#sinfully delicious | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Dirty Lil’ Secrets!

Synopsis. They all have their habits in bed - some so filthy you can’t help but keep them your dirty little secret.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, size differences, bréeding, mating press, oral (female receiving), vibrators, manhandling, marking, jealousy (Choso’s side), praise, degradation, exhibitionism, fíngering, semi-public, cúmplay, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. This came to me while watching Pink Panther, I think I should watch Pink Panther more often.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Take it or he makes you

Now, Toji knows he’s got a big dick - huge, even. And to him it doesn’t make a difference - either you take his fat cock like the good lil’ slut you are, or he shoves it in your snug cunt and watches you gasp so deliciously around him, eyes watering, swollen lips dropping into a pretty little oh!

“Ah- hngh daddy s’too big. I don’t think-”

“You will, pretty girl.” he chuckles darkly, leaning down till his breath is hot against your ear. “Because I’ll make it fit.”

Okay, maybe he lied - maybe it really does make a difference. Because right now, with you already so cockdrunk as he bullied his furiously leaking tip into your sloppy hole - Toji doesn’t think he’s ever been harder.

“Are- are you at least hngh- halfway in, daddy?” he hears you whimper. Cock twitching so animalistically inside you at the way your voice cracks so adorably at the end, tinged with desperation.

Toji can’t help but huff out a laugh, brows furrowed, greedy gaze stuck on the obscene way your pretty lips struggle to take him in. Pussy spread open so shamefully for him, quivering and leaking so sinfully onto the sheets below.

“Nope.” he hums, popping the p, reaching down to lick a long, languid stripe up the delicate tear streaming down your cheek.

God, he has to fight down some feral, animalistic part of him that wants to just plunge his throbbing cock into you till his heavy balls smack your ass. But no - not yet. What’s the fun if he can’t see you struggle a bit more?

Instead pushing in shallow, determined little thrusts to fit inside your tight pussy. Each one has his prominent veins pulsing angrily against your walls, hitting that one spot just right. A maddening bump! bump! bump! you were losing your mind to.

Stretching you to your limits. You could almost feel his achingly hard tip hitting your cervix already.

Full. So full - and he wasn’t even halfway in.

Feral grunts leave him at the way you moan breathlessly at each motion, scrambling to grab onto the headboard, the sheets, him - just anything to ground you to your sanity as you’re split apart on his achingly hard cock.

Ah, how he loved this little song and dance. A few tears, a few whines - his lil’ slut pretending like you couldn’t take it all - as if your walls aren’t sucking him in so obscenely, hips bucking up mindlessly for more. He loves your cute lil’ mewls when you can’t decide between wanting to run away or milk the soul out of him.

“Now now,” Toji tuts, looping two muscled arms around your waist so you can’t escape. Tight, grip almost bruising.

You let out a delirious squeal as he pulls you down down down - onto his thick cock. Plush walls taking him in greedily inch by fucking inch. Hungry for more.

He knew his pretty girl could do it - you always do.

“Don’t think you can run away from me, doll.” he groans over your pathetic little yelps of “Ah! Too- too big, daddy! Gonna break-”

“Then break f’me.”

And with that, Toji’s had enough of playing nice - ramming in the rest of his length in one, harsh thrust. Not stopping till he’s buried in your dripping cunt all the way to the hilt.

A low hiss leaves him as his abs rub your skin, twitching balls finally smacking against your ass. Finally taking all of him.

Finally bottoming out. Ah, this is what he’s wanted for s’long - teasing himself just as much as you.

“Oh! Oh my- ah, fuck. Want it- need it s’bad. Please- ngh-” you mewl, hips bucking wildly. Too cock-drunk on the way the tufts hair at his toned pelvis scratch against your throbbing clit to even form proper sentences. God, you think you could almost cum just from the feeling of being so overwhelmingly full of him.

“Feel me in you, pretty girl?” he rumbles, low and dangerous. “Feel me right…” he trails a long finger in between the valley of your breasts. Featherlight touch dancing down, down, down to your navel, pressing hard onto your stomach, “...there.”

You gasp at the pressure, breath catching in your throat at the dangerous smirk curling his lips as he begins to pull out inch by inch - agonizingly slow. Getting ready to fucking ruin you. Because boy does it stroke his ego to see you absolutely wrecked by his huge cock, struggling to just take him - but this is where the real fun starts.

♡ NANAMI KENTO - The family man

Nanami’s a very steady man - he always has been.

