlfriend. If being your fwb is the only way to keep it going, then so be it. Fwb!Choso who’s in a daze from your insides, pounding into your pussy and whimpering spews on how much he loves you.

He loves when you're on top of him, he likes it when you control him and use him. He loves to see you bouncing up and down on his cock, he thinks it should be dubbed as one of the 7 wonders of this world—thinks it's enticingly beautiful watching you moan and whine while taking him.

With each passing day he finds himself only being able to cum to you. He's so desperate for you, so embarrassingly addicted to you, but you don’t even see.

He’s mesmerised after fucking you, thinking about it for hours - days or even more. He can't believe he gets the chance to have you all over him. You gave him the allowance to be deep inside your folds, to feel your walls clench around his girth, telling him how good he is, fuck—he loves you.

His favorite song is when you say his name. He never thought he could make a pretty girl like you call out his name like a chant, bouncing against his skin as he fucks into you, drilling his way through your guts like theres no tomorrow.

“You’re so tight–mgh! Baby, please juus’ like t-that, ’gonna make me cum…” strong grips on your sides as he fucks you, he’s truly a mess, babbling about how good your pussy is.

He never wants to imagine a world where you’re not in it, he has dreams about you. Sometimes, sweet—others are bittersweet, some even fully sour. But he wakes up happy all the same, knowing you’re gonna tell him to come over, and he’s gonna waste no time fulfilling your every request, because he wants you in more ways than just sex.

Friends with benefits Choso who calls you his aphrodite, his muse and the impediment of perfection. As hard as it may be Choso doesn’t regret agreeing to be friends with benefits, with you.

You’re so good for him and he’s so good for you, and he’ll wait however long it may take to make you his—beyond sex.

NANAMI KENTO

WE DON'T GOTTA BE INLOVE, NO - I DONT GOTTA BE THE ONE, NO

Fwb!Nanami who uses it as an excuse to resolve some stress at first, you mutually agreed no feelings, no falling in love. Fwb!Nanami, who he treats you as if you were his girlfriend, cleans you up after he rearranged your guts, giving you kisses down your spine telling you how good you did while he wipes you fresh. You have such a strong hold on him that he eventually finds himself needing you at all times of the day and night.

You were standing in your kitchen, your heart pounding with excitement as you listened to Nanami's heavy breathing over the phone. "I'm on my way," he said, his voice low and husky. You could practically feel his arousal through the phone line, and it got you excited.

Friends with benefits Nanami who had agreed, no feelings, no falling in love. But as you hung up the phone and he made his way to you, he couldn't help but wonder if that was still possible. Nanami had always been good to you, taking care of you in ways that went beyond just being friends. He had a way of making you feel loved and cherished, even when you knew it was just physical.

When he finally arrived, you could see the desire in his eyes as he took in your appearance. He pulled you into a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your body as he explored every inch of you. "You look amazing," he’d murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't wait to fuck you."

Friends with benefits Nanami who watches you undress with a hungry gaze, his eyes devouring every inch of your naked flesh. "I need you," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "I need to be inside you."

You moaned as he entered you, his cock filling you up in a way that made your toes curl. He thrust into you hard and deep, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Wrapping your legs around him, pulling him closer as you rode out the intense sensations.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Nanami groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he drove into you. "I could stay inside you forever."

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body tensing as you prepared to explode. But just as you were about to cum, Nanami pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and wanting.

"Not yet," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I want to make this last."

GOJO SATORU

I LOVE IT WHEN I BREAK SKIN, YOU FEEL PAIN WITHOUT FLINCHIN’

Fwb!Satoru who never thought he’d become smitten over some girl's pussy, until that some girl ended up being you. Oh boy, you took him so well, and you were cute doing it. You knew how to drive him crazy and he fucking loved it. Fwb!Satoru who jokes about his ‘hoes’ even though no one knows he got rid of them all—right after he finally got a taste of you.

You're not his, and he knows this. Yet he finds himself threatening every man that tries to come near you. And when his friends ask why he’s so obsessed with you, he just tells them he can’t lose a good pussy like yours.

But when you’re in private behind closed doors he's eating you out, telling you how good you taste between muffled licks.

“Feels so good toru’...ngh–” you moan.

He has your legs locked around his neck while he’s drowning in your cunt. Licking and digesting everything in sight. He eats so sloppy, like a king eats his feast. Greedily devouring everything down to the last bit.

“Ughmnm, tathes even b-betther mmhm…baby,”

You have no idea what he said. You're too lost in his mouth and the pleasure that he's giving. His tongue is so wet, it slides along your lips and folds with ease. His lips are targeting your puffy clit - sucking in circles. Making you moan louder, arching into his face as he sucks his way to find your orgasm. Your hands deep in his white strands, tugging and pulling anything you feel.

He feels your cunt clench on his tongue. His dick throbs as he tastes your orgasm. His head was further ensnared between your legs. Unable to hold a steady breath, as he pulls back from your heat, raising himself to get a better look at the scene he caused.

Your juices are all over his mouth and chin. And his hair—messy and tangled from where your fingers laid. But he couldn’t care less. His eyes are hooded as he looks up at you, breathing heavily. "One s’not enough, m’ gonna need another one from you sweetheart,"

Your friend with benefits Satoru Gojo, who wants to own you in every sense of the word, but settles for just your body.

You don’t belong to him. But that doesn't mean he can't enjoy it while it lasts.

GETO SUGURU

LOCK ME UP AND THROW AWAY THE KEY, HE KNOWS HOW TO GET THE BEST OUT OF ME

Fwb!Geto who tempts you in public like a perv, who messes with you relentlessly. You’re rarely ever not seen by his side. Fwb!Geto who’ll full on fuck you anywhere, at anytime and any moment of the day. Fwb!Geto who has fucked you almost every where—and he knows you won’t stop him, because you never do. You love it just as much as he does. He loves making you feel good, making you need to rely on him.

He knows you too well, making it his sole objective in life to tease you. Once he has you worked up, he takes you home, providing you no help to finish the problem he started. And next time he sees you? Oh, he has the audacity to act like a good friend, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t take you home with your panties soaking and your body aching. As if he didn’t tell you to send him a video of you cumming on your own fingers, right after.

He loves to see your cheeks burning in public, knowing exactly how he got you there. Friends with benefits Geto who’s just so full of himself, you can't do anything, can't even retaliate because nobody is going to believe that Geto, charming and good looking, reputable and talented—is truly is such a devil.

You don't have any proof to back up what you're saying. Not a single hickey or a scratch on your skin, because he never puts them anywhere noticeable, always making sure you look the same way as you came.

Friends with benefits Geto, the one who holds your hand whenever you need comfort, and hugs you when you're feeling down, the one you go to when you have a bad day and all you want is a good fuck, because you know he won't say no, and if you're in the mood, he'll drop whatever he's doing just for you, because he's just so whipped for you

Truly, Geto doesn't care if you're having a bad day or a good one, you're gonna get fucked regardless, and the moment he walks into the room, you're already wet, and when he finally comes close, his tongue is already out, licking away at your cunt as if you're his favorite meal, and when he finally puts his dick in you, he doesn't let up until you've orgasmed at least 3 times.

The way he looks at you when he's inside you, the way he calls your name. And his hands, his beautiful hands that wrap around your neck just so perfectly, you're a sucker for them.

You’re so used to it, and he knows it, and he uses it against you, because he can do it anywhere, in the car, the park, at his house and you’ll let him.

SUKUNA RYOMEN

GIVE ME TOUGH LOVE, LEAVE ME WITH NOTHIN’ WHEN I COME DOWN, MY KINDA LOVE

Fwb!Sukuna who's the one who says no feelings in the first place, but it’s the way you treat him—that’s got him in a rabbit hole. Enjoying while you work his cock like no one else possesses, he's pretty damn sure he's infatuated with you. Fwb!Sukuna who likes to ask what you're wearing to your friends' get-together, only to come over and fuck you, leaving your friends to wonder where you were.

It's all about the thrill of it, sneaking around. Sukuna gets off on knowing no man can live up to him, no man will get the chance.

Sukuna loves to edge you when it comes to anything, specifically—sex. He'll even push you to the verge of cumming before stopping and making you ride him off; “you’re that desperate to cum”. Other times, he will tie you up, and leave you there on the bed all hot and bothered, only to come back an hour later and fuck you like he never left.

Friends with benefits Sukuna who is just so possessive. Who relishes in marking you all over, to make it absolutely certain everyone knows that you're his slut. He doesn't need to think twice to flaunt whatever marks accumulated on his body. He tells you you’re just his toy, just there for his pleasure, but his words hold no weight because he knows he wants there to be more.

Sukuna who is usually not the type of guy to have sex and care about the other person finishing, but with you he never lets you leave the bed without an orgasm. It boosts his ego, lets him know he's the only one who can make you feel good.

Friends with benefits Sukuna who calls you over any time he wants, who’ll come over any time he wants. He’ll call you at the ass crack of dawn just because he missed his favorite girl.

He likes to embarrass you in front of anyone who tries to talk to you, or any guy in the vicinity of you two. He slaps your ass in the middle of a conversation and pulls on your shirt when you try to walk away. He’s childish and stubborn—he feens, to make you mad so he can show you what mad really is.

You’re just a toy but he defends your name in any instance. You’re just there for pleasure but he buys you whatever you want. He knocks on your door at random to take you out, even though you're just friends with benefits.

You’re just a ‘toy’ but he won't admit he’s in love.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

TELL NOBODY I CONTROL YOU, I BROKE YOU JUST TO OWN YOU

Fwb!Toji who thinks your pussy belongs to him, thinks that he didn't spend all this time stretching you out on the daily, for nothing. So when he sees that one co-worker he hates, trying to talk to you, Fwb!Toji loves to remind you who you belong to.

Friends with benefits Toji whose mouth is just so nasty, he's a man who knows how he wants his dick sucked, and your pussy ate. He’s a man with experience especially, your body. He knows what you can handle and he knows what you can't.

He hates sharing you with anyone, hates your exes, hates his friends around you, hates your friends stealing his time with you, and absolutely despises the thought of anyone seeing you naked besides him.

Friends with benefits Toji who you’ve been fucking on and off for the past few months, and made it clear that your cunt was made to take his cock.

He’ll take you out to the club, bar, restaurants and show you off. He has you wrapped around his finger, cause he knows when you throw your little fits about his blatant flirting - all he has to do is put it inside and you’ll be crying about how good you feel instead.

Friends with benefits Toji who can’t stand your co-worker. More often than not you’d run into him and he’d spark up a conversation. Toji couldn’t understand why this weirdo was so close to you. Sure, you were just work mates, but you belonged to him. He didn’t spend all this time making sure you were nice and loose for him - just for another man to try and take his place.

He acts like a stone cold asshole in public for the rest of the night—until he gets you home. When he knows you have nowhere to run, and even if you could you wouldn’t. Not that he’d let you even if you tried.

Friends with benefits Toji whose mean on these types of nights, only chasing after one thing and that’s to break you down and remind you it should be him you focus on.

His sentences sting, it’s the jealousy talking. He’s gonna bruise you, choke you and make your body sore after tonight. And after it’s all over he’ll run a bath for you both, to ‘get clean’, just to fuck you in it.

[tonycries]

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers...

Synopsis. You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

Pairing. Officer! Gojo Satoru x Reader x Officer! Toji Fushiguro

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, police! au, unprotected, being pulled over, thréesome, eiffel tower, oral (female + male receiving), manhandling, dynamics, cúmplay, marking, they lowkey make it a competition, implied dp, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.0k

A/N. I don’t condone actually speeding y’all.

You were screwed. Completely and utterly screwed.

“Shit shit shit-” you hiss, eyes flitting to the flashing red and blue lights in your rearview mirror, sirens blaring behind you. The engine roared, pavement a blur beneath your tires - a stupid, spur-of-the-moment decision. You knew you were pushing your luck with your late night speeding, fueled by an empty highway and even emptier adrenaline. 

And, well, it seems like your little thrill-seeking caught up with you, quite literally, as you hastily pull over on the side of the road. Heart sinking when the police car parks right behind you - the final nail in your coffin. 

You heave out a steadying breath, trying to get your thoughts in order long enough to come up with an even slightly believable explanation. Why did you think this was a good idea, again?

Tap! Tap! Tap! 

Shit, in the heat of the moment you’d barely heard the heavy footsteps in the distance. Immediately snapping your head up to look at-

Oh.

Whatever flimsy excuse dies in your throat with just one glance at the officer knocking at your glass - the unfairly hot officer. Your face burns as you urgently roll down the window - partly out of necessity, and partly because you really wanted to see him better. Those snowy white locks, and- shit was that a dimple at the corner of the sly little smile curling his lips?

Twinkling gaze locked with yours, he rests an arm against the roof of the car - and you almost have to look away, your looming speeding ticket being the last thing on your mind at the way his arms flex so enticingly. Leaning down to smirk, “Ya have any idea how fast you were going, sweetheart?”

His voice was playful, and deep enough that it takes a second for you to find yours. Swallowing thickly, you bat your lashes innocently up at him, “Sorry, officer. I have no idea.” 

“Fast enough that’s for sure,” he huffs out a laugh, eyeing the way you squirm embarrassedly in your seat, “C’mon, license n’ registration, now.”

Fumbling through your glove compartment, heat rushes down your spine when his fingertips happen just brush against yours as you hand over the documents. While he looks them over, you take the moment to read his badge - Gojo. 

“Officer Gojo-”

“Satoru, m’not one for formalities.”

“Officer Satoru,” you press, words laced with just the right amount of flirtation. “I’m terribly sorry, I promise I didn’t know the speed limit.” And if it were any other moment then you’d be almost embarrassed at how you were fawning over him - but, well, one look at him and how could you resist?

“M’sure.” Not when he dips his head infinitely closer, hot breath fanning your face. Close - too close. And especially not when he mutters lowly, “Out.”

Which is how you found yourself strutting down the highway in a straight line, trying your very best not to tumble under the pressure of a looming Satoru.

“Keep walkin’.” And by God he was enjoying this a bit too much. Leaning against your car, arms crossed, and watching your every move. Stare so intense that a stupid little part of you couldn’t help but wonder whether his eyes lingered on you a bit too long to check for signs of drunkenness or something else. 

“Well,” Satoru’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, whirling around to catch him sweeping you one last time from head to toe. “Seems you’re not under the influence.” And you’ve barely let a smug smile make its way onto your face before he’s plowing on, “But m’still gonna have to write you up for speeding.”

“Oh come on.” you drag out, slightly whiny yet not desperate - at least, not yet. Leaning ever-so-slightly closer to him, making sure that the tight top you wore lets him see a perfect view of your breasts. “I really didn’t know.”

Eyes flickering down. Once. Twice. 

Success. 

But Satoru only raises his brows, muscles rippling as he crosses his arms over his chest. And by the twinkle of amusement in his gaze, you knew the smug bastard was doing this on purpose. “There are consequences for breaking the law, y’know~ Even for pretty lil’ things like you.”

Inching forward, “Can’t I just be let off with a warning, please?”

“And what makes you think you deserve one?”

Something hot, and prickly coils in your stomach at his tone. “Oh I dunno…” you trail off, so close now that there was only a hair’s breadth between your two. You could feel the heat of his body at this proximity, and it was making your head spin. “I’m sure I can convince you I do.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, grinning, “Not me, pretty girl.” And you’ve barely registered the words before the police car door slams again, and he’s nodding his head somewhere behind you. “He’s the one that’ll be writing your ticket.”

Oh? Oh, shit. 

Heart stopping, you whirl around to meet a matching, sly little smirk. “Meet, Toji, sweetheart. My patrol partner, of sorts.”

And in the dim lighting, you could make out how unfairly handsome he was. A bit older, uniform hugging him so sinfully tight - all dark hair and rugged, dangerous authority as he skims over your license. “Your superior.” the rough baritone of the newcomer’s voice sent shocks right down to your core. 

“Semantics.”

“What’ve we got here?” Toji asks, tilting his head, unabashedly drinking in the sight of you just as his colleague did. “Skipping out on your duties again, brat?”

“Of course not. Just that this one,” Satoru starts. And your skin burns at the way he addresses you, words dripping with a mean little tone as if you were nothing but a plaything, “Says she didn’t know the speed limit, and wants to get off easy.”

“‘Get off easy’, huh?” Toji hums thoughtfully. “Don’t know if we can do that, doll.”

“Mhm, the old man’s right for once. Can’t put our jobs at risk, y’know?”

But oh you’d never be fooled by their little act, you catch the way their eyes meet, a silent understanding stirring between the two. You bite your lips coyly, holding back a smirk as you unhurriedly reach out to pull Toji in by his collar. His knee between your legs, your back falling against Satoru’s front, strong arms steadying you by the shoulders. “Are you sure?”

You could feel his heartbeat quickening, as was the latter’s, toned chest rumbling at the way his partner grits out a hoarse, “Positive.” Shit, they make it so easy. 

Sandwiched between both men now, you whisper - low enough that they have to strain their heads closer to hear, “But I promise I’ll be a good girl, officers.”

Toji’s lips are on you before you know it - so hot and just as messy as you thought the man would be. One hand around your throat, squeezing lightly as he licks at the seam of your mouth. Such a desperate clash of lips and saliva as he bullies his tongue inside to intertwine with yours.

He tastes almost minty, with the slight taste of something so intoxicating that you don’t even realize you’re pushing down on Satoru, grinding in mindless little motions. At least, not until he’s gripping tightly at your hips, shifting your ass ever-so-slightly to graze against his swollen cock. 

That makes you gasp and pull apart, tiny strings of saliva snapping as you look behind at Satoru. Feeling him, so big, so hot behind you - even through his uniform. 

“Is that-”

“Shh, focus on what you’re doing, pretty girl.” he chuckles darkly. Breath ghosting your ear as a hand comes up to squish your cheeks together, forcing you to face forward. “Wouldn’t wanna make my dear supervisor here mad, huh?”

And it takes everything in you to take your mind off of how massive Satoru felt underneath you. Damp, and throbbing behind you, a wet little patch right where his angry tip was. 

The only thing that actually snaps you out of your little reverie is Toji’s voice, husky, and dangerously sweet. “I gotta say, m’feeling left out.” he sighs mockingly, fingers tightening around your throat. “And after I’m the one supposed to be writing you up? How rude.” 

You meet his eyes, half-lidded and looking at you hungrily. He liked this - seeing you all breathless and needy, so eager to please.

“M-m’sorry-” you squirm in their iron grasp.

“Now now, ‘sorry’ won’t always cut it.” Toji gives a soft, playful little smack to your ass, before addressing the other man. “Whaddaya say we do about that, brat?” 

You look up at Satoru pleadingly, only to be met with a dark chuckle. Shit, if anything, you thought that he would be the nicer of the two - but that stupid little illusion falls apart with every word that falls from his lips. And oh how he enjoyed watching your slow, dawning realization that no you weren’t going to get mercy from either of them. “Guess we should teach her some manners, huh?”

“I dunno…I don’t think her slutty lil’ pussy will learn, though.”

That felt like a slap to the face - one that had your dripping cunt quivering in- fear? Anticipation? You really couldn’t give a fuck right now, not when they’re talking over you like you’re some object. Not when Toji’s shoving his knee deeper in-between your thighs, rocking your hips lightly. You whine, “P-please. I want to.”

“Want to what? C’mon now, use your words like a big girl.” It’s Satoru now, teasing you as you hesitate in giving into what you really want. 

Your voice cracks pathetically, at the embarrassing admission. Being stuck between these two men way too much for you to handle. “I want…” 

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“Wan’ to be fucked by you both. Have you teach me some m-manners.”

And then it happens. 

Your back hits the cushion before you even realize what’s happening, sinking into your car backseat as the two officers shut the door behind you. Satoru sits on one side, while Toji pushes down the front seats on the other. Cramped, heady - and exactly where you wanted to be right now. 

Shit, when did they even open the car door? You don’t have half the mind to wonder, because neither of them waste any time. Immediately groping your tits - your waist - your thighs, everywhere and anywhere they could reach. 

Satoru’s kissing you now - drinking you in like you were his favorite taste. And you just think he might be yours, so sweet, like those cheap lollipops you saw at convenience stores. Drinking in your breathless gasps as Toji begins unbuttoning your top, letting it fall to God-knows-where and-

“Fuuuck.” he lets out a low whistle, “Kid, look at this.”

With an almost-pained grunt, Satoru’s pulling away. Eyes widening as he takes in the sight of you - braless, and exposed so shamefully for the both of them, of course. “No bra?” he mutters raspily. “Always knew you were a lil’ slut, doll.” But you knew by the way his breath hitches that he liked it. 

And Toji did too, if the way his fingers danced along your hardened nipples was anything to go by. “What did I tell you? Bet she’s got such a naughty pussy, too.”

Your head is spinning, both from his words and the way Satoru’s claiming your lips once again. Murmuring into your mouth, “Only one way to find out.”

And that’s all that is said before they’re all but ripping your skirt off your hips. The poor, flimsy fabric nothing against the two men that were now looking at your drenched panties in pure awe. 

In fact, Toji drops to his knees onto the car interior, face to face with your pretty pussy. Greedily drinking in the way your slick beads out so sloppily,  the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. Gaze heated enough that you’re embarrassed. 

“Ah ah-” Satoru tuts, seeing the way your bare thighs were trying to close - not letting yourself have even some semblance of dignity. “You said you’d be a good girl f’us, isn’t that right, old man?”

“Mhm, s’what she said.”

Shit, you can do nothing but have your legs wrestled open, Satoru’s fingers sliding so delicately underneath your panties. “You heard him, pretty.” Index sliding up and down, up and down up and- grazing your swollen folds, all the way from your base, stopping just below your throbbing clit. Tease. “So why don’t we let officer Toji here get a good look at how wet your pretty lil’ cunt is?”

Neither man waits for your answer - of course, they don’t.

Rip! 

Several things happen at once, you barely have the time to react before Satoru’s holding your panties in his fist, tattered and soaked with your slick. Your mouth drops open in disbelief as he dangles it like a badge of honor, holding it up, up, up, only to breathe in your scent obscenely. “Fuck, you even smell like the perfect angel.”

Toji - taking the opportunity - dives face-first into your pussy. Groaning at the taste - you were so sweet, so addictive on his tongue. Licking lazily up your swollen folds, letting your sweet sweet juices get all over his face as he buries himself nose-deep. 

“Oh!” you gasp, fisting his locks in your hands, “Shit shit shit-” Toji was in eating you out, exactly as he was with kissing - sloppy. Unabashed. Letting his tongue move so messily all over your cunt, while his colleague held you still. Letting him devour you as he pleased. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, sweetheart.” Satoru whispers into your ear, every cute lil’ whine of yours going straight to his painfully hard cock. 

And, well, Satoru can’t just sit here and watch Toji have you all to himself, now. Can he? Which is why he begins playing with your sensitive nipples. Twirling his hot tongue around one, rolling the other between his fingers.

Drunk off your moans and the way you’re so overstimulated by both men. Unable to decide between where your body wants to focus on - grinding down on Toji’s relentless mouth or leaning towards Satoru’s. And it’s driving you mad. 

“Hngh- fuck- Feel’s good.” you whine, bucking your hips wildly.

“Yeah? Ya like this?” Toji speaks first, words muffled around your clit. Sucking and rolling his tongue harshly across it. Over and over. Strangely in time with the quick, maddening little circles that Satoru licks around your nipples. 

Being ruined like this from both ends was way too much - so you can only nod deliriously. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. Letting Toji throw your legs over his shoulders, looking so fucking gorgeous in-between your legs like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Brows furrowing in bliss as he tilts his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Shit.” Lapping even faster at your pussy. “Could get used to this.”

And let it be known that Gojo Satoru was a jealous man, because he pulls away from your tits with a lewd pop! Grunting sulkily, “Move over. Wan’ taste her cute pussy, too.”

Either Toji doesn’t hear him over the lewd little squelches coming from down below, or he ignores it - probably the latter. Continuing to make out with your cunt so messily. 

But Satoru was nothing if not persistent, snaking down a hand to gather your slick on his fingertips. Immediately shoving them in his mouth and oh- You watch blearily as his eyes roll to the back of his head, sucking his fingers clean like a man possessed. 

“Oh- fuck.” his mouth drops into a soft oh! Leaning forward like he wanted to kiss you senseless, only to halt and shuffle off the carseat. Because he wanted to make out with your cunt more. Dropping to the ground beside Toji, Satoru gives him a minute shove, “Move. M’not letting you be the only one to taste this heavenly pussy.”

“Hah- ya think you can eat her out the way she deserves, brat?” Licking at your inner thigh, “Lemme show you how a real man does it.”

“Watch and learn, old man.” Both men push your legs as far apart as they’d go, spreading you so shamefully for them. You reel from the stretch and the sinful sight below you. 

Because immediately, they’re making out hungrily with your cunt together. Sloppily and needy - tongues bumping into each other, intertwining, burying their faces between your legs as they eat you out like a little competition. Satoru’s licking up and down your slit, pooling your slick on his tongue, while Toji’s wrapping his pretty lips around your ravaged clit. 

“Sh-shit. Satoru- Toji. Ah! M’so close.” you squirm as they moan into your wet cunt, the vibrations sending white-hot pleasure running up your spine. Drinking in your little whimpers like they were addicted. 

“Like this?” Satoru groans. “Feels good being eaten out by the both of us?”

The car fills with your breathy moans, and it’s hard to speak with the way they’re alternating between flicking your clit and squeezing your tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you out, thrusting at a frenzied pace - you don’t even know who is who at this point. Just getting off with a needy, “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes- Feels s’good!”

“Like being our little whore, doll?”

Maybe it was Toji’s words - so filthy even when he was calling out to you sweetly. Or maybe it was the way Satoru was grinding his jaw as he plunges his soft tongue deeper into your plushy walls. Probably it was how they both looked at you - like you were their last meal. 

Because you’re cumming, and cumming so messily all over their mouths. “Shit. S’too much. Ah-”

And neither man stops - almost like it was difficult to part. Letting you drag your sloppy pussy incoherently all over while they continue to flick and dip their tongues. Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Heh, you’re gonna make her cry.” Satoru grins, as he finally parts. Your slick glossing so prettily all over the bottom half of his face - and his partner wasn’t any better. Rising from in-between your thighs looking very decidedly not sorry for eating you out till you cry. 

You watch, speechless, as Toji swipes a thumb over his lips, watching in wonder the way it becomes sticky with your juices. “Could get used to this all over m’face, right?”

“Mhm.” the other man hums, absentmindedly fumbling with his shirt. Revealing smooth, milky skin - he was so deliciously sculpted, all toned muscled and a slutty waist that made your mouth water. Shit, he was a masterpiece. 

But Satoru - that impatient bastard - doesn’t even give you the time to admire the entirety of him before he’s unbuckling his belt. “Though I think she’d look better with something else.”

You gasp as he pulls down his pants, tugging just enough that his swollen cock springs out. Absolutely massive and such an angry red, weeping tip dripping all the way down his length. He was so long - the type of long that had you knowing that won’t be walking properly tomorrow. 

“How crude.” Toji titters, but shit how he loved the way you seemed so cockdrunk from the mere sight of Satoru’s dick. It almost made some tiny part of him jealous. 

“Whatever, dibs on her cunt,” Satoru grunts, one hand moving to toy so messily with your dripping entrance. Pointedly ignoring the heated glare thrown his way by Toji, and the way he begins rolling your clit between two fingers. Almost like a little standoff - with you stuck in the middle. 

Toji breaks first, “M’your superior, I should be the one to fuck her pretty pussy.”

“Aw come on.” the other man whines, and it would almost be comical if it wasn’t for the way his long fingers were massaging your hot core. “Think of it as a ah- learning experience. After all, who knows whether you’d hurt yourself trynna fuck her the way I can.”

“You mouthy little-”

“Now, pretty girl, let’s see if y’can walk the talk.”

And oh you should’ve known better than to think you’d be stuffed inside the backseat of a car with two police officers without them throwing you around like a rag doll. 

Immediately, Toji’s manhandling you, fingers digging into your waist as he pushes you on all fours. Lining his aching bulge right in front of your soppy mouth, saliva seeping into his pants. 

Well, there was no use wearing soiled clothing, right? You watch, cunt clenching in anticipation as he shoves down his pants in record speed. 

Oh, the universe was playing a joke on you - because Toji was just as big. If a bit thicker where Satoru was longer. Prominent veins glistening in the dim light, precum dripping all the way down to the maintained tufts of black at his base.

Shit, your eyes flit between the intimidatingly big cocks. One in front of you, grazing his fat tip across your lips, and the other positioned right over your sloppy entrance. You weren’t going to make it out alive. 

“Having second thoughts?” Toji scoffs, edging his hips closer. Greedily taking in how fucking pretty you looked with his precum glossing your mouth, messy and dripping down to your chin. “Wan’ tap out?”

You barely even have to your head “no” - because Satoru’s answering for you. Spreading your pussy lips with his thumb, taking one, long look before chuckling, “Course not. Y’should see the way her needy cunt is sucking my thumb up.”

“Well then. Guess we’ll get to the real fun.”

With that, Toji’s stuffing himself into your mouth. A low hiss leaving the back of his throat as you take him so well, lips bulging around his thick cock. Tonguing at the sensitive slit in a way that makes him lose his mind. 

Not even giving your a proper warning as he pushes in inch by fucking inch, watching you choke and gag around him. Not stopping till he’s got your nose pressed all the way against his toned pelvis. “Shit, relax yer throat. Fuck, ah- just like that, doll.”

And if you thought he was mean then you weren’t prepared for Satoru at all - not with the way he was immediately squeezing his thick head into your snug cunt. Head thrown back as your heavenly walls can’t decide between pushing him out or milking the fucking soul out of him. 

“S’tight, fuckin’ love this pussy.” Satoru gasps, jaw clenched, trying not to just fuck recklessly into your cunt until you’re drunk on his cock. But God is it difficult to keep his sanity when all he gets in response from you is a choked, wet gurgles. Body bowing into both of theirs as you desperately try to relax both your throat and your cunt. 

“Gonna stand around waitin’ or am I gonna have to ruin her pretty pussy for you?” Toji taunts, voice strained as he begins thrusting in quick, harsh strokes into your hot mouth. “Talked big, huh, kid?”

“Fuck off.”

And Satoru’s never one to lag behind. After all, he did graduate at the top of his batch at the academy - he can’t lose face in front of you or his annoying superior either. 

So he tightens his grip on your hips, hard enough that he’s pretty sure it bruises. Pushing down on your spine to arch your back deeper onto his cock.  “I dunno.” he drawls, “What do you think, sweetheart? Want me to fuck into this tight lil’ pussy? Ruin you on my cock?” 

Of course, the only response he gets is a low, wet moan. Luckily, both men understand it as a loud, resounding “yes”. 

“Awww, look at her- hah- Cock-drunk little slut can’t even speak.” It’s the last thing that spills out of Satoru’s mouth before he’s pushing past that tight ring of resistance. No care or concern for your poor pussy because shit his thoughts were too mangled with how heavenly you felt around him. 

“You got this, pretty.” he whispers, fucking into you in small, shallow little thrusts just to fit himself inside you. “Take me all like the good girl you are.”

And oh were you such a good girl for him - Satoru thinks he could almost cum on the spot as he finally bottoms out. Sucking up his cock so fucking sinfully as his heavy balls smacking your ass, already so wet with your slick and his precum. 

“There ya are.” Toji hums, the image of you choking on his cock while you struggle to take Satoru’s making his head absolutely spin. He can’t stop himself from leaning down and kissing hotly down your spine, making you buck and gag deeper around his dick. In the haze of it all, he catches Satoru’s amused gaze. Spitting out, “What?”

“Softie.”

“Oh, shut up. You can’t even handle her pussy.”

And Satoru took that personally, because he’s reeling his hips back, back, back - all the way till his angry, weeping tip just kissed you sloppy holes. “M’gonna show you, softie.” Body moving before his mind, he starts fucking into your pretty cunt recklessly. Hands groping all over your body possessively, hips moving in rough, harsh thrusts fueled by pure need and the urge to ruin you. Over and over-

Toji only smiles at the little show, your garbled whines every time Satoru hits your poor cervix going straight to his cock - quite literally. And if he angled his head just right, he could see the way your cute cunt was stretching obscenely. Barely-lucidly, he wonders whether your throat would bulge around his just as much. 

He taps your cheek, signaling you to blink those pretty eyes so tearily up at him. Balls squeezing painfully, he really can’t help but pump his cock into you faster, matching Satoru’s merciless cadence - ruining you from both sloppy holes. “Sorry, doll. Gotta big ego, so we can’t be outdone, now, can we?”

And then it’s like something snaps because suddenly every movement becomes sloppier, more erratic. Toji’s got a hand around your throat, feeling each thrust as he ruins your gorgeous face. Abs flexing each time he drags your lips on his cock up and down up and down up and- like some toy.

Satoru wasn’t any nicer either - becoming so fucking messy as he fucks you from behind like he was claiming his win. Faster, sloppier. 

Biting his lip at the way your ass jiggles each time his hips snap into yours. Pulling you back by the hair to bounce you like some little slut from both ends. And, maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have said something about the way they were using you like their favorite fucktoy - but right now you were so close. Dangerously close. It was too much. 

And they probably feel it because suddenly Toji’s leaning down, murmuring hotly against your ear, “S- fuck. Ngh- Close?”

“Fuck, I can feel it too.” Satoru voices from behind, so hoarse with desire, “Suckin’ me up so hah- t-tight it’s almost hard to fuck her.” It’s his cue to reach down deftly and start toying with your ravaged clit, still so sensitive and sore from before. Drawing erratic little circles on it, pinching with his fingers. 

You’re letting out throaty, muffled moans of their names, making Toji’s hips stutter. Holding you still as his aching balls smack your ass. “Hngh- shit. Keep doin’ that, brat, this one here loves it.” 

“What did I tell ya? S’like this pussy’s made f’me.”

And if they couldn’t feel it then they certainly could see it. They could see the way you were getting messier, pussy dripping all over the carseat now. Mascara running down your face, saliva and precum trailing down your chin. Honestly, it was fucking hard to look at you without cumming right there, too. Because you looked completely and utterly fucked out. So close that it was almost painful. 

Maybe that’s why both men speed up their pace impossibly, no reason or rhyme. You feel a wolfish bite on your exposed neck - Satoru - fingers frenzied on your clit, thrusts stemming from such a carnal, depraved part of him. Falling out of sync with Toji as they get so sloppy with the goal to get you off - and get you off so hard that you can’t think about anything but them, them, them-

“Cum, doll.”

This orgasm is more obscene than the last. Far more. Because you honestly don’t even realize you’re cumming, not until you’re seeing stars behind your eyes and feeling Satoru and Toji slamming harshly into you. Once. Twice. Before spilling into you in unison. 

And it’s so much that you don’t even know if you can take it. 

Toji’s salty on your tongue, pumping thick, hot ropes of tongue into your mouth. Pulling out purposefully like the smug bastard he is to see his seed all messy and dribbling down your face. While Satoru’s much the opposite, keeping his twitching cock stuffed into your tight pussy while he paints your walls white. Not letting you waste a single drop.

But oh he didn’t mind when you finally pull yourself off of Toji’s dick. Cum smearing so sloppily all over your face, and shit he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked prettier. 

And Satoru really doesn’t mind when you look back and pull him into a kiss - Toji, too. If you can even call it that, a messy clash of teeth and tongue and cum. So much of it. Swirling and sucking on your tongue, bumping into each other. Just pure fucking filth. 

It gets Satoru’s dick so hard and throbbing all over again at how obscene it all was. Some weird little part of him is almost disappointed as Toji breaks the kiss - but not for long. Because his superior shifts, splaying himself out beneath you, while he pulls your limp body on top. 

Ah. Great minds really do think alike, he thinks as Toji drags his tip lazily all over your cunt. Pooling your juices on his fat head, grazing your poor, abused clit to where your sloppy pussy was quivering and still stuffed full of Satoru’s cock. Well, not like you didn’t have room for one more. Right?

It’s all you can do to babble deliriously, “W-wha-”

“Shhh, doll. We’ll take care of it.”

“After all, sweetheart, you did say you’d be our good girl…”

A/N. This got taken down the first time I posted it LMAO. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[sabersandsnipers]

Drabbles: Just One Bed

Featuring: Astarion, Gale, Halsin, Lord Gortash

Inspiration courtesy of @creativepromptsforwriting

Astarion

There’s only one pillow. So you and Astarion have to share. Neither of you want the annoyance of waking up with neck pain. And after arguing for a bit, you realize neither of you is winning.

Despite trying his best to keep distance between you, it’s incredibly difficult while trying to share a pillow. His body cradles yours. His lips nearly touch the back of your neck. For a while he manages to keep his hands to himself, but as his eyes grow heavy, his arm snakes its way around your waist.

Your body feels like its on fire despite his cold skin. You’re worried the rapid beat of your heart will keep him awake.

Somehow sleep eventually finds you. In the middle of the night, you roll over to find a more comfortable position. When you wake up, you find your face buried in Astarion’s chest.

He himself hasn’t slept since you rolled into him. He’s kept his arm slung over you, though, and has listened to your steady breathing all night.

When you attempt to move away from him, his grip around you automatically tightens. You freeze, waiting for him to realize you’re awake, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Your body is warm and soft, and he never wants to leave this bed.

Gale

The bed is roomy, which you’re grateful for. There should be plenty of space for you two. There’s no blanket though, so Gale roots through the closet for one.

Gale clears his throat, and you turn your attention to him holding up a rather small blanket. One that definitely would not cover the whole bed.

“You have it,” he hands it to you. “I’ll be fine.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Most definitely,” he replies, already making his way to the bed.

You climb in next to him, pulling the blanket up to your chin. It’s barely big enough to cover your own person. You look to Gale, who’s turned away from you. He looks so exposed, and frankly, uncomfortable.

“Gale?” you say.

“Hm?” he turns to look at you.

“Do you want to share?” you ask. You hold up the blanket so he can slide in.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He scooches over to you, and you let the blanket drop around you two. You let out a sigh of contentment as the warmth of Gale’s body presses against you. You usually run cold, so you’re grateful he accepted your offer.

He wraps his arms around you, because there’s no other way for you two to get comfortable. In the night, he even drapes a leg over you. You don’t mind, you even find yourself nuzzling into him, seeking every bit of warmth you can.

Halsin

A rainstorm tears your tent in the night. The cold splatter of rain on your face wakes you. Your bedroll is soaked, along with most of your belongings. You groan, getting out of bed so you can seek shelter with a companion. 

Out of all the tents before you, Halsin’s calls to you. You know it’ll be the warmest. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you make your way to his tent. 

You poke your head in. “Halsin?”

He wakes, an alarmed look on his face. “What is it?”

“My tent ripped. Can I stay with you?” A shiver slinks through your body. 

He nods. “Of course.”

He opens his bed roll a bit, and you see he’s naked. Your jaw drops. You hesitate, part of you feeling like you’re crossing a line. 