A steady job, a steady schedule, a steady relationship with you. So, really, it makes sense that he wants a kid, or two - or four with the ways he’s got you folded in half beneath him. Legs thrown over his sculpted shoulders, thighs burning at the stretch as he bends down down down-

A mating press. Nanami Kento had you in a fucking mating press.

And it was very dangerously quickly becoming his favorite thing.

You weren’t sure what to expect with that off-hand comment about wanting kids, but it surely wasn’t for your loving husband to fucking rip your skirt off and bend you over the nearest flat surface, throbbing cock now buried in your dripping pussy.

That was a few days ago.

And now every night without fail, you have Nanami’s seed dripping down your legs, still-achingly hard erection buried in your poor cunt - you doubt you’ll make it out alive this time.

“K-Kento- Hah- hngh, I feel s’full- so-”

“Shhh, darling. One more. Jus’ one more, all you gotta do is take every drop.” he hums, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. Brows furrowed, sweat trickling down his temple, cock ramming into you at such a filthy pace.

Warm - so warm with his seed. It jolted some carnal part of him - all the way down to his achingly hard cock - to know that he was the one doing this to you. That was his cum filling your pretty pussy. And everyone else would know.

God, you can do nothing but sit there and take it as Nanami edges you closer and closer to your nth orgasm tonight. Thumb drawing rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit that match the merciless pace of his hips.

Over and over. A quick, maddening tempo he was losing his mind to.

Desperate, so desperate to get you off.

“Gonna fill you up.” he whispers, voice raw and dripping with need, mind hazy. “Gonna be so round and pretty with my kid, right, darling?”

You nod eagerly, as he increases his pace impossibly. Your skin stinging where his balls smack your ass, fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your kiss-bitten lips each time his hips hit yours.

Drool drips delicately down the corner of your mouth at how animalistically he was fucking you. None of that familiar tenderness - only the pure, filthy desire to breed your pretty lil’ cunt full. All his.

“You can dress ‘em up, and I’ll take ‘em to school.” he rambles, as half-delirious as you at this point. Drunk off of you and your cunt and you. “And when we’re all alone…” he trails off dangerously. Ripping his gaze from the creamy, white ring forming around his base to look in your eyes, “I’ll fuck another one into you.”

“Ah! Yes yes yes, please. Cum in me baby, fill me up.”

You see white as you cum - or maybe that was Nanami painting your plushy walls with his seed, you can’t even tell at this point, too exhausted and cock-drunk. All you can feel is Nanami twitching inside you before he’s shooting thick hot spurts of his cum. Again. And again.

“Oh- Kento, t’much. There’s so much.” you moan softly, words slurring together. Sloppy hole quivering at the feeling of being so deliciously overfilled as Nanami’s cum trickles out of you, forming a wet, sinful pool on the sheets below.

“Feel it inside you, darling?” he doesn’t stop thrusting - rough, mindless movements from some deep-rooted, primal little part of him. Stuffing you deeper and deeper with his cum. Fully intent on filling you up until he was shooting blanks - or until he physically couldn’t. Whichever comes last.

Fucked-out little yelps leave you with wreckless abandon, mixing with the creaking of the bed at Nanami starts up yet another unforgiving pace, “Yes- Ah! I feel it, Kento. Feel it s’deep inside me.” “Mhm?” he purrs, teeth grazing your earlobe. Darkened eyes glinting with something predatory as they greedily lock onto the way his cum gushes out of you. Seeping into your skin, smearing on his abs - and his rock-hard cock. “Then, better be ready for one more, darling.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - The sweet-talker

If someone saw the ever-graceful Geto Suguru right now, they wouldn’t believe their eyes - and definitely not their ears. Such beautiful words coming out of such a beautiful mouth, but his actions were anything but.

And it doesn’t even matter the place, he’ll come up right beside you and whisper a few seemingly harmless words. “I really love that skirt on you, angel. Is this the one I bought?” he’d say to you at the convenience store, smiling sweetly at the old woman in front of him that sighs about “young love.”

Little did anyone know that right at that moment, the innocent hand in his pocket fiddles with that little plastic remote. The one he bought specifically to make you lose your sanity.

Intensity setting 2.

“B-baby?” you whimper, breath hitching as you feel the bullet vibrator shoved inside your dripping cunt start to turn up a notch - tiny, methodical vibrations against your snug walls.

“Yes, my angel?”