But then another shiver hits you, and you practically run into his arms. You sigh as you slide into the warmth of his bedroll. 

Halsin groans. “You’re freezing.” 

  “I know.” You don’t hesitate to press up against him, soaking in all his warmth. 

  “You’ll warm up soon,” he says, rubbing your back. Then his voice hits your ear. “You’d warm sooner if you removed your clothes as well.” 

Your stomach drops. You know if you do this, your companionship is going to get a bit complicated. But the thought of his hot skin against yours is too tempting.

He helps you out of your clothes, your heart fluttering the whole time. When you’re fully naked, he pulls you into his chest. Your heart pounds, but you relax against the heat of him. 

He fully cocoons you, wrapping a thick leg around you to pull you even closer. You feel your body start to warm, and the shivers start to cease. You try to ignore how perfectly lined up you are to him. You know sleep will be impossible like this, but it’s worth it to spend the night in his warm embrace.

Gortash

You may have had one drink too many. The wine Enver provided for you was far too good to go to waste. And waste you did not.  The last thing you remember is the soft cushioning of a bed before darkness took you. 

The harsh morning light wakes you. The first sensation that hits you is that of a pounding headache. The next is that of a pair of strong arms encircling you. 

Confusion hits you. You don’t remember going to bed with anyone. You feel your underwear is on, so nothing happened with whoever is in the bed with you. 

You slowly turn your body to see who this mystery person is. You’re met with the strong face of Lord Gortash. Butterflies fill your belly. He simply invited you over for dinner, and here he is letting you sleep in his bed. 

He’s sound asleep, his soft breathing evidence of the relaxed state he’s in. He’s sleeping shirtless, and you tentatively place your palms against his strong chest. You feel the strong muscles rippling under his skin. 

He stirs slightly and you quickly hide your face against his chest. He shifts, his chest hairs tickling your skin. His powerful arms hold you so gently.

With your headache forgotten, and Enver’s body sending waves of warmth through you, sleep finds you again.

[nanaslutt]

Good boy

synopsis: Choso ditched you for his brother. His punishment? Getting tied up and watching you get off.

pairing: Choso x reader

cont: fem reader, established relationship, kinda sub!Choso, restraints, masturbation, cumming untouched, bed humping, oral(r!r), dirty talk, cum eating, praise

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Choso's strong arms pull against the rope that binds them, secured in a way that can even hold him down. He's sat on his knees with a pout on his face while a puddle of pre-cum grows on the floor underneath his twitching cock, a line of the slick connected to the tip of his dick. 

Choso has to remember to swallow every so often as he watches you piston your fingers in and out of your cunt, his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. His face is all screwed in lust and need, his eyes glossed over and lips swollen and wet from how frequently he licks his tongue over them. 

The squelches emanating from your pussy only makes his cock throb even harder. "F-fuuuuck Choso-" You whine, spreading your legs further apart for him, letting him get a better view of the mess you were making between your legs. Your fingers were coated with your wetness and were only getting wetter and wetter with each thrust.

Choso's cock bobbed at the sound of his name leaving your lips. "It hurts, I- I wanna fuck you now," Choso begged, stuttering out his words. He felt like crying, his poor balls felt so heavy and he needed to feel something wrapping around his cock before he lost his mind. 

You shook your head, adding your other hand between your legs to start rubbing at your clit. Choso whined, watching astutely as your cunt squeezed around your fingers at the added stimulation. "D-did that feel good?" Choso asked, his eyebrows furrowing together tighter. "You got tighter when you touched yourself there." He explained.

You gasped, rubbing your clit faster while looking up at him, your eyes darting between his cock and his eyes which were focused on your hole. "Yeah, Cho, f-feels so good." You replied, your pace faltering for a moment as you rubbed your clit perfectly, making your mind go blank. 

Choso's breath picked up, he was panting loudly now, squirming on the floor. "I wanna lick it. I- I wanna lick your pussy." Choso cried, licking his lips. "Please, please give me something It hurts, my cock hurts." You almost started to feel bad, but each time your eyes found his desperate face, it was hard to. 

He looked so vulnerable, so needy, it was a good look on him. "No Choso, t-this is your punishment for ditching me for your brother." You said, staying adamant in your stance on not letting him fuck you. "I- I know I know I'm sorry, I don't have to put it inside just- please, please give me something." Choso cried, his shoulders flexing as he tried to wiggle out of his restraints.

Looking at him for a few seconds, you decided a little something couldn't hurt. Pulling your fingers out of your cunt, you sat up and crawled toward Choso who sat by the wall. He watched with hungry eyes as you slowly made your way closer to him, leaving your previous spot against the back of the bed.

"You wanna taste me?" You asked, tilting your head at him. You braced yourself on your knees and leaned forward, placing one of your hands on his upper thigh to steady yourself, dangerously close to his cock. Choso nodded hastily before you even finished speaking. "I'm not going to touch you, this is all you get." You told him, making him look into your eyes so you know he understood.

"Okay, thank you, thank you," Choso asked, his eyes dropping to your hand that had just been inside of you. "Open." You instructed, watching him with bated breath as his jaw fell open and his tongue fell out, his eyebrows furrowing together in need. "Good boy." And with that, you pressed your fingers against his tongue, letting him wrap his lips around them as he sucked off your juices, his tongue swirling around them.

A smile graced your features when his eyes rolled back in his head and a loud muffled moan vibrated your fingers. Your mouth fell open in a small o, the feeling of his tongue licking your fingers making you feel a new sense of need between your thighs. 

Suddenly, Choso bit down on your fingers, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to catch you off guard, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You watched Choso's body jerk repeatedly, his eyes fluttering in their sockets before you felt something warm and hot land on your thigh.

"Oh fuck..." You whispered to yourself as Choso whined around your fingers, his tongue still working adamantly around them, trying to prolong your taste as much as he could. Choso's cock bobbed heavily in the air, his balls throbbing as he released his seed all over you and the floor between you. 

Your fingers slipped out of his mouth when his chest fell forward, his head landing against your shoulder. "Oh my god Choso, fuck." You whined, your body feeling like it had been set on fire. Choso was cumming. Choso was cumming hands-free, just from tasting you.

You reached out to grab his hot cock at the end of his orgasm, slowly jerking him off, trying to milk every last drop out of him. "Oh- y-your hand-" Choso groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, wishing he could cling onto you with his arms right now. "F-feels good, feels so good keep touching me, please." He begged. 

You knew you weren't supposed to touch him, at least according to your own rules right now, but when he begged so sweetly it was hard to ignore him. Choso breathed heavily against the side of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. "You like my taste that much, baby?" You asked, running your freehand through his hair, still every so slowly jerking him off. 

He nodded right away, a soft "uh-huh" leaving his lips. "You're so cute Choso, so cute." You praised, dropping your eyes to his cock, noticing how his abs still clenched and twitched every so often. He made such a mess, his cum had drenched your thighs and the floor under him.

"You made such a mess though, Cho." You said, gripping his hair tightly between your fingers, pulling him out of the crook of your neck softly. "Look at all this, it's everywhere." You said, trying to ignore the throbbing between your legs at the sight as you pretended to act annoyed.

"I- I'll clean it." Choso immediately offered, looking up at you like a puppy as he nodded at his own words. You let go of his cock and wiped your hand clean on your thigh before grabbing his soft face in both of your hands, which he leaned into, his eyes closing as he nuzzled against your palms. 

"How are you gonna clean it with your hands tied behind your back?" You asked, waiting for him to suggest a certain idea before you did. Choso was one step ahead of you as he answered, "My mouth, I'll use my mouth." He said confidently, his face staying serious even when you smiled, your eyes raising in surprise. 

"Yeah? You gonna lick up your own cum off my thighs?" You asked, a hint of teasing in your tone. Choso nodded right away, already trying to lean down to start when you slid one of your hands behind his head and gripped his scalp, tugging his hair sharply, making him groan as he was stopped in his tracks.

"I'm not gonna make you do it on this hard floor, come lay on the bed with me." You said, your thumb rubbing against his cheek. Choso followed you like a duckling as you grabbed his forearm and pulled him backward with you towards the bed. You helped Choso situate himself between your thighs, his arms stim bound behind his back.

Choso sighed in relief, in this position his cock was pressed firmly against the sheets, making his still prominent arousal get a little relief. Choso nuzzled his head against your thigh as you placed your legs around his shoulders, your hands gathering the stray hairs around his face, making sure his hair didn't get any cum on it.

"Good boy Choso." You praised, looking at him fondly as he licked his first fat stripe against your thigh, taking his tongue back into his mouth and swallowing quickly before he scrunched his nose and opened his mouth for more. His reaction made you giggle. "You don't like the way you taste?" You asked, feeling yourself throb the closer and closer Choso got to licking up the cum that was right next to your throbbing pussy on your inner thigh.

Choso shook his head before swallowing, his hot tongue making your thighs clench as it caressed your skin repeatedly. "I was just thinking I feel bad for you." You laughed at how cute he was beginning before you shook your head and ran your fingers through his hair to recollect it before you held it back again, out of his face.

"I like the way you taste Choso." You said, making his eyes shoot up at you, locking onto yours as he leaned forward and licked another stripe against your leg, the eye contact making you swallow hard. Choso blushed at your shameless words before he shut his eyes and continued cleaning you off.

Your breathing started to pick up when his licks became kisses and bites, and he became less and less focused on cleaning off his cum, the trail of his mouth getting dangerously close to your cunt. You were throbbing at this point, you almost wanted to beg him to touch you. "Choso." You said softly, about to warn him not to touch you per his punishment, but you were unable to do so, instead tightening your hand on his hair, hoping that would get something across to him because there is no way you had the will to tell him not to touch you right now.

Choso looked up at you with lidded eyes, all glossed over and fucked out as he shimmied closer to your cunt, licking the skin just under your pussy lips. The look on your face now was pure lust and unbridled need as you swallowed hard, watching Choso try and be sneaky. Keeping his eyes on you, he stuck his tongue out before he leaned forward and opened his mouth, his tongue falling out, making your breath pause before he closed his eyes and made contact with your cunt.

"Oh fuck Choso-" You whined breathlessly, your head immediately falling back against the sheets at the contact, your grip in his hair loosening as you held him against you using the nape of his neck.

Choso moaned softly, shaking his head back and forth against your pussy as he lapped at your folds, his tongue breaching the entrance of your pussy as he swallowed up your wetness, replacing the bitter taste of his cum with the sweet taste of yours. Because Choso's arms were bound behind his back, the only thing holding him up was your legs that caged him in, so his face was getting buried in your pussy, bringing you the most delicious pressure.

"M-mmmm-" Choso moaned into your cunt, his fat tongue stretching open your walls. "B-bad boy Choso, you're such a bad boy." You scolded, with no real malice behind your words. You were too horny, and his tongue felt too good to care about him breaking your rules. Choso hummed in response before his plush lips found your clit, wrapping around them.

"Oh god- right there Choso- Fuckkkk right there-" You moaned, gripping his hair and the nape of his neck ruthlessly, trying to ground yourself. Choso moaned against your clit, the sound vibrating your pussy, making your body jolt and jerk with the stimulation. 

You suddenly noticed how much the bed was shaking, which snapped you out of your own head a bit as you thought you were the one causing the commotion unconsciously. Peeking your head back up, you saw Choso's hips rutting quickly against the sheets, his eyes firmly shut as he ate you out, his tongue batting against your clit expertly.

You watched the way his hands clenched and unclenched in the restraints, the muscles of his back flexing every so often as he tried to fight them to no avail. "Does your cock feel needy again?" you asked, looking down at how sloppily he was working his tongue and lips against you. He nodded, his glossy eyes peeling open to find yours, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Are you gonna cum like that?" You questioned again, noticing how harshly he was fucking the bed, the frame squeaking underneath him. You blushed hard, from an outsider's perspective it sounded exactly like he was fucking you.

The man between your legs moaned as he nodded, his eyes staying locked on yours save for the occasional fluttering as he ate you out. His answer made your pussy clench around nothing. Choso was so shameless and desperate, you felt like you were gonna cum just from watching him hump the bed like some dog in heat.

"M-make me cum with you." You begged, feeling yourself on the verge of your orgasm. "I'm about t-to cum." Choso felt his balls tighten at your confession. The taste of you flooded his tongue, your smell invading all his senses as he flicked his tongue against your clit with twice the intensity, trying to make you cum before he did.

Suctioning his lips around you harder, your back arched against his face, which Choso followed with his head, not wanting to give you a second without pleasure. "Right there, right there, d-don't stop Choso, don't f-fucking stop-" You whined, your hips now humping against his mouth on their own volition, forcing him to nod his head with you to keep up, increasing the stimulation.

Choso was getting restless, he needed to touch you, needed to feel your body against his hands. He hated these damn restraints. Just before you felt yourself reach the edge, you heard an unintelligible 'snap' before you felt Choso's hands on you. Which is weird because you could've sworn you tied him up- but you couldn't think much about it as his tongue rubbing against you pushed you over the edge.

Choso gripped the fat of your thighs, keeping you flush against him as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue. Choso followed only moments after, his cock humping weakly against the sheets as he came for the second time, his cock rubbed raw from the comforter, but that didn't stop him from fucking it roughly, pretending he was releasing his seed inside of you as he came.

Moans of his name falling from between your lips as your thighs snapped around his head only made his orgasm feel that much more intense. You had to practically push him off of you when the shocks of your high died down, his tongue starting to push you into oversensitivity. Peeling your eyes open slowly, you looked down at Choso, who was gripping your thighs, then over to the very expensive red shibari rope, which had been snapped in two.

You opened your mouth to speak but the next thing you knew, Choso's lips were on yours, his softening cum covered cock pressing against your inner thigh as he crushed you with his body, his arms coming between your and the mattress to wrap around your body, keeping you flush against him. All you could do was moan in surprise and gasp into his mouth as he forced his tongue between your lips, your taste flooding your mouth.

After the rushed, needy kiss, Choso pulled away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you by your lips. His face was flushed and sweaty, and he was panting heavily, almost louder than you were. "I don't like that rope." Were the first words out of his mouth, making you giggle. You grabbed his face and pulled it against you, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"That rope was really expensive." You said, looking at him with raised eyebrows. Choso stared at you blankly before he squeezed his arms around you again and buried his face in the crook of your neck, his sweaty body overwhelming yours with heat. "Good. Don't buy another one I don't like it." He said pouting, his body relaxing into yours. 

"I won't as long as you don't ditch me for Yuuji anymore." You said, poking the tip of his nose. Choso crinkled it before he nodded and buried his head deeper. "Okay. Sorry." He replied, his breath tickling your collarbones as his breathing returned to normal. "Good boy, Choso. You're a good boy.

[purplesuitcowboy]

tw: rape and incest

During college, Abigail had gotten into pilates. All of the girls on her hall did it together every Saturday. They all get dressed in their work out gear, line up their brightly colored yoga mats on the campus green and run through the sequences of movements together as a group. If she needed help, she could always count on one of the other girls to help her stretch or show her the proper form for a movement. It was a nice atmosphere and Abigail found herself looking forward to it every week.

Coming home for summer break, Abigail promised herself that she would keep up her pilates practice at home so she wouldn't be out of practice when the school year started back up in the fall. By herself, she sat up her yoga mat in the back yard and began to run through the movements. Downward facing dog.. breathe..stretch and then gently shift into plank...breathe..stretch. She was so busy running through the movements that she didn't notice her dad who was watching her from the back porch. She was laying down with her back on the mat and her legs open, spread out like she was doing the splits.

"What are you doing over there, babydoll?" He asked her, leering at her young nubile body from his perch on the porch. Those leggings on her where absolutely sinfully, clinging to her round ass and full hips. From his vantage point, he could just see the outline of her puffy pussy lips through the thin material of her leggings. It didn't seem like she was wearing any panties under her leggings. Truly, it was blessing that his wife and son where out leaving him alone with his daughter.

"Just pilates, daddy. Actually, can you come down here and help me stretch?"

"Sure," he told her, walking over to join her. "Just tell me what you want me to do." He'd thought about adjusting his hard on so that she wouldn't see it but decided against it. She was a big girl. She could handle knowing what her body did to her daddy. It might even help her, maybe, convince her to be more thoughtful about what she wore around me.

"Press my legs down."

He settled between her open legs, and placed his hands on her thighs pushing down on them like he was trying to drive them into the ground.

"That feels great. Thank you," she took a deep breath, and tried to relax into the stretch.

"You're real flexible now aren't you, baby?" He told her appreciatively. He was loosing focus on the goal of the activity, running his hands down her legs. He hadn't been this hard in years. She just giggled and waved him off while she adjusted her legs, bringing them together and then pulling them towards her like she was trying to kiss her knees. When she was settled, he resumed trying to help her stretch. With his hands place on the backs of her calves, he pushed her legs towards her. In their new position, Abigail could easily feel her dads hard cock pushing against her cunt. Experimentally, he rolled his hips against her, rocking his cock against her. The head of his cock brushed against her clit, forcing a reluctant gasp out of Abigail's lips.

"Daddy, this is wrong." She told him, trying to push him off of her. He grabbed her wrists, and pinned them above her head with one of his hands so she couldn't stop him. Her legs fell on either side of him as he positioned himself between her legs. She bucked again trying to get him off of her but he was too heavy. He adjusted his hold on her, one hand holding her wrists, and on tightly gripping her hip as he continued to rut into her. Her pussy gushed liquid, soaking into and darkening the crotch of her leggings.

"We're outside what if the neighbors see," she tried again, changing tactics.

"I don't care who sees now either we can do this the easy way or the hard way, either way I'm getting me some of this," he punctuated his statement by groping one of her ass cheeks. "Now take of these leggings or I'll take them off you myself."

Abigail worriedly chewed on her lip as she looked around at the surrounding houses. All someone would have to do was look out of their window to see the two of them. She was filled with fear but also the thrill of doing something risky, the anticipation that anything could happen. Hesitantly, she rolled the bottom of the leggings off of her ass, and down her legs. Carelessly, her father pulled them off of her legs and deposited them on the ground beside her. Releasing her wrists, he pushed her legs open, revealing her little pink pussy.

"That's a good girl. God, you've got a pretty pussy," he told her.

"Don't say that, you're making me feel weird," Abigail replied, covering her eyes with her hands so she wouldn't have to see. Despite her horror, she found herself peaking at him from between her fingers.

He dipped his head between her legs, caressing her folds with his tongue. He alternated between licking up and down her slit, and gently sucking on her clit. All the while, Abigail moaned and whimpered behind her fingers. "Delicious." As he licked and sucked, he worked a thick finger into a tight cunt, pumping it in and out, and then he added another. Abigail's moans increased in volume as he fucked her with his fingers. Her mind was reeling, she'd masturbated before but it never felt this good.

Eventually, the pleasure won out and she gave up on hiding behind her fingers, resting her hands on her fathers head as she grinded her cunt onto his fingers and tongue. It just felt so good. She wanted more, she wanted him deeper. It just wasn't enough.

"Fuck, baby. You got me all worked up," her father told her as he pushed himself off of her, his hands rushing to his belt so he could pull out his fat cock. She gasped at the sight of it, trying to wriggle away from him. He clambered over her and positioned the head of his dick against her tight hole.

"Wait, daddy. Don't," she begged, breathlessly. His mouth and fingers had felt amazing but surely, this was a step too far.

"No, can do buttercup," he told her. "I want this cunt now and you are not gonna stop me. God couldn't stop me from fucking this sweet pussy." In one fluid motion, he thrust his full length into her tight cunt. Abigail squealed and her eyes teared up as she was suddenly stretched and filled completely by her fathers big dick. Showing great foresight, he covered her mouth with his hand, dampening the sound of her cries.

"Shh, baby, you don't want the neighbors to see, right?" he told her, as he began to rock his cock in and out of her tight channel. As he found his rhythm, Abigail's squeals of pain became moans of pleasure. Satisfied that she wouldn't scream, he removed his hand from her mouth and pushed up her sports bra, freeing her tits from the confines of her tight top. They bounced in time with her father's thrusts.

"You feel so good, baby. Your little pussy feels so good on your daddy's fat cock."

Abigail slid her hand between her legs and rubbed her clit as her father fucked her. With the additional sensation, she quickly brought herself to orgasm, writhing on her father's cock as she came. Her cunt squeezed him like a vice, pushing her father to his own orgasm. He shot his thick load into her cunt, filling her up with his cream. He pulled out of her with a grunt, and rolled over, laying next to her with his back on the grass. He checked his watch. They wouldn't be back home for another couple of hours, that was totally enough time for another round or two.

[cordeliawhohung]

consider this short drabble a thank you gift for 1.5k followers!

mafia!141 masterlist

mafia!Simon x shy!fem!Reader: smut, oral (m receiving), brief p in v

"Can I suck your dick?"

Simon had just lined himself up at your entrance when those words left your mouth and he became as still as a statue when they registered in his mind. Positioned underneath him on the bed, you looked up at him with slightly wide eyes as if your request shocked even yourself. It was something you had thought about for quite some time; how Simon always seemed to give and yet rarely ask for anything in return, and you wanted to change that.

You just didn't think you'd blurt your thoughts out so suddenly like that.

Surprised, Simon leaned back to look at you while his hand still gripped his hardened cock. Shifting under his gaze, you propped yourself up on your elbows as you waited for his answer. You wished you hadn't said it so suddenly like you did, but the thought most likely would have never passed your lips if you had attempted to do it any other way.

"That what you want?" he asked.

Though he questioned you to ensure that was something you wanted of your own accord, you could see the dark glint of want in his eyes. Saw the way his tongue lightly wet his lips and how his hand squeezed the tip of his cock like he already imagined your mouth around him. Eagerly, you nodded as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, mind already racing about how you were supposed to do it properly.

"Yes... please."

After placing a short and heavy kiss on your lips, Simon slipped to the side, reversing your positions. He propped himself up on the plush pillows near the headboard while you sat between his legs where his thick and powerful thighs kept your corralled like an animal. With one hand still holding himself, Simon reached for your face with the other as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"Take your time, yeah?" he prompted. His dark eyes looked at you adoringly while his hips impatiently bucked under his own stimulation. "You can stop whenever you want."

Once again you nodded as you breathed out a simple confirmation before your hand replaced his. While you settled between his legs, you slowly stroked at him as you thumbed over the smooth jewelry of his piercings. Eventually your lips brushed against the warm tip of his cock, wetting your mouth with his precum.

As your mouth gently dropped open, you tried not to think too hard about everything. Simon always told you that type of stuff was supposed to come easy and natural, to not force it and just let your desires take control. So you did just that as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, mouth opening impossibly wide in order to accommodate the sheer girth of him.

He tasted salty, almost refreshingly so, and you couldn't help but swirl your tongue around his glands in an attempt to soak up more of that flavor. Simon's thighs tensed on either side of you, and his breathy sigh didn't go unnoticed by you. You wanted more, to draw out more of those pitchy moans, to make him feel just as good as he always made you, so you pressed forward to take more of him into your mouth. He brushed against your soft palate similar to how he always pressed against your cervix, and the unfamiliar feeling made you gag.

"Easy sweetheart," he warned as he gently pushed you back. "Go slower... yes, fuck just like that..."

Eventually you found your rhythm. Whatever you couldn't take in your mouth you used your hands to make up for as you bobbed your head along his length. Simon's breathing became strained like he had to hold himself back from fucking up into your mouth like a madman, but you noticed that every time your swirled your tongue around the piercings on his glands, it forced his hips to buck ever so slightly.

A tingling sensation settled over your lips the longer you worked at him and your jaw began to ache from the awkward position but you pushed forward. You felt his hand rest gently on the back of your head, carefully guiding you along him as he aided you in setting a pace that felt good but wasn't too much for you. His quieted moans eventually transformed into unrestrained grunts as you brought him closer to the edge. The warmth of your mouth and soft lips around him was enough to drive him to insanity, and just as his stomach tensed, just as he was about to spill into your mouth, he gently pulled you off of him.

Panting, you sat back on your haunches as you gave Simon a glazed yet confused look. A long stream of spit dribbled down your chin and you quickly wiped it away on the back of your hand as you tried to catch your breath in order to ask him what was wrong. His cock glistened with your saliva and it seemed to twitch in frustration at the sudden absence of pleasure.

"C'mere," he said, his voice dark and husky. His hands were already on your waist where he excitedly pulled you closer to him, forcing you to straddle his hips.

"But I wasn't done," you attempted to retort.

Simon chuckled at you as he once more lined his cock up against your heat, drawing a sharp gasp out of you. In an attempt to keep yourself steady, your hands came up to rest on his shoulders as he ever so slowly lowered you onto him, sliding into you with ease due to how well you slicked him up.

"You can suck me off properly another time, sweetheart," he said with a tight jaw. He hissed as your cunt began to swallow him, tight muscles pulling him into you like he never belonged anywhere else. "Did you really think you could make me feel that good and get nothin' in return?"

Your head fell forward and into his shoulder with a soft gasp as he bottomed out, filling you with ease and to the brim. As he began to gently move you up and down, his hips bucked up to meet you halfway where he kissed your cervix with each thrust.

"Fuck... no, no. I reward my girl for bein' good, yeah?"

[fatecantstopme]

Spell Bound

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen...I couldn't help myself.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names. An excessive amount of heavy SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), rough sex, oral (F receiving), multiple cream pies

"I freaking hate witches," Dean mumbled as he picked the lock on the apartment door.

You chuckled softly, very used to hearing him grumble every time you were hunting a witch.

He slowly walked into the apartment and you followed in after him.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" you asked quietly.

"Big scary magic book. Sam said it's probably on or near some kind of altar."

"Big scary magic book," you muttered under your breath. "Makes perfect sense."

You sighed as you walked into the living room and noticed several bookcases lined with large books. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Dean shot you a weary smile. "Guess it might take a little longer than I thought."

"You think?"

You took one side of the room and Dean took the other. Sam had described the look of the book to the both of you, but there was really no way to be 100% certain if you found it.

About 15 minutes into your perusal, you spotted a large leather-bound book tucked under what appeared to be an altar cloth. You slowly removed the cloth, wary of what you might uncover. The book was almost exactly as Sam had described, so you had a feeling it was the right one.

"I think I found it," you said aloud.

At almost the same exact moment, a crash sounded from behind you and Dean let out a string of curses.

You spun around to see the hunter brushing off some sort of florescent pink dust from his face. "What the hell did you do?"

"I was moving some of the books and this box fell out and some powder just kinda...sprayed my face."

"Seriously?"

He looked sheepish. "I didn't even see it."

You sighed. "Great. God only knows what the hell that was."

He looked at the box carefully, but there was nothing written on it to identify the powdery substance he had inhaled. He gave you another sheepish look and shrugged. "Maybe it's not harmful."

You shot him a stony look. "Dean...it's a witch. It's not gonna be fairy dust."

He sighed, knowing you were right. He started shifting his shoulders a bit as if he was uncomfortable.

"Let's get out of here. I'll call Sam on the way back to the motel and see if he has any idea what it could be."

Dean nodded and followed you out the door. By the time you got outside the building and to the car, he was twitching like an addict in need of a fix.

"Dean?" you asked tentatively.

"My skin feels like it's on fire and--and it's like--itchy. And there's a weird feeling inside that I can't describe, but it doesn't feel nice."

"Okay...how 'bout I drive?"

He looked up at you with concerned eyes, but he handed you the keys and got into the passenger seat. You knew he must really be feeling terrible if he was letting you drive Baby.

You started the car up and pulled out of the parking spot while simultaneously calling Sam on your cell. He answered on the third ring.

"Dean got some sort of witchy powder on his face and now he's...itchy?" you said quickly in lieu of a greeting.

Sam sighed. "What are his symptoms?"

You put the phone on speaker. "Dean, what are your symptoms?"

Dean couldn't look at you and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "I feel like crawling out of my own skin, everything aches, and I'm having a hard time breathing right. Oh and I can literally smell (Y/N)'s skin, which is totally not normal!"

"You can smell my skin?"

He grumbled under his breath. "I can smell your skin and your shampoo and your goddamn body wash, and I want--fuck. What the hell is wrong with me, Sam?"

"Uh, I honestly don't know. Let me call Bobby and see if he has any ideas."

You set the phone down on the seat beside you. "Maybe you're turning into some kind of animal?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean...you can smell me...which is weird and kind of--animalistic."

"I don't think that's it," he said harshly. "My body is aching in a way I can't even begin to describe to you, but I don't think I'm morphing into anything."

You eyed him carefully, worry etched into your face. He was your closest friend and trusted hunting partner, and you hated seeing him like this. Witches scared the shit out of you...you knew what they were capable of.

"Maybe drive a little faster," he hissed.

You pressed harder on the gas and the Impala shot down the road. When your phone rang, you answered it immediately.

"So I think I might know what it is, but I have something I need to ask Dean first," Sam said.

"Okay." You looked at Dean. "Can you hold the phone? Sam wants to ask you something."

Dean took the phone from your hand, hissing as his skin made contact with yours. "What?" he grumbled.

"This is gonna be awkward, but I need to know, okay? Do you feel--umm--aroused at all?"

Dean was silent for a moment as he let his brother's question sink in. Ohhh fuuuuck, he thought to himself. He glanced down at his jeans and noticed the bulge straining against them. With the intense pain he was experiencing, he hadn't really noticed. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled. "Yeah."

"Okay, well the good news is, I know what it is. It's called sex pollen."

"It's called what?"

"Sex pollen. The name doesn't really matter, but you have all the symptoms. They're only going to get worse until--well until you die."

"Die? Is there a cure?"

You looked over at Dean in terror, your foot pressing down even further on the pedal. Dean's hand was shaking slightly as he put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

"You have to--uhh--well--shit. You have to umm...fuck it out."

"I have to what?"

"Dude, I know, okay? But you don't have a choice. If you don't you'll die a rather painful death."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said again. "Can I, umm, take care of it myself?"

"According to what Bobby read, the only option is actual intercourse with another person."

"How long do I have?"

You were acutely aware of Dean's close proximity to you, and now you understood the nature of his pain. Your own breathing was more labored, but you desperately tried to maintain control of yourself. Don't make it weird, (Y/N), you thought to yourself.

"30 minutes from the time of contact until...until death," Sam answered.

"30 minutes?" you gasped. You started doing the math in your head as Dean continued talking to his brother. "We have maybe 10 more minutes until we get back to the motel and that leaves about 10 until..."

Dean looked over at you, his normally green eyes dark with need. "I'm so fucked," he muttered.

"That doesn't really leave us time to find someone for you to--you know," you said worriedly.

"Shit."

"Might wanna make it fast," Sam said.

"Obviously," Dean snapped. "How long will it take to...get out of my system?"

"That depends," Sam began. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

"Another story?"

"It could take a lot longer."

"Great," you mumbled.

"Sam, don't be there when we get there," Dean growled at his brother before hanging up the phone.

"Dean?" you questioned softly.

"Just drive, (Y/N)."

You continued driving, but your focus was most definitely not on the road. You could hear the heavy breathing and the soft pained sounds coming from the man beside you and it made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. It certainly didn't help that you had wanted him for years and seeing him like this was making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't be feeling.

Dean flirted with you regularly, but he flirted with almost every person he came into contact with. It's just a part of his personality, so you never read into it. While Dean quite obviously adored you (and you him), you were not his type. You were a good fighter, sure, but where you really excelled was research. You were brilliant--almost as knowledgable as Bobby, though you still had plenty to learn. You were also significantly more--voluptuous than the women Dean gravitated to. Soft, chubby, more to love--whatever you wanna call it. As such, you'd never made any sort of move to announce your feelings for him. You didn't want to face his rejection.

"Sweetheart, if you don't speed up, I'm liable to die before we make it there," Dean hissed.

You shot him a look. "We're less than two minutes away, so don't die on me yet, Winchester."

He exhaled sharply and nodded. "I'm not gonna make it either way, (Y/N). Like you said, we don't have enough time to find a, uh--partner."

You took a deep breath. "I can't let you die."

He looked over at you and you felt his gaze boring right into your soul. "I can't do that to you."

"I really don't see how we have much of a choice here."

You pulled into the motel parking lot before he could respond.

"Let's go," you said quickly as you got out of the car and made your way to your room.

Dean was right behind you, so close you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. As soon as the door was unlocked, Dean was pushing you through it and locking it behind you.

"Shit," he muttered. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's okay, Dean," you said softly. "I'm not afraid."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your chin. "You should be...I'm going to lose control."

"It's alright...use me."

He let out a low growl and squeezed your chin tighter. "I--I won't be able to make this good for you."

You pressed yourself against his body, feeling the hard ridges against you. "It's not about me. You need this."

That was all it took for Dean to let go. His lips attacked yours with a hunger you were not expecting despite the intensity of the situation. He was not at all gentle as he tore your clothes from your body, ripping his own off with equal force.

He tossed you down on the bed with shocking ease. He had absolutely no difficulty manhandling you. You weren't sure if it was the sex pollen or just him.

His lips and hands were everywhere, touching every inch of your soft skin he could possibly reach. He needed to be inside of you so badly it was almost impossible to breathe. His skin burned with each touch and his instincts screamed at him to just break you.

He moves his way down your body and you're surprised as he stops just above your core. "Dean, what are you doing?" You knew he needed a release--and soon--or he wasn't gonna make it.

A voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him this was (Y/N), his (Y/N). Even in his current state, he wanted to avoid hurting you if he could. "Need to get you ready," he grunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was devouring your pussy. The sounds he made were incredible, the feeling almost electrifying. He slid two fingers in and moved them in a scissoring motion to help loosen you up.

He was only down there for a 30 seconds before he came up and locked eyes with you. "I can't hold off anymore."

You nodded. "Just let go. I'll be okay."

He knew the moment he slid inside you, he'd be a goner. Whatever tiny amount of self control he'd managed to hang onto would disappear in an instant. But he could also feel the roaring agony inside him and he needed to feed it before it devoured him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your ear a split second before he sheathed himself fully inside you.

You cried out--pain mixing with pleasure as his large member stretched you in ways you'd never before experienced.

Dean couldn't give you time to adjust--he was too far gone. His hips began to move and his sole focus was on his own pleasure--his own release.

His thrusts were powerful and fast, so much so that your body started to scoot farther up the bed. He grabbed your hips and held you in place, pace never faltering. The sensations were almost painful given his size, but you wouldn't have stopped him even if you could have.

"Fuck, baby--you feel so good," he grunted.

You were more than a little surprised when he spoke--you hadn't pegged him as a dirty talker. Then again, it could very well have been the pollen. The same could be said of the sounds coming from his mouth. You'd never heard such sinful noises and you loved them.

"So tight--squeezing me so good. Feels like heaven."

You squeezed his cock purposefully, making him groan each time you clenched down. He needed his release and you were gonna make sure he got it. Your own enjoyment was far from your mind--this was essentially a transaction--a lifesaving measure. You had to view it that way to protect your heart...at least that's what you told yourself.

"Baby," he moaned. "Imma fill you up--so close."

Despite the voice in your head telling you this wasn't real--that you shouldn't have any emotional attachments--you reached up and touched his face, caressing it lovingly. "Cum for me, Dean," you whispered.

His eyes locked on yours and he bit his lip--hearing you say his name in the heat of the moment was a bigger turn on than he'd ever imagined. It pushed him right over the edge and he spilled inside of you with a grunt.

You lay beneath him, panting despite the minimal exertion on your part. He'd had his orgasm, but he was still moving, much to your surprise. "You're not done--?"

He shook his head. "Need more."

He pulled out and quickly flipped you over with no warning. You instinctively lifted your hips to allow him access, which he took without hesitation. His cock was still throbbing and the need still burned in his veins. His mind remained singularly focused on his relief--his pleasure.

He slammed into your pussy and set a brutal pace, earning a cry of pain from your lips. This new angle allowed him better access, sending his cock deeper inside of you. His head brushed against your cervix with each thrust, a stinging pain accompanying the pleasure.

Dean's large palm came down on your ass with a hard smack, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Your pussy clamped down on his cock as he landed another slap to your round cheek.

"Fuck baby, you like that don't you?" Smack. "You like it when I slap this sexy ass?" Smack. "Fuck--squeezing me so tight, sweetheart." Smack.

He was right though, you loved it. You always had, but there was something extra enjoyable about having your ass smacked by Dean Fucking Winchester. Even if you couldn't verbally express your pleasure to him, your pussy made it well-known.

Dean's right hand gripped your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him as he continued pumping. His left hand trailed up your back until he grabbed a fist full of hair at the base of your neck and pulled. Your head snapped back and you cried out, but you didn't fight him.

"Do you know how badly I've wanted to pull this hair, pretty girl? Fuck--I think about it all the time." His pace was relentless and his hand remained entangled in your hair.

You'd never really noticed him looking at your hair in any particular way, so you assumed once again the pollen was making him say such dirty little things.

After several more thrusts, Dean let go of your hair and pushed down on your upper back, forcing you to press your upper body into the mattress. Dean gripped your hips with both of his hands and slammed into you with an intensity that was unmatched by any of his previous actions.

You had a feeling he was close to another orgasm, at least if his grunts and curses were anything to go by. You clenched down around him again, intent on pushing him past the brink.

It worked like a charm. Dean came with a cry of your name, thrusts continuing as he emptied inside of you once again.

You were exhausted and you hadn't had a single orgasm. Part of you really hoped Dean had gotten it all out of his system, but another part of you didn't want this to end. Even if it wasn't real--even if he didn't actually want to be having sex with you, you liked pretending, if only for a little while.

Dean pulled out of you slowly and rolled you over with a surprising gentleness. You assumed that meant he was satiated and the pollen was out of his system.

When you met his eyes, you were surprised by how brilliantly green they were. You'd almost gotten used to the dark forest color that had taken over as a result of the pollen. He was looking at you with an odd expression you couldn't quite place, but for some reason it made you want to scurry away and hide.

"Better?" you whispered.

He cocked his head to the side and a small smirk played on his lips. "Not even close," he murmured.

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss before you had time to respond. Unlike the previous kisses, this one was more passionate, more intense. It made your body tingle all over and a warmth spread through your veins.

Dean's brain fog had finally cleared enough that he could actually slow down and focus on what was happening--on what he was doing, or rather who. He hated that he'd cum twice without even thinking about you, let alone making you orgasm. Dean prided himself on being an excellent lover and he wasn't about to let you leave this bed unsatisfied.

His cock brushed against your pussy as he shifted to hold you closer. You both inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation. Dean's lips began to travel down your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses in his wake. He nipped at your pulse point, earning an excited moan from you. He liked hearing that sound, so he sucked on that spot until you were panting heavily beneath him.

His hands traveled over your soft curves, touching and squeezing all the parts of your body you were self-conscious about. Dean didn't seem to give a damn that your stomach wasn't flat, that your hips weren't narrow and your thighs weren't skinny--in fact, he seemed to be reveling in the feeling of softness.

His lips were so gentle as he continued his downward movements. He kissed and licked and sucked on each of your breasts, spending several minutes focusing on each one. "You have such perfect breasts," he murmured.