You could almost smack the innocent grin off his devastatingly handsome face. Geto Suguru could win an Oscar for how good he was at acting like he didn’t have a firm grip on your vibrator control. Thumb running harsh, quick little circles on the intensity.

“Nothing.” you grit your teeth, nails digging into his sculpted arm as you hold onto him for support. The little bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt maddening against your cunt. Praying that no one else here could see your dazed eyes and the way your thighs were quivering desperately. God, could this queue get any longer?

You almost miss the wrinkled hand waving in front of your face, the good-natured voice in front of you asking, “You alright, dearie? You look a bit under the weather.”

Intensity setting 3.

“I-I’m-” you choke, looking up at Geto for support. In perhaps a miraculous act of kindness, he peers down gently at the old lady. “Don’t worry, grandma. My love here has just been a bit sick today. M’taking her to the doctor after this, y’know. Isn’t that right, angel?”

Intensity setting 4.

Oh, not an act of kindness. Definitely not.

Panties completely soaked now, pussy clenching desperately around the vibrator. You shoot a quick glare at Geto, who was urging you deceivingly lovingly to answer. God, you could almost hear the laughter inside his mind as you take a steadying breath, stuttering out a barely audible, “Y-yeah. Sick today.”

You couldn’t care less if the sigh of relief you let out is audible to everyone else in the store as the elderly woman turns away with a nod. Mind focused only on Geto and Intensity setting 4 and Geto-

“Aww, what’s wrong, angel? Why do you look like you’re about to cry?” you hear that familiar faux concern from above you. “Which asshole do I need to beat up?”

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt

Gritting your teeth in order to not snap or just outright demand that Geto makes you cum right here, right now. Instead, managing out an unsteady little, “Turn it down.”

“What was that, angel?”

“Turn it down, I swear to-”

You’re cut off by hot breath against your ear, Geto’s voice hoarse with desire as he mutters, “Then cum. Right here.”

And as if to prove his point, he deftly runs his fingers along the intensity control once more, rubbing maddening little circles along it. Edging your climax and your sanity like the sadistic bastard he was.

Bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt

And you could tell by the faint smirk curling his lips that he was taunting you - torturing you to just break or break him. Whichever comes first.

Thighs trembling, knees weak, you shiver as you finally reach the counter, Geto’s thumb now firmly set on Intensity setting 4 as he speaks casually with the cashier. How dare he talk about the weather when you were reaching a breaking point here?

Tears prick at your eyes - both at the pure overstimulation and the frustration of not being able to fucking cum. No matter how much you wanted to.

“Angel, you don’t look too well. Want to sit down?”

You clench your jaw, trying to maintain some level of composure as Geto pays for your items. Every second feels like an eternity, every nerve ending screaming for release.

You muster a weak nod even as you can feel your thighs quivering, blood roaring in your ears - you refuse to let him win. At least this time.

“C’mon now, let’s get you home and rested.” By the time Geto steers you to the exit, you’re practically begging for relief. His arm hot around your waist, your vision blurring at the edges. You’ve only made one step outside when-

Intensity setting 5.

You cum with a strangled yelp. Nails digging into Geto’s forearm hard - part in surprise and part revenge for all of that. His strong arm being the only thing grounding you - and the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the fucking ground.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, and for a brief moment, all you can do is breathe, your eyes fluttering closed as your body shudders at the shockwaves of electricity. God, you almost think you see the pearly gates of heaven at the sheer intensity of your pleasure.

When you crack open your eyes again, you find Geto staring at you. Ah, an angel.

“Well, you should be thankful I went easy on you this time.”

Nevermind, it’s the devil incarnate. Geto leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Hope you’re not feeling too ‘under the weather’, angel. Because I’ve got a plan in mind and we’re going to be doing something much more fun than going to the doctor."

�� CHOSO KAMO - Marked up and all his

Choso knew you were hot - it only bothered him that everyone else did too.

Which is probably why you’ll often find him all but dragging you into the nearest bathroom at whatever party. Barely even locking the door before he’s got you pressed against the cold counter, leaking tip dragging teasingly along your swollen folds.

“Choso, baby~” you whine softly from where his furiously flushed head was kissing your dripping cunt, barely audible over the loud thumping of the music from the other side of the door. “More, deeper.”

And, well, whatever his sweetheart wants - she will get. Because he immediately presses in, plunging inch by fucking inch into your sloppy heaven. Veins dragging so maddeningly across your walls as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt.