You were too surprised, and perhaps too lost in pleasure, to formulate any kind of response to his words. Luckily, he didn't seem to need one, and he refocused his attention on you.

Once he was satisfied your breasts had received enough love, he continued moving down your stomach, stopping to place soft kisses to every mark and scar he saw.

When he reached your sweet pussy, he spread your legs as wide as he could and settled down between them. You were surprised at his actions, especially since you knew he was still hard--that he still needed another release.

Dean was now singularly focused on one thing--and that was you. Now that his damn brain was working properly, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this--even if it was a one time thing because you didn't want him to die, he wasn't about to walk away from this without making you scream his name at least once.

He breathed in deeply, smelling your arousal mixed with his own spend, and he smirked. His eyes flicked up to yours and his mouth latched onto your clit, unleashing an overwhelming assault on your swollen mound.

You gasped as the sudden pleasure washed over you. You couldn't take your eyes off the man between your legs--nor did he take his eyes off you. Every time your hips bucked or you tried to move, his strong arms held you in place so he could continue to watch you.

You were writhing against the sheets in what felt like seconds--it was probably longer, but either way you felt embarrassed at how quickly you fell apart under his touch. Your orgasm tore through you like a hurricane, broken moans dripping from your lips.

To your shock, and perhaps concern, Dean didn't stop his assault on your pussy. Even as you tried to squirm away, he held you in place, desperate to give you another orgasm. You whimpered that it was too much, begged him to give you a break, but all of those words quickly morphed into pleas to keep going--don't stop.

"Dean," you gasped as your fingers slipped into his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks by the roots. Your nails scrapped lightly against his scalp and he let out a soft groan.

His tongue seemed to dance across your clit, creating beautiful designs and languages only he seemed to know. He paid attention to what motions made you quiver, which ones made you moan, and which ones had you tugging on his hair with an iron grip.

"Dean, please--I--so close," you moaned.

He smiled, enjoying the immense pleasure he was giving you just as much as you seemed to enjoy it. A few moments later, you were once again coming apart against his mouth and he eagerly lapped up everything you had to give him.

This time as you tugged on his hair and squirmed away, he obliged, lifting himself up from between your thighs. He licked his lips as he looked down at your blissed out face.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he murmured. "Wanna taste?"

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes widened and you nodded hesitantly. He smiled wolfishly as he leaned down to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth almost instantly, allowing you to taste yourself.

You moaned into the kiss and he held you even more tightly, lips sealed to yours like he needed your air to breathe.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to control his urges long enough to coax two orgasms from you, but he could feel that control waning. "I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips. "I need you so badly."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. You lifted your hips to brush against his cock and he groaned at the contact. You nipped at his jaw and pulled him back down to you. "Fuck me, Dean. Please."

He groaned. "Yes ma'am."

He didn't hesitate as he gripped his cock firmly and lined it up with your entrance. He slipped inside easily, having plenty of lubrication to assist him. Despite having been inside of you multiple times at this point, he was still taken aback by how fucking incredible you felt.

"God, I love this pussy," he murmured. "She was made for me."

You moaned softly at his words and the feeling of him inside you once again. As he started to move, he was much more gentle and you found yourself enjoying the sensations--perhaps more than you should.

"You're so good for me, (Y/N)," Dean mumbled, already lost in the feeling of you.

You would have given anything to hear him say that, but the words broke your heart a little. Had he had any other choice, he likely wouldn't be here right now--you wouldn't be the one he was fucking.

"Hey," he whispered, a rough, calloused hand running along your cheek as he looked at you. "Where's that pretty little head at?"

You smiled at him. "Right here, Dean."

Somewhere inside of him, he knew you were lying, but the damn pollen was still affecting his senses. He accepted your response and went back to his actions, focusing on the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock like a vise.

He wanted to feel you cum one more time...wanted to feel the way you'd squeeze his cock as you came. He wanted to watch you come undone beneath him, lost in pleasure he gave you.

He grabbed a pillow and gently lifted your hips, sliding the pillow under them. This provided him a new, improved angle, allowing him to cage you beneath him and hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Dean!" you gasped as the first thrust hit your g-spot.

He grinned and picked up his pace, slamming into it repeatedly. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge of an orgasm you knew would ruin you. Dean Winchester already made you feel things no other man ever had and his ability in bed was no exception. Damn him.

His thrusts were firm and measured, each one sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through your body. The familiar tightening in your gut was so intense you thought you might actually explode.

Dean's strong arms were on either side of your head and he was looking down at you with that same strange expression from earlier. "You're so damn beautiful, baby. I wanna watch this pretty face as you cum for me."

You gasped, unprepared for the way his words made you feel. You felt emboldened, so you asked for what you needed. "I need more, Dean."

His hand slipped between your bodies, a single finger gently massaging your clit as he continued to fuck you. "That better, baby?"

You nodded rapidly, earning a soft chuckle from his sweet lips.

"You gonna cum for me beautiful?"

You nodded again.

"Yeah? I want you to keep those pretty eyes open when you cum, okay? Wanna see you fall apart."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I know, sweet girl. I've got you."

Your brain seemed to short-circuit in that moment. All you could feel was a blinding hot pressure immediately followed by an intense euphoria. You heard someone scream "Dean!" and you belatedly realized it had been your voice.

The intensity of your orgasm sent Dean spiraling over the edge of his own. He hadn't even been prepared for it--the mixture of you screaming his name and the sensations of you squeezing him so tightly and the gorgeous way your face contorted as you came was all he needed.

He emptied into you a third and final time, his cock finally beginning to soften as he helped you ride out your high.

He pulled out and flopped down beside you on the bed, his body aching from what had to be some of the best sex of his life--sex pollen or not.

You were just as sore as Dean--probably more so given you literally couldn't move. The two of you laid there in silence, slowly coming down from the electrical highs you'd experienced, both trying to catch your breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

Dean was the first to recover. "Did I hurt you?" he asked so softly you almost didn't hear him.

You turned your head to look at him and your heart clenched at the expression on his face. He was genuinely worried, brows furrowed in concern. You contemplated lying to him, but you knew he'd see right through you.

"A little," you said honestly.

He winced and his beautiful eyes closed. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)--I would never hurt you on purpose--ever."

You offered him a small smile he couldn't see, until your hand touched his cheek and he opened his eyes again. "I know."

There were a thousand other things you wanted to say--a thousand words you wanted to string together into just the right sentences, but you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself through it.

"Shower?" he asked softly.

"I honestly don't think I can stand."

A smirk played on his lips. "That should not make me feel so damn good."

You laughed lightly, glad to hear the teasing tone in his voice that you loved so much.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "It's not ideal, but there is a bathtub..." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't mind a bath," you admitted.

He nodded and got to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, but managed to make his way to the bathroom. You heard the water running as he filled up the tub.

You laid there thinking about everything that had just happened. This was a position you'd never imagined you'd be in--with anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

You knew this wasn't something you were going to be able to forget about, but you hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you and eventually this would just be a funny story.

Suddenly, Sam's words from earlier snapped into your mind. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

One and done...one and done. This most definitely had not been a 'one and done' scenario. But didn't that mean...? No. No way. Impossible. Dean Winchester does NOT have feelings for you.

You began to rationalize your thought process. Maybe "care about" included a friendly relationship. Yeah...yeah that made the most sense. Of course Dean cares about you. You're his best friend. There couldn't possibly be anything more to it...right?

As if on cue, Dean stepped back into the room. "Bath's ready."

"Okay." You tried to pull yourself up, but you immediately fell back against the mattress, body too worn out to sustain any kind of movement.

Dean chuckled lightly and came up to the side of the bed. He pulled the pillow out from under your hips and slipped his arms under your body, hoisting you up bridal style.

"Jesus!" you yelled. "Put me down! I'm too heavy--you'll throw out your back."

Dean laughed. "Calm down, (Y/N). I just threw you around this bed repeatedly with zero issues. I promise I can carry you to the bathroom without dying."

"But--"

He glared at you and tightened his grip on you as if to prove his point. "Ain't a damn thing wrong with your body, so shut it."

Your mouth closed immediately. His words sent a jolt directly to your core and you were almost annoyed by it. As if three orgasms wasn't enough...

Dean very gently set you on your feet in the bathroom and slowly helped you into the tub. As soon as he got you into a seated position, he got into the tub as well, slipping in behind you.

"Umm...whatcha doing?"

"Taking a bath."

"Isn't the tub a bit small for both of us?"

You could feel him shrug behind you. "I think it's perfect size. Now come here." He grabbed your shoulders and gently pulled you back so you were laying against his chest. "That's better," he muttered.

Your mind began to race once again as you laid there, body tense and uncomfortable.

"Okay, (Y/N), I know you better than anyone, so don't you dare lie to me. Where's your head at?"

"I--" you sighed. "I'm not really sure how to feel."

He nodded. "I know you didn't want this--I feel like I had to literally force myself onto you and I hate that. I know you only agreed so I wouldn't die, but--"

"Woah--stop." You sat up and turned your head to face him. "That's not true at all. You didn't force me to do anything."

"Okay, maybe 'force' is the wrong word...but you did have sex with me to save my life. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I'm painfully aware," you muttered.

He ran his hand over his face. "I'm not saying any of this right."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

He bit his lip. "Remember what Sammy said? About...how long the effects would last?"

You nodded.

"Well in case you didn't notice, I had three orgasms."

"Both me and my very sore vagina noticed," you said lightly.

He sighed. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, (Y/N)?"

You turned a little more so you could see his face better. He had that same look he'd had when he was making you feel incredible. "I need to hear you say it..." you whispered.

He nodded and leaned forward so his face was mere inches from yours. "He didn't mean 'care' as in 'we're friends, so I care about you'...he meant 'care' as in 'love'."

Your lips parted and you inhaled sharply.

"So you see, I don't just care about you as a friend...and I don't just love you as a friend...I'm in love with you."

"You--you love me?"

"In love," he repeated. "For as long as I can remember."

"You're in love--with me?"

He chuckled softly. "Who else would I be talking to, baby? Yes, I'm in love with you."

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

"The only thing you need to know is how you feel. Do you know how you feel about me, (Y/N)?" he whispered.

You nodded slowly.

"And?"

"I'm in love with you too."

He grinned widely. "Yeah?"

You nodded, cheeks turning red.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him. He looked down at you with that expression he'd been wearing and you suddenly realized what it was...it was love--real, true, beautiful, heart aching love.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your lips, which you returned in kind. He held you tightly, loving the feeling of your body in his arms.

"We better get cleaned up before this water gets cold," he said softly, lips pressing to your hair.

"Mhmm," you hummed.

He chuckled. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, babe."

"But I'm comfortable," you whined.

He smiled against your cheek. "Give me five minutes to clean you up and then we can sleep, okay?"

You looked over at him and smiled. "Deal."

Loved this fic? Support my work by buying me a coffee 💜

[ilsanslut]

proneboning—it’s HIS favorite position. there’s just something so very tantalizing about pinning you flush to whatever surface he can manage and completely ravishing you beneath him. and you? you love it just as much.

your pretty face pressed deeply into the sheets, leaving you to helplessly writhe and moan beneath the weight of your lover. your tiny fists fisting the sheets, bracing for every powerful, mind-numbing thrust as you feel his thick, heavy cock pounding the deepest depths within you. your shrill moans and pleasured wails becoming muffled by the duvet beneath you as you’re smothered beneath his hardy, masculine frame. you can feel his heavy weight and muscled chest boring down on your back, crushing and pinning you firmly into a mattress in such a delightful way as every one of his powerful, carnal thrusts, aided by gravity and his heft, pounds you further and further into submission—as if every singular one is bellowing MINE, MINE, MINE, from the lewd echos of your bedroom walls.

you can’t catch your breath, you can’t speak, you can’t even think. you’re reduced to a babbling mess, your weeps of sheer ecstasy matching that of your glistening, weeping cunt as it gushes around his thick shaft with every obscene clap of his pelvis PLAP, PLAP, PLAPPING against your bubbly ass.

“yeaah, that’s it.” you can barely make out his gruff voice as his lips press to the shell of your ear, his heavy pants mixing with near-feral growls as he struggles to maintain his own composure.

amidst his unforgiving pace, you feel his muscled forearm snaking around your waist, his meaty palm, and equally thick digits pressing against the fatty part of your lower belly to feel that prominent bulge that forms every time he bottoms out within you. “y’feel me in here too, princess? bullying that pretty womb of yours? haah, fuck. thaaat’s it. sing for me, angel. let me hear that pretty voice of yours.”

so you do. you cry, you shriek, you mewl—“singing” praises of his name, how big his cock is and how good his cock feels inside of you, how you can’t take it because it’s “too much," as well as contradictory pleas of him to slow down followed by depraved cries of “please, please, fuck me harder!”

that’s not good enough for him, though. c’mon, princess. use your dumb little brain. you think he can hear you when you're nose-deep in the sheets? don’t worry, he has a solution for that.

nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of a broad, bulging bicep snaking around your neck, the crease of its forearm and elbow resting tautly against your windpipe as he wrenched your head up from the sheets and began to squeeze. he balled the fist of his other hand and used his strength to pull back the latter, effectively locking you into an unforgiving headlock that made your toes curl and your heightened moans catch in your throat.

“say it again for me, pretty. y’like my fat cock fuckin’ you up? like me using you like the pretty pocket pussy you are? yeah? ngh, shit. c’mon, lighten up, princess, you’re chokin’ my dick here.”

“y-yes! yes, yes, yes! oh, f-fuck yess! m’gonna cum, hah, mpfh! m’gonna cum!!”

he raises himself onto his knees, caging your petite frame in between both of his muscular thighs as he pounds into you with more ferocity than before, like a ravenous predator claiming every ounce of his darling little prey. he was always so, so generous, most of the time. who was he to deny his little angel her precious orgasm?

“do it. c’mon, make a fuckin’ mess on my cock, you dumb slut.” he would snarl against you, his teeth and sharp canines grazing the shell of your ear.

you did so graciously; your moans mixed with babbles of useless speech along the lines of “thank you” and incoherent swears. your glassy eyes spilling with fat globs of tears that rolled down your cheeks could not register their surroundings, nor could your brain register him slamming his cock's head firmly against your squishy insides, pumping you to the brim with his virile seed that threatened to bloat your lil’ tummy.

he let you go in an instant, allowing your exhausted body to fall slack on the sheets before you, your head resting soundly on the crevice of his elbow between his bicep and forearm. he had yet to pull out of you, even after you had come down from your high, and his cock had long since ceased languidly pumping the ropes of his creamy, heavy seed deep inside of you.

“shh, i got you, angel.” he eased your twitchy frame and panting mewls with an affectionate, breathless kiss to your forehead.

“always such a good girl, f’me.”

blue lock: KAISER MICHAEL. SHOEI BAROU. nagi seishiro. KUNIGAMI RENSUKE. itoshi sae. itoshi rin. KARASU TABITO. EGO JINPACHI. otoyo eita. OLIVER AIKU. isagi yoichi. BACHIRA MEGURU. RAICHI JINGO. LORENZO DON. SHIDOU RYUSEI. jujutsu kaisen: nanami kento. GETO SUGURU. kamo choso. FUSHIGURO TOJI. OH MY FUCKING GOD TOJI. SUKUNA. SUKUNA. SUKUNA PLEASE GOD SUKUNA. GOJO SATORU. mahito. HAKARI KINJI. todo aoi. zenin naoya. genshin impact: WRIOTHESLEY. CHILDE. ALHAITHAM. kamisato ayato. ragnvindr diluc. ARATAKI ITTO. tighnari. SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER. HEIZOU. IL DOTTORE. PANTALONE. kimetsu no yaiba: SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI. UZUI TENGEN. rengoku kyojuro. RENGOKU SHINJUROOOO. IGURO OBANAI. KIBUTSUJI MUZAN. akaza. kokoshibo. DOUMA. HANTENGU CLONES. GYUTARO, tokyo revengers: mitsuya takashi. KAWATA NAHOYAAAA. SHIBA TAIJU. BAJI KEISUKE. HANEMIYA KAZUTORA. haitani rindou. HAITANI RAN. RYUGUJI KEN. sano manjiro. SANZU HARUCHIYO. akashi takeomi. imaushi wakasa. TERANO SOUTH. sano sinichiro. HANMA SHUUJI.

ⓒ vampiie 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

[gubsbuubs]

Headache Relief

(18+)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.5K

Warnings: Sex duh, creampie.

Summary: When Spencer seeks relief for his intense headaches, he finds more than just painkillers in Y/n's room.

A/N: Hi everyone, I've been away... I know... I know. This bar exam prep is kicking my ass. I've got some other works on the way but I had to finish this one and share it with you guys.

English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

Y/n laid on the bed, her tired eyes scanning the pages of the worn book, the weight of today's concluded case still heavy on her mind. The darkened motel room was softly illuminated by the gentle glow of the muted television, casting faint shadows that danced across the walls. Her peace was abruptly shattered by a knock at her door, soft yet insistent, pulling her away from the comfort of the pages.

Glancing at the bedside clock, the red digits of 1:52 glowed back at her, stirring a sense of urgency.

Could something have happened? Her worry mounted with each passing second. With a quick exhale, she rose from the bed, her heart pounding with apprehension. Her slender fingers fumbled with the lock as she approached the door, anticipation gnawing at her. When it swung open, she was met with a sight that caused her stomach to twist with concern.

There he stood, his appearance disheveled, his exhaustion evident in the lines etched upon his face. The fingers of his left hand pressed firmly against the bridge of his nose, while his right hand leaned heavily against the wall for support. Dressed in a mismatched ensemble of a band shirt and pajama pants, he looked like he had been through a rough night.

"Spence?!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with worry, the concern evident in her tone.

His bloodshot eyes met hers, "Y/n, I'm sorry... I know it's late," he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Are you okay?" Her hand instinctively reached out to touch his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath her fingertips.

"I….I need your help…" His breathing was ragged, and his words came out in a rush, "It´s happening again," he admitted, vulnerability seeping through.

"Come in" Y/n said softly, tugging lightly on his shoulder.

He sat on the end of her bed, the weight of exhaustion evident in every line of his posture. She closed the door behind her, the soft click echoing in the dimly lit room. Turning to face him, she found him hunched over, his hands pressed firmly against the sides of his temples as he massaged his own head, his face contorting in pain.

"I... I know you always carry a pouch of medicine everywhere you go," he began, "I thought... maybe you could help me."

Y/n's heart softened at the vulnerability in his voice, realizing he must be in significant pain to ask for medicine, so without a word, she crossed the room. Rummaging through her bag, her fingers closed around a small pill bottle, and then she grabbed a water bottle from the mini-fridge.

With a sense of urgency, she handed them to Spencer before sitting by his side.

"Here, Spence," she said softly. "Take this. It should help."

Spencer accepted the pill and water with gratitude, his hands trembling slightly as he struggled to open the cap. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed the pill with a gulp of water, placing the bottle on the floor afterward

A moment of silence passed, and Spencer attempted to stand, but his head swam with dizziness. Y/n reacted swiftly, rising faster than anticipated to catch him just as his legs gave way beneath him.

With a gentle yet firm grip, she guided him back down onto the bed, her heart racing as he sat back down.

"Whoa, whoa, Spence, are you okay?" Her voice was filled with worry as she steadied him, her hands offering support and holding him upright. "I think you might need to lie down for a bit," she suggested, concern evident in her eyes.

He opened his mouth to talk, even looked up to lock his eyes with hers, but feeling unsteady he leaned forward, and breath in deeply as his head came to rest against her stomach.

"I'm sorry," he rushed, his voice muffled against her, "The dizziness... it's from the pain" his words tinged with frustration. "It'll pass as soon as the medication kicks in."

As he attempted to lift his head, another wave of dizziness washed over him, causing him to sway once again. Y/n instinctively pulled him closer, stepping between his legs and encouraging him to hug her waist for support. "Hey, it's okay, Spence," she reassured "Just hold on to me until you feel better. I'm here for you."

"I'm sorry," his voice was soft and as low as whisper.

“Shhhhhh” Her right hand met the back of his head, applying gentle pressure to certain points.

"I just… I don't want to impose on your space, I just..." His sentence was interrupted by a relieved sigh, the tension slowly melting away under her comforting touch.

"Spencer, that's what friends are for," Y/n murmured softly, as she continued to massage his head, the tension gradually ebbing away.

As her words reached his ears, Spencer couldn't help but feel grateful for having such a caring friend by his side.

"Friend… right...." he taught to himself.

Amidst the urgency for the relief of mediation and the dizziness that followed, he'd become oblivious to the situation he found himself in. His hands intertwined around her, gripping tighthy on her waist, his head nestled against her stomach, while her gentle touch sought to alleviate his suffering.

In that moment, the intimacy of their position became glaringly apparent. Yes they were just friends, yet here they were, intertwined in a way that transcended mere friendship.

Another sigh of relief left Spencer's lips as he felt her touch soothe his pain and provide a sense of comfort that he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Is this helping?" She asked gently.

"Yeah, it is. Thank you, Y/n," Spencer replied gratefully, lightly nodding his head against her stomach.

She looked down at him, nestled against her, he looked calm, relieved, like he belongs close to her.

She paused the movement of her fingers for a moment, considering how she could further alleviate his discomfort. "Maybe I could massage your head. That could help, right?"

Spencer nodded once again, lightly lifting his chin to grace her with a faint smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "Actually, head massages can be quite effective for relieving headaches," he said, slipping into his familiar role of sharing facts and statistics. "They help to increase blood flow and reduce muscle tension, which can provide significant relief from pain."

"Well then, let me try something," Slowly, she stepped away, feeling his hands brush against her sides and hips as she moved back. With measured steps, Y/n climbed into the bed behind him, settling against the headboard. Spencer turned his head back slightly to look at her, a hint of confusion evident in his expression.

He watched her as she motioned with her hand, encouraged him, "Come here, lay back." She patted the sheets between her legs, inviting him to find comfort in her embrace.

As Spencer looked at her, the world around him seemed to fade into the background. His gaze traveled up her legs, lingering on the bare skin of her thighs barely covered by her shorts and the oversized shirt that draped over her frame. Despite the pain that throbbed in his head, he couldn't help but appreciate the sight before him. There was a softness in her features, a gentleness in the way she sat against the headboard, her legs spread slightly, inviting him closer.

A wince of pain brought him back to reality, and with a nod, he complied, scooting back onto the bed and laying back into her embrace.

His head found its place between her legs, his head lightly leaning onto her lower stomach, the warmth of the bare skin of her thighs brushing against his cheeks and neck.

Despite the pain, his mind started to wander as he laid there.

As her fingers worked their way through his hair, easing the tension in his temples, Spencer's thoughts began to drift. He couldn't help but be acutely aware of the softness of her skin against his face, and the delicate scent of florals that surrounded her.

As they lingered in the quiet intimacy of the moment, Y/n's gentle massage continued to soothe Spencer's temples. Though the pain started to subsided, the thoughts of her only seemed to intensify, swirling through his mind like a tempestuous storm. Lost in his reverie, Spencer's awareness heightened as he glanced down and noticed … his pants were a little tighter now.

A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he realized the effect she was having on him. Quickly he sat up, his cheeks burning and his breathing picking up speed.

"Is everything okay, Spencer?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine worry. "Did I hurt you?"

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing as he struggled to find the right words. He didn't want to admit that he got hard and now had to leave the room, but the concern in her eyes urged him to speak.

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong," Spencer stammered, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "You were a real help, but I should leave. I don't want to... You should rest now." As he attempted to get up and leave the bed, Y/n's hand shot out, grabbing his arm firmly. She tried to meet his eyes but his gaze kept shifting away, so Y/n's eyes inadvertently wandered downward, drawn by a curious instinct. And there it was, beneath the fabric of his pijama pants, a subtle but unmistakable tenting. Heat flooded her cheeks as realization dawned on her, and her hand instinctively flew left of his arm to cover her surprised mouth.

"I... I..." Spencer began, his words catching in his throat as he struggled to find the right thing to say. Despite his attempts to speak, the words remained elusive, trapped on the tip of his tongue like a fleeting thought.

"I need to go," he finally muttered getting up. But before he could make a move to leave, Y/n's hand now met his, halting him in his tracks.

"Spencer, wait," she implored, her tone gentle yet firm, her eyes searching for understanding.

"Y/n, I... I'm so sorry," the words tumbled from his lips in a rush of guilt and regret. "You've been such a great friend, and I couldn't help but..." he sighed heavily.

"Oh, you probably think I´m such a pervert..." His voice trailed off, unable to continue, as shame washed over him. He felt like he had crossed a line, making her uncomfortable in a way he had never intended.

"You don't need to apologize," she said, "And you're not a perv, you haven't made me uncomfortable."

"What?" he asked in disbelief, looking up at her with confusion in his eyes.

Y/n smiled softly, "I understand Spencer."

"You understand?" His eyebrows were furrowed, and his heart was racing.

"Humm humm," she nodded her head, looking up in to his eyes.

"What do you mean?" He asked, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside him.

He watched closely, as she gently took his hand, guiding it down until his fingertips met the warmth of her covered core. His breath caught in his throat as a rush of heat surged through him, his heart pounding with a mixture of shock and desire.

"I understand," she whispered softly, her voice filled with desire.

Spencer's mind reeled with the intensity of the moment, his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of her arousal and the softness of her touch. He felt a surge of longing flood through him, a primal urge driving him to lean in closer, to explore the depths of her desire.

"Are you sure?" Spencer's voice almost faltered as he felt the wetness seeping through the fabric. His heart pounded in his chest. As he gazed into her eyes, he saw nothing but longing and desire reflected back at him.

She nodded, her lips parted in anticipation of what was to come. With a gentle touch, his hand met her cheek, guiding her closer until their lips met in a passionate kiss.

The intensity of their kiss grew, fueling their desire as Spencer's hand ventured boldly, tracing circles over her covered clit. A small moan escaped her as his tongue brushed her bottom lip asling for enterence.

"Fuck," she gasped, her breath hitching as she felt the bed dip beneath her. Her heart raced with anticipation as Spencer knelt before her, his gaze filled with hunger and desire.

With trembling hands, Spencer reached for the hem of her clothing. Before he peeled away the fabric, he looked up at her, his gaze searching for reassurance.

"Do you want me too keep going, Y/n?" he whispered, his voice tinged with urgency. He needed to be certain that she was ready to take this step with him, to surrender to the passion that burned between them.

Y/n met his gaze with unwavering determination. "Yes... yes... I need you, Spence," she whined.

With a shaky breath, Spencer slowly dragged the fabric of her shorts down her legs, his hands trembling with anticipation as he revealed her nakedness to him. Y/n watched him with bated breath, a flush of heat spreading across her skin as her clothing fell away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable before him. She reached for the hem of her shirt, her fingers fumbling slightly with the fabric before she managed to pull it over her head, tossing it aside with a sense of urgency. Now fully exposed, she stood before him, her body illuminated by the soft glow of the room.

Spencer's gaze trailed over her naked form. He watched intently as the slight chill in the air caused her nipples to harden, standing erect against the smooth curve of her breasts.

Y/n felt utterly exposed, her body laid bare before him.

With a steady hand, Spencer reached out, his touch gentle yet firm as he took her right nipple between his index and middle finger. A gasp escaped her lips as she felt the sensation ripple through her. She arched her back instinctively.

"Fuck... please," Y/n whimpered, her voice laced with desperation as she parted her legs further, inviting him closer. With a sense of urgency, she reached for his hand, guiding it to where she wanted it most.

Feeling her warmth and wetness against his fingers, Spencer's desire surged as he explored her delicate folds. Now there was no fabric between the soft skin of his fingers and the warm, slick slit of her pussy. He moaned at the sigth and teased her with slow, deliberate strokes.

Spencer's breath hitched as he added another finger, the sensation of her tightness and warmth driving him wild with desire. With each movement of his fingers, he couldn't help but marvel at how perfectly she fit around him.

"God, you feel incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can't even imagine how good you'll feel wrapped around my cock."

The thought of being buried deep inside her, of feeling her tightness enveloping him completely, sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

As Y/n writhed beneath him, lost in a haze of pleasure, her moans filled the room. "Please," she gasped, her voice thick with need. "Fuck me, Spencer. I need you."

Spencer withdrew his fingers from within her, eliciting a soft whimper of protest from Y/n. But before she could voice her longing, he brought his fingers to her parted lips.

"Open," he commanded.

Without hesitation, Y/n obeyed, parting her lips to accept his fingers in to her mouth. With a hunger that mirrored his own, she sucked eagerly, tasting herself on his skin. The raw intensity of the moment sent a thrill coursing through her, igniting a fire of desire that burned hotter with each passing second.

As she eagerly licked and sucked his fingers clean, Spencer's hands moved to the waistband of his pajama pants, his movements urgent and determined. With a quick motion, he undid the strings, discarded his pajama pants and shirt, revealing his throbbing erection that sprang free. Y/n's gaze locked onto his member, her eyes widening with desire as she took in his arousal.

As Spencer lightly stroked himself, his eyes never leaving hers, he whispered, "Imagine how good it will feel inside of you,"

Oh, what a sigth! Her eyebrows furrowed in a plea, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"God, you're so beautiful," he murmured. "I need to be inside you." He positioned himself, aligning his throbbing length with her entrance. With a sense of urgency, she reached behind him, grabbing a handful of his ass, urging him forward as he lowered himself onto her.

With a shared moan, he entered her completely. The sensation of him filling her to the hilt overwhelming their senses.

Spencer began by fucking her slowly, his movements deliberate and passionate, savoring every moment of their intimate connection. As he thrusted into her with a gentle rhythm, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, seeking to subside her moans of pleasure.

Her hands tangled in the curls at the back of his head, in response Spencer tilted his head back slightly, letting out a throaty moan. "Fuck, Y/n," he groaned. "You're so fucking tight."

"Oh, Spence," she gasped, her breath hitching with pleasure as his movements intensified. "You feel so good, filling me up like this."

"You like that, baby?" Spencer's voice was low and sultry. "You like feeling my cock deep inside you, making you mine?"

"Yes," she moaned. "I want you to take me. I want you to fuck me harder."

Spencer's thrusts grew faster and the bed creaked beneath them, the wooden frame protesting the force of their passion. His right hand gripped her thigh forcefully, his fingers digging into her skin as he sought to anchor himself to her. Meanwhile, the fingers of his left hand found their way to her clit once again, expertly stroking the sensitive nub with each rhythmic movement.

With each thrust, his hips rocked against hers, driving deeper into her. The sensation of him filling her so completely sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment.

Y/n's hands roamed over his back, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles as she clung to him for dear life. Her nails dug into his skin with every powerful thrust, leaving crescent-shaped imprints.

"Are you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" Spencer's voice was low against her ear as he pounded into her, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Oh fuck, yes…" she moaned. "God, yes, I want to cum so badly."

"I'm close, too," he admitted, his voice strained with pleasure.

As Y/n's moans intensified, Spencer continued to pound into her with relentless fervor, his movements synchronized with the rhythm of her impending climax. With each thrust, he felt her walls clenching around him, the tightness driving him to the edge of control.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice strained with desperation, "let me cum inside. I need to feel you come undone around me."

With a fervent nod, Y/n surrendered to the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body, her walls clenching around his cock as she reached her orgasm.

The feeling of her tightness milking him was all it took to push Spencer over the edge. With one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, his hips grinding against his own release washing over him in powerful waves as they came together.

They stayed there, tangled together, basking in the aftermath of their shared passion. The room was filled with a hazy, contented silence as they caught their breath.

Eventually, Spencer stirred, untangling himself from Y/n's embrace with a reluctant sigh. "I'll grab us a towel," he murmured, slipping out of bed and padding to the bathroom.

Returning moments later, he set to work cleaning them both up, his movements gentle and unhurried. There was a quiet intimacy to the way he wiped away the remnants of their lovemaking, as if each touch carried a silent promise of care and affection.

Once they were both cleaned up, Spencer rejoined Y/n in bed, pulling her close once again as they settled into the warmth of each other's arms.

"Hey, how's your head feeling now?" She asked softly with genuine care.

Spencer looked into her eyes, a grateful smile spreading across his face. "Much better. Thank you for caring about me and for taking care of me."

"I'm glad you came knocking on my door," she replied warmly.

Spencer chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, you know what else helps to increase blood flow and reduce muscle tension?" He quipped with a playful smirk.

"Now we know what to do next time you have a headache." With a smile, Y/n leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

[chaldeanu]

promise to take it ノ blade . dan heng . jing yuan

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 1.6k ノ fem reader — steamy . slightly rough scenarios . separately ノ blade — prone bone . doing it raw . cumming inside ノ dan heng in his dragon form, but not entirely . missionary . implied mating season lol ノ jing yuan — size kink . riding him but he’s still in control and a menace

blade ノ

while the bedroom itself remains an oasis of solace and a delicate space where you can be yourself, never judged by his ruby eyes despite his low huffs and puffs at any of your antics, it is now also a jail for your sobs. cries disappearing in the supple cotton of the pillow as blade pounds into you, rough hands gripping your wrists like a rope. oh no, he will not allow you to push his hips away.

not after you begged for this just moments ago with that adorable whine of yours.

the dripping slickness saving you from the punishment that is him rutting into you with abandon. his cock stretches your pussy wide, filling you to the brim with every thrust, and you arch your back against him, letting him impale you over and over again on his heavy girth.

he growls, his fingers digging into your soft sides, leaving reddened imprints, as he pulls you towards him. he slams into you roughly, his balls slapping against your overly sensitive clit as he fucks you without mercy.

you squirm in his grasp, trying to break free, but no, his grip on you is firm. he doesn’t want you to move. you’re here just to take care of his needs.

the man above you breathes out, his long black hair falling over his arms and tickling your shoulders. using your body as he pleases, relentlessly pushing until only his base can’t settle into your cunt. you whimper, your legs shaking as you feel his tip brush against your deepest spot, and he chuckles. he likes how you clench around him, unsure if you want him to leave you or to welcome him deeper — this is how he knows you’re getting close.

and so blade leans forward, his breath burning your neck, and bites on your irritated skin. you cry out, your soppy walls throbbing to lure him into your heat, and he grunts as he hears your juices plapping down his thighs. the way you cream all over his cock — awfully erotic — your wetness coating his length, and he picks up his pace, pounding into you with renewed vigour. he wants to cum inside you. to fill you up.

a high-pitched squeal escapes your lips, your silhouette shivering with uncontrollable intensity. the overwhelming sensation becomes too much to bear, and you find yourself unable to endure it any longer; still played with like a pretty doll, pressed to the mattress with all of his weight. blade groans, his girth pulsing, and he snugs himself deep into you, cumming in thick, hot spurts, your pussy milking him until the very last drop.

you mewl at his treatment, your wrists aching from his bruising grip, and he smirks, his red eyes gleaming. the way you look right now, his favourite image of contained desires. his dear darling.

he will make it up to you later with sweet kisses and gentle caresses, but for now, he enjoys the sight of his cum oozing out of your well-fucked cunt, dripping onto the bedsheets.

dan heng ノ

this position isn’t something new, however, and even though the fact is pleasant to think about, you do wonder what caused him to get so bold. maybe at the sight of you admiring his partially changed form, eyes drinking in the beautiful shimmer of his scales, he understood that you find him so attractive — as always, but now also intrigued by other parts of him that might be different.

his hand traces the lines of your ribs as you inhale at the feeling of him entering deeper — the unfamiliar shape of his cock nesting comfortably against your soft insides — and then he puts some weight on top of you, pressing you further into the pillows, his lips barely touching your own, unsure if he already wants to kiss you.

“tell me if it hurts you.”

“it’s alright, really. you can… you know, continue…”

“now i’m more concerned that you seem to like it more than when we’re doing it… gentler.” surprised at his own talkativeness, there’s a red splash of colour on his cheeks as he bites his lips at the end of the sentence and buries his face in the crook of your neck. you giggle at his comment, but it turns into a needy moan as he moves his hips to rest snugly between your legs.

with your tongue, you slide across his upper lip, capturing it softly and biting on its tenderness, tasting a faint trace of his salty sweat and humming as he shivers, your fingers tangled in his hair, brushing through the ebony black locks, before whispering, “i know you’re holding back. no need to, i trust you.”

“mmh,” dan heng mutters with a shaky breath as his shaft hardens and thickens at your reactions. your reassuring words have such an impact on him; they're teasing him with this pleading tone of yours, allowing him to mate with you during the times when he gets so incredibly hot in your presence, unable to keep his hands off of you.

his thrusts start slow and measured; however, with each minute passing, he finds himself succumbing more and more to the instinct calling upon him; it is so much different now that you’re within his reach — how you react, how you look at him — everything makes him lose his cool. soon his lips find your nipple again, teeth grazing sensitive skin until you hiss, yet push yourself towards him, arching your back. the sting of his bite stimulates you to the point where your inner walls spasm, clamping down on him tightly as you almost cry out.

even the shallowest strokes produce audible squelching noises whenever he loses his rhythm. he’s just as intoxicated by the new sensation. the little details that change in his build now make you two melt in each other’s arms; his cock glides with fervour and carelessness against the spots that usually required precision.

the pleasure is overwhelming, even a bit scary how accurate at bringing the sweetest of your sobs out. his instincts still force him to grip at your shoulders — you let him do this — to slam harder inside of your pussy. and you can barely take it, but he quickly looks at the side on the clock, and it’s been barely minutes since he started…

jing yuan ノ

he embraces you tightly, wide arms with ease groping your entire body as you shudder, and let him bring you closer, your back pressed to his soft yet firm chest — allowing his cock to reach deeper, spearing your entrance until your essence seeps out in abundance between your bodies.

usually, you would expect jing yuan to prefer being face to face with you, but also knowing what a menace he can be, there must’ve been something more on his mind. which catches you by surprise when you notice his fingers circle your clit from the front, sort of caging you between one pleasure and another as you helplessly try to wriggle out of his iron grip.

at that, what you hear is a chuckle — deep like the ocean, sweet like honey, dripping with both love and lust, and making you all fuzzy from within. the waves of immense enjoyment lap at your limbs from all sides, and you gasp out when his palm rubs you so skillfully, with care and adoration.

“no matter which part of you i touch… it’s a pleasure to watch you shake in my arms.“ he purrs with a small smile, nibbling at your earlobe and inhaling the sweet scent of your hair. you wish to nod but can't, in fear that it’ll only spur him further on to bounce you on his cock and enjoy how you struggle with each thrust. “does my beloved bird feel good?”

before you can answer — which you would love to, gathering the strength and courage to wail and sob into his lips as your head falls back on his shoulder — his palm moves up from your bundle of nerves to your tummy, pressing on the soft flesh there. intently. he knows exactly what to do to get a specific reaction out of you, to make himself moan as you clench abruptly on his girth despite your walls sobbing at the stretch. you feel so full in that moment, choking on your breath at the additional pressure, too occupied with his cock filling your body so wholly.

as he starts to fuck you relentlessly — you cry out, the pitch of your voice higher and higher as you slowly become incapable of maintaining any volume at all — the tiniest sounds, broken huffs of air leaving your mouth; your eyes are glassy with tears, and all you want to do is bury yourself in the pillows and blankets, somehow escape from this prison of bliss. but he holds you close, one hand fondling your breast and the other playing around your lower abdomen, always there where you don’t want him at the moment, just to tease and make you more and more desperate.

a little flick of his thumb against your pearl, a press on your belly, maybe even fingers parting your folds as he drags his fat tip in and out at the perfect angle. it’s enough to throw you over the edge again.

as if your body belonged to him — and he, being the ever caring lover, already knows everything about you, that you enjoy it too much when he manhandles you like this.

[cherryjuiceblues]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 | 𝟏

➯ HARRY EXPERIENCES THE BIGGEST LOSS OF HIS CAREER BUT HIS BEST FRIEND IS ALWAYS THERE TO SOFTEN THE BLOW. ✰ rugby!harry friends to lovers. minor warnings for somnophilia. heavy descriptions of size kink and harry being bigger than reader. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 5.2k ッ converted masterlist

Y/N watches from the sidelines, eyes ping-ponging to each side of the pitch as the ball makes its way back and forth, back and forth. Her lungs beg for fresh oxygen that she won’t grant them. France’s full-back pellets the ball high up into the air, straight into the arms of England’s full-back, England’s full-back wallops it back to France’s full-back. Y/N’s skin fucking burns with impatience—could someone just play the ball? Her gaze flits over the broad numbers littering the field… three—grass stains streaking across white—eight, twelve—blood streaming down temples—eleven, nine… Ten. 

Harry hangs back, intense, focused eyes following every movement of the ball; just like Y/N, only with pinpoint accuracy. He’s the decision maker of the team, the fly-half—the player that sets up most of the scores, who guides the play. One of the most important pieces of the puzzle and… he’s frazzled, Y/N can tell. By the slight mania in his widened eyes and the frantic point he stresses towards the other side of the pitch, desperate for his teammates to attack—to get some phases going, some passes—anything other than kick tennis.

France have had the upperhand all game. They’re the favourites, after all, and playing at their home ground—but this is the final game of the Six Nations. This is the win England need to set them up for the World Cup.

And they’re losing. They’ve been losing since the second minute when France scored a try from their own twenty two—their lightning fast winger weaving in and out of all of England’s defence to dive over the line—leaving his electric trail in a bolt behind him.

And now it’s the seventy eighth minute and France are two points ahead. Y/N knows why Harry is signalling so passionately—he is desperate to get the ball further down the opponent’s end of the field. If not to score then to force them to make an error, to give away a penalty. Anything to secure the win in the final two minutes.

She is practically barking orders at the players herself—only quietly under her breath instead of the way she is sure Harry is shouting. Every technique, every tactic—Y/N has observed them all. She knows that the clock ticks twice as fast in the final moments of a game. She knows that Harry’s close to losing control of the match completely—of losing that chance of evening the scoreline—and her heart is beating out of her chest watching it all unfold.

The ball finally makes its way into a player’s hands for more than two seconds. France don’t kick it away; their number nine makes a run for it—determined to end the game with an extra score on the board. He executes a dummy pass, feigning to throw the ball to his teammate and successfully losing England’s own nine that slips in the grass in his attempt to mark. Disarmingly quick for a small player, he gets all the way to the halfway line before being tackled.

And this… this is when everything changes. Y/N shoots up from her seat when he goes down—piled upon by white jerseys desperate to rip the ball right out of his hands. She holds her breath as he stays on the floor, can’t find the ball within the chaos—flits her eyes over to Harry who is standing in formation with the rest of the backs. His mouth moves a million miles a second, expression rampant, arms flailing as he screams at his players.

Just a little longer, just a little longer… “Come on, ref,” Y/N mutters under her breath, “blow the fucking whistle.” She watches the man in red do just that—bring the whistle up to his lips in a rapid motion, throwing his arm up in the air to favour England. 

A penalty. In the final minute. For England.

The stadium goes up in a cacophony of roars. Furious French moans drowned out by the deafening screams of the English. A rivalry as old as time goes down to the wire once again. Y/N’s heart pounds away inside of her ribs—hardly able to process the sight of Harry and his team celebrating—the relieved clenching of his fists.

Waterboys rush onto the pitch, slinging the kicking tee to Harry’s awaiting palms. Time continues to pass—the clock sure to enter the red before he’s made contact with the ball that he meticulously balances at the perfect angle. Y/N has watched Harry perform a thousand kicks and yet nothing will ever quell the gut-churning anxiety she feels during these moments in a match. To witness the mass of eighty thousand people reduced to murmurs as Please respect the kicker appears on every screen in sight. To watch Harry, his routine—because every fly-half has one—the way he eyes up the ball, angles himself, blocks out the world around him to draw that invisible line from the ball to the posts… it's an honour and a damnation.

And Y/N is always nervous to watch him kick, but right now, her body feels as though it might start emanating electricity. Harry’s a near perfect shot. His success rate is one of the highest in the game—past and present—but… This angle is, for lack of a better word, fucked. He’s practically kissing the touchline, ball facing a direction you would not expect to be the correct one. But Harry prepares himself, positioned with the posts nearly behind him, ready to curve it just right.

Then he kicks it—he boots it as all kickers do. And it bends. It curves in the air, slicing through it like soft, melted butter. Y/N goes deathly still—time slows down—she’s only half-aware of the screens showing the clock tick over to red. The ball soars, heading straight for the posts, it glides like it has fucking wings—

And then it collides heavily against the left post and bounces back into play. Straight into French hands.

He’s missed. He’s—missed. Y/N’s exhale comes out as some sort of wet exasperation, hands flying to cover her cheek in pure disbelief. No. The stadium cries out so loudly she can hardly hear herself think. All she can see is Harry. The way he crouches down and pinches the bridge of his nose as France kicks the ball out of play and the referee blows the final whistle.

It’s over. All those weeks, all those games, all that fighting. Just to lose it on the last kick of the game. Y/N can’t believe her eyes. 

“You’ve got this, Harry. You’ve got this. Don’t even worry. Y’the best England have seen since Farrell.”

She betrayed him by encouraging such a statement, she’s sure (despite the fact of it). Maybe it got to him; the pressure. The kind of pressure Y/N hoped would be helpful. The truth being that he is the best player they have right now. He’s breaking records, he’s setting new standards, he is the bright, shining new star. But maybe that’s too much to place on a person’s shoulders. Even on the breadth of Harry’s.

The pitch starts hurtling closer and it’s only then that Y/N processes the speed in which her legs are stampeding towards Harry. She can’t get at all as close as she yearns to be—reaching the edge of the box with an aching chest. Not with anger, not with disappointment. With sadness for her friend, for her best friend. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, a night of euphoria and drunkenness and laughter.

All Y/N can see is Harry’s sullen face as his teammate hauls him up and slaps him heavily on the back—no gentility from the hardness of a rugby player. The teams shake hands and France take a victory lap around the pitch, celebrating with fans whilst the award podium is set up. All Y/N wants to do is get to Harry but England have to stand there and watch France lift the trophy. She glances at it now with disdain.

It’s always a struggle to find Harry after a match—sometimes he’s got press to do, sometimes he’s being ushered into the changing rooms, sometimes he strolls around the pitch with his team, taking photos with fans. Y/N always waits, always watches with stars in her eyes. Nothing ever quite matches the rapid beat of her heart when she gets to observe him in his element; after a win.

But today they’ve lost. And today, Harry doesn’t linger. He doesn’t even let himself get pulled aside for pitchside interviews—lucky that the captain is hounded first. Y/N can already see the headlines. Styles Sulks After Shattering Six Nations Defeat. His hands clapping for France but the line of his mouth hard and the sheen of his eyes glossed over. She knows the noise all fades into the background for him, his mind is elsewhere—body desperate to join.

Her own knows the feeling; too far away from him to relax as their magnetic forces pull towards one another. Keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground is a hard task, when the only focused object in her vision is the outline of Harry. And as soon as he makes that first step towards the tunnel, she’ll make sure to run through anyone who stands in her way.

Getting to Harry’s hotel room proves harder than it should be. Y/N had wasted her time looking for him anywhere else—of course he wouldn’t have wanted to go to an afterparty. To celebrate what? A crushing loss? France’s pilfering victory? Entering a room as Harry Styles might as well be the equivalent of shitting on a plate and offering it around like some kind of hors d'oeuvres. Charm is usually his specialty but it’s no surprise that he chose to hide himself away as soon as the opportunity arose—to take back what little control he has over today and deny prying eyes passing judgement where he can see them.

She thinks, for a moment, that he’s not going to answer the door and her sympathy nearly bubbles into misguided anger before she alters its path. She is so frantic to reach him that it feels like a waste of time to stand still for even a second. But the soft padding of socked feet against carpet sounds from behind the thick wood, and the click of a lock as the door gives way to reveal the image of a forlorn Harry.

He’s so tall, and so broad, and his personality is larger than life—but right now… Right now, Harry looks small. His shoulders weigh heavy and his posture slumps forward, and despite the fact of his towering height, Y/N doesn’t feel so dwarfed in his presence right now. Neither of them say anything; both waiting for the other to speak up first but neither does. Y/N just stands there… in the hallway, suspended in a moment, looking at Harry with sad eyes as his fingers linger on the door handle.

And then she throws her arms around his hulking shoulders and feels his chest deflate against her own expanding one, as she breathes, “I’m sorry, Harry.”

He doesn’t reply—what is there to say? Nothing positive or optimistic, only bashes to his performance, his ability as a player. Instead, he curls his arms around her back; an immediate solace to breathe in the wash of her scent, the soft of her hair as he buries his nose against her crown. His biceps squeeze around her, compressing the bones in her body with a heavenly kind of weight. Small in his arms but big enough to provide comfort. Always the biggest part of his heart, the place he goes to for relief.

Every exhale against her head bleeds warmly into her scalp, seeping down to her toes and regulating her heartbeat. Weightlessness is a common feeling in the presence of Harry, more often physically than not, as he pulls her off the tips of her toes and carries their embrace to the foot of the hotel bed. The door clicking shut serves as a reminder of the outside world; of time continuing to tick away despite the silence that blankets the room they’re in. Y/N removes her hands from Harry’s nape as he sits down, his own paws lingering on the plush of her hips. His eyes are sad, tired, embarrassed. Y/N doesn’t recognise him like this.

“Kev is gonna kill me,” Harry laughs with exasperation, a hand dragging itself down his face. It’s not often that he finds himself on coach’s bad side—he’s not sure he ever really has. He’s well disciplined, a little too cheeky sometimes, perhaps, but manages to ride the line with ease. He works hard, he trains hard, he respects the game and lives to improve with every new day. (Y/N once joked that Harry would struggle getting on the bad side of a wasp; could charm his way out of a potential sting without breaking a sweat.)

She breathes softly, fingertips carding through freshly washed hair; a shower the only thing he could force himself to do after the loss. “Kevin is not going to kill you. You’re his best player.”

It’s hard not to let his sigh turn into a moan with the way she handles him with such tenderness. There’s no fight, none at all, when he closes his eyes and lets her scratch his scalp. “Not supposed to sulk about it. Got t’get up and move on. Prepare for the next thing.”

A gentle tug at the back of his head, not painful, but stern. He looks up at her figure between his legs. “Harry, you can be upset, it’s okay.”

“Can’t be grumpy tomorrow.”

“Just for tonight then.”

It works. He huffs, “I fuckin’—” falling backwards and pulling Y/N’s body with him. She holds back her affronted squeal, palms landing on either side of his shoulders. “—ruined it for everyone.”

“No you did not.” It’s not fair to berate him but Y/N has never been one to allow self-deprecation. That was reserved for herself, and herself only. Her palm meets his chest lightly as she frowns, “You didn’t ruin anything, are you kidding? You kept that match alive.”

“And then I bottled it! Right at the bloody end.”

Her smile is sad; wishing for thaumaturgy to run through her veins—or the ability to turn back time. “And next time the posts won’t get in the way.”

“Hm. Not funny. Might not even be a next time. I’ll probably get dropped for this.”

“No, you won’t, don’t be silly. If everyone got dropped for a single mistake, you’d have no fucking players left.”

It falls silent for a while, their embrace a steady rising and falling of chests—like a dingy floating down a lazy river. Harry strokes up and down her back, as though she’s the one that needs reassurance. It feels nice all the same. The only thing Y/N can do is let her weight settle atop of his hefty body, trying to breathe as deeply as her lungs can manage in hopes that Harry’s heart will mirror. Of course, she’s kidding herself into believing she is any sort of definition of calm, but her mind hasn’t quite caught up yet. Maybe it’s the humidity that forces the catch of her breath as Harry shifts beneath her—maybe it’s the pollen count. Probably the pollen count.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs after a moment, mindless hands fidgeting amongst her clothes. The layers she’d meticulously arranged to combat the brandishing winds have untucked themselves from the denim of her jeans. Harry’s fingers slip underneath and brush against the silken skin of her waist. He sighs, speaking once more before Y/N can hum her agreement, “You’re so soft.”

There are unspoken lines in relationships, right? Boundaries, expectations, societal normalities. Y/N has lost count over the years, how often herself and Harry have been mistaken for a couple. It alludes to something deeper than neither of the two have ever addressed. And the line… it’s never been crossed but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been toed upon. The waters aren’t as cold as they’ve been before. Y/N’s cheeks warm with the comfort of hiding in her best friend’s chest. The things he says always make her skin thrum with unbridled energy; there’s just something about the way he wields words that has her feeling special. But she hides it with great effort; yearns to maintain a cooler front, perhaps to match her counterpart and appear a worthy equal beside Harry’s coveted self. Being described as soft isn’t an inherently romantic thing—it’s simply a statement—but Harry hums it so freely, like her softness is the salve for all of his cuts and scrapes. The delicacy of a girl, his girl, it’s enough to plaster over the disappointment of his day, because bigger things matter more.

In moments like these, Y/N could reply with a myriad of things. She sure as hell hears a million and one of them pinging around her head. Maybe she’s cowardly, or maybe she’s sensible—she adopts a jibing approach, “It helps not to roll yourself around a muddy field every day.”

“Charming. We’re not pigs, you little shit.” She makes him laugh, a huffed exhale, but a humoured noise nonetheless. Her lips curl up into his neck and she pretends that he’s happy for just a moment. 

When the lull of silence passes and Harry starts to shuffle beneath her, a sense of panic morphs to desperate distraction—not too dissimilar to the reaction of an overworked mother catching her toddler on the verge of bouncing its wails off the walls like some twisted sort of hyena mimicry—she waves a brightly coloured toy in front of his face, equipped with all kinds of bells and whistles.

His pecs indent with the pads of her fingers as she pushes herself up and plasters on an exaggerated grin that can only preface mischief, wiggling her eyebrows, “Want a massage?” ever the unalluring as her drawl tiptoes into the boundaries of offensively inaccurate Northern, “Hm? Free of charge.”

A blip of relief radiates through Y/N’s chest like the echo of a submarine when the corners of Harry’s mouth twitch upwards; in response to the sudden animation of her movements or the laxation that comes promised with her proposition, she’s not sure. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he hums, neck propped up lazily by the palm of his hand, “They’re all free of charge.”

She runs with this fragment of a game—practically bullies herself into a sprint as she nods, “You should be grateful I’m not charging you by the minute. I studied for years.”

She did study for years, and Harry’s never been more grateful for it—selfishly cashing in all the massages he can get. “And look—” 

“Roll over—” she hoists her hips up to alleviate her weight, off of his body so he can do as she says and shuffle onto his front.

“—Where you’ve ended up.” It’s a self-deprecating thought, not one to banter or jibe, despite being disguised as such. Holed up in lacklustre Room 143, frittering time away with a subpar athlete. Harry’s lucky she’s here lest he dig himself into an even deeper hole.

“I know…” her sigh is light, completely oblivious to Harry’s thoughts only a mere skull’s width away, “so tragic.”

It’s quiet again after that, the vacant hotel air perforated with an occasional thick exhale from Harry’s pouting mouth as Y/N’s hands work through knots and kinks over the breadth of his back. He tries to fight sleep but she presses in harder, just shy of too hard, just enough to melt the taut into goo. When those breaths start coating themselves in gravel, the air catching on his larynx on its way out, and salaciously undiluted hums turn to feathery grunts—Y/N feels smug when she does that to a person—especially when it’s Harry.

Y/N doesn’t have to ask what he wants when she orders room service. Five years of friendship lends itself to the memorisation of eating habits. He’s tired after the massage, muscles heavy and bones squishy, when her efforts to scoot him towards the headboard proved impossibly strenuous. It’s caught up with him like a wave crashing to the shore—all-consuming; submerging. Harry drowns in it entirely, can barely keep his eyes open long enough to shovel his cheat dinner into his mouth. The TV ends up screening old reruns of Friends. Y/N can tell Harry’s clocked out—mind traversing the depths of his insecurities—and it tugs her lips downwards to know she can’t distract him. Not even acting along to their favourite scene makes the smile reach his eyes. She unfocuses her own just to pretend she’s seeing what he is—the blur of the television, colours melting together in kaleidoscope swirls. Ross’ forlorn Hi pulls her out of it.

She feels bad for projecting; for expecting or hoping him to be okay. Of course, he’s not going to be okay. Okay is waking up on a Monday morning with time to buy yourself a treat for lunch before heading into your dreary office job. Harry’s not even knocking on the door of Oh-Kay. But it’s a useless feeling—to be witnessing misery so candidly with nothing worthwhile to offer as a fix. Then she looks over at him, prompted by a thick rumble, and it all goes quiet inside her head for a moment. He’s asleep—plate resting precariously over his lap. The waves catch up to her too, brows smoothing out to mirror the peace of Harry’s expression, and she knows it's time for bed.

Everything seems so much louder when you’re trying to be quiet. Y/N experiences that tenfold in the en-suite bathroom. Her toothbrush vibrates too hard, the water splashes too violently, the cap of her cleanser is obnoxious when it clicks shut. Harry peeks an eye open when she settles atop the covers once again; rosy notes clinging to the full of her soft cheeks, glowing in the soft vibrance of the bedside lamp she’d leant over his chest to click on. There’s no guilt on his face that might suggest he’s been awake for a while, and the rumble of his voice solidifies Y/N’s panic of disrupting his sleep.

“Sorry,” she winces, adjusting her bare knees on top of the sheets. Harry’s sleepy eyes flit down to the hem of her shorts brushing against the plush of her thighs. Then he shrugs a shoulder and extends his arm, beckoning her forward with a curl of his fingers. “Come on. Need a cuddle.” 

And Y/N falls into him easily—head tucked beneath his chin, open palm smoothing over his heart, just like that—as they both ignore the intimacy of their embrace.

Parisian sunlight doesn’t filter past Y/N’s eyelids when they twitch awake, fluttering open less than elegantly. The stitches of memories sew themselves back together piecemeal—too slowly to find it questionable—the caress of soft pads across the puff of her cheek. She thinks she grunts. 

It’s the moon that shows her. The silhouette of wide shoulders and a sloping neck; the sheer curtain enveloped with gentle pockets of wind that slip through the open window, billowing inwards. It pools across the carpet; cool moonlight, casting an unearthly glow along the bicep that reaches out.

Harry’s thumb brushes the girl’s feathery lashes, ducking beneath her undereye to stroke the skin there. It’s such a gentle awakening that Y/N feels heavy—half awake and half still dreaming—still floating through the clouds of her imagination. Weights tug her eyes shut again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” a quiet murmur, not quite a whisper, the edges grisly but well-intentioned.

“...What time ‘s it?” The pillow sinks in further, weighted with the nuzzle of a nose and an overt inhale. Seasalt and sandalwood, from a little blue bottle—travel size—bathing the cotton covers and tucking Y/N safely into cushions of secure muscle and warm skin. 

“Not sure, go back t’sleep.”

Just enough of the day before creeps into the periphery of her consciousness, forcing the sleep away with an obvious disgruntled twitch. “Are you okay?”

Harry supplies a hum, noncommittal and faraway—too engrossed in the trail of his thumb against her cheek to provide much more. “What‘re you doing?” She whines, fighting the curl of her mouth with the principle of her pilfered slumber. Each nerve ending he passes over leaves bumps in his wake in an endearing betrayal.

“Don’t move,” he tuts when she wriggles her head some—ticklish. “I was thinking…” and if Y/N were less catatonic she’d quip something predictable to earn an answering pinch, “thinking that I’m really glad you’re here.” It’s a saving grace that her tongue lays heavy behind her lips. Harry’s timbre slicks itself over her, satiny like silk. Sincerity isn’t their forte most of the time. It makes her stiffen, anticipating what comes next. 

“I really love you.” 

The weight behind his words should be more startling—a stumble during an elegant figure skating routine—but it glides over the ice with ease, buttery and smooth. Y/N feels herself slipping under the cotton wool covers of unconsciousness with these words, a tiny smile evidence enough for Harry that she heard him, understood him. What might encourage a pregnant pause in the afternoon light, coaxes her back to sleep in the predawn.

It’s a sentiment untold, bearing new significance in the whisperings between sheets. His hotel room, now a honeymoon suite, perhaps—with promises of romantic views and crisp, white palettes bouncing light from wall to wall. Too much room for a newly wedded couple but grand in gesture and boundless in memory.

Only they’re not even lovers, let alone united in matrimony, and no newfound intimacy comes without question. But it’s two in the morning, or three, or four, and this all feels like some sort of beautiful dream—weightless—venturing beyond imagination. Maybe Y/N is dreaming, maybe she’s conquered the intricacies of lucid dreaming, maybe that’s why it isn’t scary to hear. Because it’s not entirely true. 

But it’s hard to imagine, to fabricate the pressing of lips against the corner of her mouth and the soft plumes of air tickling her cheek. And it’s even harder when those same lips knit themselves over her hairline and a winding forearm pulls her in closer into a grounding embrace. She falls asleep again before her brain can whir up enough to provide conclusion.

Harry sounds different when Y/N wakes up. He feels different too. He’s solid as ever, solid yet yielding around her own softer form, but there are new ridges where she’s never known them to be and skin rocking forwards to kiss curves. 

For a moment, it doesn’t register that this is… unusual. Y/N seems to process it twice. 

Once with a sense of nonchalance. 

Oh, Harry’s humping me in his sleep.

And once with an urgent kind of astonishment.

 Oh. Harry is humping me in his sleep. 

But that realisation doesn’t lend itself to her advantage. It doesn’t make her shoot upwards and scramble away before he realises. Because—sleepiness aside—it feels… it feels really good. His body is warm and his arms are tight around her waist; a security blanket made of bicep and sinewy forearm. But it’s wrong to enjoy him like this, without his permission, without his awareness. 

“Harry. Harry, wake up, you’re—”

“Y/N…” her name falls from his lips like a feather; a confession soft spoken.

“Yes,” but he’s not awake. “Harry,” she digs her fingernails into his wrist, hoping the pinch will stir his slumber but he only ruts into her harder, a groan catching in his throat.

“Baby—” Y/N gasps with his moan, muscles tightening, seizing with panic. The bump in his sweats knocks over the rounds of her bum, sleep shorts thin and easily mussed. She can feel them riding up with each roll that Harry gives and the voice in the back of her head telling her to let him… it only gets louder. 

He’s holding her so tight, entirely safe in his arms, so cardinal, so desired. It wouldn’t be so wrong of her to let him use her body like this. He deserves to feel good. She tells herself it’s not selfish, it’s not impolite of her to feel fulfilled too. There’s no control over what makes her body sing. But Harry seems to be pretty good at it, even in sleep. 

His breath is in her ear; it blankets over the slope of her shoulder, warm and seducing. It feels right to have Harry’s lips tucked against her neck, like it was always supposed to be there. What if the side of her neck never feels warm again. It’s the shift of her hips backwards, mistakenly, that arouses him. 

His body stills and the groans in his throat diminish as realisation dawns. But he’s not hurried, or stuttery in his movements. No, there’s no rush at all. A slight tumble over his words as he wakes up, “Oh sh—shit, m’sorry peaches,” and a stroke across the exposed skin of her stomach when he pulls back, “That’s my bad.” But that’s all he reveals, before untangling himself from the sheets.

Y/N coughs, splutters, over a response, unable to reply with anything that could be considered coherent. Her eyes are fighting to dart down when he stands. That’s my bad. His indifference, Y/N thinks, strikes a chord. But she doesn’t understand. Why her heart pounds harder and her legs squeeze tighter. Is she disappointed or is she disturbed? It’s too early to piece any of her feelings together. Her phone beams seven-forty when she taps the screen.

She rolls over onto her back, dragging her clammy palms over her face as Harry takes himself to the on-suite too casually. Her skin is all hot, roiling waves washing over her and strangling her thudding heart. The ghost of his body still presses against her, the hardness, the softness, all of it. The sounds he was making; new to her ears in all their time knowing one another. No amount of pretending could send her back to sleep now.

The bathroom fan whirs and Y/N can’t decide if she’s grateful or dismayed that she can’t make out any clear sounds. 

When Harry emerges, the dusting of rouge across his cheeks makes Y/N’s stomach flutter, eyes darting around the room to look at anything else. He clears his throat and brushes the back of his index finger under his nose. Y/N might believe he was trying not to laugh if she weren’t so mortified.

And then he actually speaks. He speaks to her and she has to acknowledge him. “I’ve got to get the coach back this mornin’.”

She swallows, “Yeah, mhm, okay.”

“Alright,” A keycard appears between his fingers, and then he places it on the console table, “y’can return this to the front desk f’me?” Y/N nods silently. She doesn’t watch Harry as he gets dressed, or as he shoves things into his bag. She doesn’t even sit up, mouth seemingly stuck open in a gape. “Okay, bye, see you later, stinky.”

“See you—” but the door has already clicked shut, “—later.”

[auggieblogs]

freckle kisses ֶָ֢ | MV1

Max Verstappen x fem! reader

Author's note: Hello, lovelies!!! I hope everyone is doing good. This fic has been in my drafts for a while now and I finally had the motivation to edit it today. The Max brainrot is very real, I cannot stop thinking about his little freckle. He is so beautiful🥹. Anyways, I hope you all like this piece. Happy reading<3

ALSO fun fact, I have a freckle that's right below my lower lip jshshdjdhs I don't know I think it's a sign!!! (im delusional)

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

Max was used to the routine. Before the haze of sleep fully left him every morning, he would feel the soft, warm press of her lips against the tiny freckle on his upper lip. It was her unique ritual, a habit she had never skipped, and he had come to adore.

As the sun streamed through the blinds of their bedroom, she stirred beside him, her eyes fluttering open. Without missing a beat, she leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on his freckle. Max smiled, his heart swelling with love.

"Morning, love," he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

"Morning, Maxie," she replied, her voice light and cheerful.

Every day followed this pattern. Whether Max was leaving for a race, taking a break between practice sessions, or they were about to make love, her lips always found that freckle. It was her little act of love, and Max never questioned it. He cherished it

One lazy Sunday afternoon, they were lounging in their living room, a movie playing in the background. She lay on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. Max absentmindedly played with her hair, occasionally pressing soft kisses to her forehead. She sighed contentedly, snuggling closer.

Max felt her shift slightly, and there it was again. Her lips met his freckle in a gentle kiss before trailing a line of kisses up to his lips. "I love you," she mumbled softly against his skin.

"I love you too," Max replied, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

He paused momentarily, a curious look crossing his face, "Why do you always kiss my freckle?"

She looked up at him with a shy smile, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "It's silly," she said.

Max tilted her chin up gently, his eyes searching hers. "It’s not stupid if it’s something you do," he said softly. "Tell me, please."

She took a deep breath before explaining, "Well, my mom used to tell me that freckles or moles are spots where lovers used to kiss you in past lives. She said they’re like beauty marks, little reminders of love."

Max's expression softened, a tender smile spreading across his face. "That's beautiful," he said, his voice filled with genuine emotion.

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. "I told you it was silly."

"It's not silly," Max replied, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles gently, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. And I love you for it."

Her heart swelled with love as she looked at him, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone like Max in her life. "I love you too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, the movie long forgotten.

Max chuckled softly, breaking the comfortable silence. "So, every time you kiss that freckle, it’s like you’re saying hello to my past lovers?" he teased.

She laughed, playfully swatting his chest. "Or maybe it’s just my way of marking my territory," she quipped back.

Max laughed, the sound rich and joyful. "Well, consider it marked," he said, leaning down to capture her lips in a loving kiss.

[dante-mightdie]

I’m sorry but I must share—what would you think of Cult-leader! Price who finds a distraught, bruised and bloodied reader who ran away from home and takes her to his warm lodge to nurse her back to health and feed her. The poor thing looked like a frightened doe as he found her and he merely wanted to help her but the longer she stayed with the tight-knit community in the depths of the woods the more harder it is to leave. After reader feels more better and wants to take off, she tries to phone her family/friends yet there is no service. Price tells her that unfortunately the service cables were destroyed by a Wilde moose or something and that it would take three weeks or so til the repairmen come. He still offers her to stay longer in his lodge—of course sooner expecting her to help out. Afterall, he provided her with shelter and food, it’s the least she could do. Days pass in a blur and the longer reader stays the lodge the more she starts to forget why she even was stuck here in the first place. What seemed at first as unusual, like the weird nightly feasts that Price and his people make, becomes a familiar tradition of sorts. It’s tradition—he assures. It’s status quo and all the other weirdly hunts that they make at every full moon are only a friendly little game—nothing serious. Or so Reader is fed to belief. It’s not until reader herself gets caught up in all the festivities and rituals that she becomes the very prey that Price hunts each full moon. Only that this time the sacrifice won’t be small pesky rodents but reader herself. As reader is the perfect fit to Price’s family. The mother of his loyal cult. Soft and pliant and perfectly ripe for such role.

Anyways—these worms have been wringling in my mind all day. Ty for letting me get this off of my chest.

Ps: Love your writing, ty for your previous brainrot <3.

no but just imagine him chasing you through the woods <3333

c/w: kidnapping, cult dynamics, predator/prey, dub-con, non-con, p-in-v sex, no prep penetration, dacryphilia, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

gets you all prettied up in a long red dress, telling you it’s all part of the tradition but you seem to be the only one wearing red. he keeps you sat besides him the whole night, ignoring your worried complaints about the uncanny smiles every one is sending your way

he keeps a hand planted on your thigh the entire time, thumb soothing over your skin as he offers you slow-cooked meats and sweet wine. and when the full moon rolls around and john drags you to the edge of the forest with an excited grin on his face, it finally clicks what his plans are

he keeps you locked in his arms whilst his hands feel up and down your waist, over your hips and ass. grunts and heavy groans filling your ears as his lips brush over the skin. “don’t worry, sweetheart. we won’t be apart for long.”

he nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, breathing in your scent. “I’ll find ya nice and easy then we can get to work on continuing my legacy. have ya knocked up in no time, baby…”

he gives his people some long speech about family and responsibility, bloodlines and destiny. about how it’s time he settled down and had a brood of children of his own to carry on everything he has built. the whole time he has you pinned against him, your back to his chest. no one notices the way he pulls his cock out just enough to tap the tip against your puffy folds before tucking himself away

he gives you a 15 minute headstart, you spend the first few minutes still stood at the tree line. you begged and pleaded with him not to do this but he just laughed and began putting on some form of tac-gear. you eventually took off running after 5 minutes, your vision blurred by the darkness of the night

if your heavy breathing and panting didn’t give away your location, then your constant stumbling over would. you could hear twigs breaking and animals rustling around in every direction but you couldn’t see more than a few centimetres in front of your face

you clutch the lace fabric of your skirt, your feet dredging through the mud until you hear and feel them splash against the tide of some body of water. you squeak loudly when your feel the icy cold temperature frost your skin

you crouch down, collecting some of the water and splashing it on your face in an attempt to calm your breathing. the adrenaline courses through your veins as your eyes dart around, unable to make anything out in the night

you spend the next few hours wandering around blindly, an impending sense of doom building up under your skin with each passing hour in which the sun doesn’t rise. you stop to catch your breath, kneeling in the earth below you. your nails dig into your thighs over the material of your dress, your eyes still struggling to make out your nearby surroundings

your breath still when you hear a twig crunch a few feet to your left, muscles freezing when you try and listen out for your surroundings. your heart thumps loudly in your chest whilst your nails dig into the earth below you. there’s nothing but a few seconds of silence before you hear footsteps rushing towards you in quick succession

there’s no time for you to scream when a large hand, wrapped in a tactical glove, covers your mouth and squeezes your jaw closed. the darkness impairing your vision meant you were forced to only be able to feel as you are manhandled into a crude position

his mean grip entangled with your hair keeps you pinned to the ground, your cheek smushed into the cold surface of the earth. you feel rocks and gravel digging into the skin of your knees, engraving their shape into your flesh. you thrash and kick in his grip but he keeps you firmly pinned, his crotch pressed against your bare cunt when he takes his hand off of your mouth to tear the flimsy fabric of your dress off

the bitter chill of the night attacks your skin instantly, making you whine out when you feel goosebumps begin to prickle all over your body

“quit yer squirmin’, woman. only makes me ‘arder when you grind against my cock like that.” he grunts in your ear, bucking his hips against your ass. you sob and squirm, trying to break free except you only end up pushing yourself further back against his throbbing erection

he wastes no time unzipping his cargos, the smell of smoky sweet tobacco filling your nostrils. a pleasant change from the dry dirt you were smelling before. he doesn’t bother undoing the top button of his pants, reaching into the open zip and pulling his cock out. he lets it fall against your wet cunt with a small plap

he wraps one arm around your hips from behind, using his other to pull your upper body up to slot right against the uncomfortable feeling of his tactical gear. he does this just so he can plant his hand right back over your mouth before bending you back over onto your hands and knees

“yer gonna make such a beautiful mother to my family. aren’t ya, darlin’?” his words drown out your muffled protests, his hips sloppily grinding against your ass. his cock slipping between your folds, nudging against your clenching hole each time

“gonna keep yer belly round ‘nd yer tits leaking for at least the next 5 years, dovie…” he groans, jumping you from behind like a feral dog in heat. his lips whispering filthy things in your ear, promises of knocking you up and talks of twins

he lets out the human equivalent to a howl when his hips finally manage to angle his cock right enough to breach past your slippery hole, sliding all the way to the hilt with one easy thrust. the bush of curls decorating the base of his cock tickle your folds when he grinds into you, adjusting your hole to the stretch

his hands switch positions, one tangling itself into your hair and the other pinning both of your wrists to the small of your back. your upper body is suspended in mid-air as he begins a brutal pace of thrusts, leaving your mouth uncovered so he can listen to your pleasured wails

the quiet forest is filled with the sound of wild nightlife and the rhythmic pap pap pap of johns ballsack colliding with your clit. your tits bounce with the force of each thrust as you sob out, “please, john! please…!”

he shushes you, yanking on your hair slightly like tugging on the reins of a wild horse. he lets out a deep chuckles, looking down to watch his meaty cock slide in and out of your drooling pussy. “don’t worry, dolly. been preparing for this ever since you landed on my doorstep. wanked my cock every night thinkin’ about filling you up.”

he stops his words to let out a deep growl when he feels your walls clamp down tight against him, “didn’t cum once. saved it all for you, darlin’. nothing more important to me than giving you a few of my brats to take care of…”

you can feel his precum spilling into your womb, the warm feeling beginning to spread throughout your gut. he takes his hand out of your hair only to deliver a sharp slap to your ass before returning it to its former place

“gonna spend the rest of this full moon splitting you open on my cock, little lamb. then once yer good and bred, I’ll take you home and treat you exactly how my wife deserves to be treated…”

~

cut to nine months later, you’re sat up in bed on a warm summer’s night. two healthy, chubby babies asleep against your chest whilst your husband, john, brushes your sweaty hair back from your forehead

there’s a content smile on your face as you coo slightly down at your newborn twins, your voice still hoarse from your recent labour :(

[jayswhorex]

"men suck," you say plopping down on the couch and putting your legs on jason's lap. you leaned back into the plush seating, trying to find some form of comfort in your mind. you had another bad date? that's only the 3rd one this week. this one had spent the whole evening talking about just himself, and god was he boring.

jason's eyes didn't bother looking at you and instead, he helped you peel off those wrenched heels you had worn. "we don't all suck" jason with a snicker, you could just feel the smirk on his face. he never liked any of the guys you went on dates with and he always told you, you had a better option right in front of you but he. he said placing your heels on the floor next to the couch.

"your feet are going to hurt like hell in the morning, let me help you make em less sore princess" softly he grabbed the base of your foot and gently kneaded it into your heel, massaging at the red, bruised skin. at first, you felt the need to pull away from his touch but you slowly began to relax into it.

jason's calloused hands moved from your feet up towards your ankle and then towards your lower thigh, you saw no harm in this.

"jay are you sure-"

"shhh, i've got you, sweetheart, just relax m'kay?" he was only helping you and you didn't want him to stop, at least not now. was it crime to want a bit more, to yearn for more of his touch.

you couldn't help but gasp at the warm feeling of his hands so gentle on your bare skin, under your skirt. "mmm, jay again please…" the two of you had never crossed a line like this and by now you knew you should have told him to stop but you couldn't.

not when your breaths were heavy and you couldn't help but let out estranged moans from just his touch. "fuck, more jay, more!" and with just those words your skirt was bunched up against your stomach and your panties had his full attention. you know what you wanted and he knew too.

he changed his position and began to massage your upper thighs. he leaned against his forearm beside your head while his other hand parted your thighs. he leaned and whispered into your ear, "where is it you want me to touch you, baby?"

without a second to waste you guide his hand to your panties, gently pushing them aside. "here please" you whined and he caved. he didn't hesitate to remove his pants not did he hesitate and sink his thick cock into you. "too much jay, wait wait" allowing you a moment to take in his length and near cum from just the feeling.

his thrusts were slow but we were rough and deep like he had been. waiting for this and he couldn't wait any longer. your legs folded around his waist, bringing his body even closer to yours. this was pure sex and it was exactly what you needed, jason knew that. he could tell you were pent up and tired and he didn't mind doing all the work, he just need you to let him fuck you till, he's the only man you'll ask for.

you won't spend your nights on useless dates but instead spend them on his cock, taking in every inch and piece of him possible. he couldn't help but kiss yours while his hips stuttered against yours, his thrusts becoming softer. you bit at the lip, thinking more when he tried to pull away.

your hands dug into their back, still, you managed to yearn for more. "jay, god I think i'm-" you said, digging into his back once before reaching your release and falling back into the couch. you closed your eyes and then you heard him ask, "what are you thinking about sweetheart?"

there you were on the couch, legs on jason's lap while he massaged the bottom of your foot. nothing had happened, well nothing that you wanted had happened. you could fantasize about what those hands could do for you.

"just how great a full body massage would be…"

[moondirti]

simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast �� thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.