“This what you want? To be split apart on my cock, sweetheart?” He groans into the crook of your neck, your sweet moans going straight to his aching cock. Tongue flattening along the skin, licking long, languid stripes up your neck, he nibbles lightly - all part of his plan.

“Hah- Hngh, yes baby. Jus’ like that.” Enveloping himself in your warmth, thrusting in small, mindless little motions of his hips. Not even wanting to get himself off - just wanting, needing to feel your pretty pussy around his cock. To prove to himself that you were his.

But it wasn’t enough.

Mouth still relentlessly marking and biting your skin, Choso guides your legs to wrap around his toned waist - a signal to pull, to use him to your heart’s content.

“Fuck, Choso- Fucking me s’good.” Your legs tighten around him, pulling him impossibly closer. It’s all Choso ever wants.

One hand deftly snakes it’s way down to your throbbing clit, rolling his thumb along the sensitive bud in just the way he knows will make you squeal and buck your hips onto his cock for more more more-

And the other - ah, yes, he can’t forget why he’s here - neat fingernails digging deep into your skin. Leaving pretty crescents in their wake - just below where your tight lil’ party dress hiked up. To show all those losers on the dance floor who you belong to.

Dragging. Marking.

His mouth leaves their place from your neck to whisper against your lips, darkened eyes boring into yours, “You’re mine, y’know that?”

You can do nothing but nod breathlessly into the heady air, hips bucking wildly underneath him as he increases his pace. Keening deliriously at the bruising grip on your hips and the even harder one on your poor cunt.

“Mine. All mine.” he grits out, twitching balls smacking your ass, rock-hard cock dipping in and out in and out in and-

“Those losers can’t fuck you the way I do, sweetheart.”

And then you’re cumming. Jolts of electricity running down your spine - and your nails raking down Choso’s. Red-hot patterns in their wake - and that’s exactly what sends him over the edge. “Ah- Shit shit shit, yes mark me till m’bloody yes-”

And maybe you do, because his throbbing cock twitches deeply in your pussy. Thrusting once, twice before he pumps thick, hot ropes into your fluttering walls. Tight balls squeezing painfully as he cums with a loud groan of your name.

Two arms kneading your ass - wrapping bruisingly around your waist - touching any and every inch of skin he could reach. Leaving pretty little marks for days.

You can feel such a sinful, sticky mixture of his slick and your cum trailing down your legs as he fucks you both through your highs. Pooling at the cold counter, stomach now uncomfortably hot, vision blurry - yet you still manage to make out the satisfied grin on Choso’s face.

Pure pride shining in his eyes as he takes in your fucked-out state, marks blossoming along your skin as if you’d been thrown to the wolves.

Ah, success.

But he’s barely had time to bask in his victory till you murmur out a quick “Hold on.” Pulling him firmly by the collar of his t-shirt. Lips firmly slotting over the sensitive skin peaking out.

Choso’s breath hitches as you bite and tease the skin - a pathetic little imitation of the absolute wreck he’d havoced on your skin - not pulling away until you’re satisfied with the dark, red mark blossoming on his milky skin.

“There. Perfect.” you flash an almost-innocent grin at him. And despite all that transpired in this heady bathroom, this is what makes his knees weaken so desperately. Oh, how he loved being yours.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - The show-off

If the King of Curses owns something nice and pretty, then you can bet he’s going to show it off to everyone and anyone that crosses him. It doesn’t matter if it’s human trash or some lowly curse he’s just about to kill, all of them have the same last sight - you.

You, sat so prettily on the hulking king’s lap. All doe-eyed and batting your lashes so innocently at him as he wielded chaos on his throne.

It made them almost want to save you from this monster, only to realize - if Sukuna was feeling particularly generous that day - that he was the last thing that you needed saving from.

Because if by some miracle, Sukuna was feeling generous - and decided that those scum that bow beneath him should see something pretty before they die - then they see you. Legs spread so shamefully on his lap, large arms the width of your head keeping them open for your guests.

Sukuna trails his rough fingers dangerously down your robe - one that does absolutely nothing to hide your curves or the heaving of your chest. Thin fabric tearing easily under his sharp fingernails, exposing such tantalizing flashes of skin as whoever’s watching gulps heavily in both fear and anticipation.

He doesn’t stop till your robe is all but hanging off you now, dripping cunt soaking the tattered fabric as you keen desperately into his touch.

“Shhh, my lil’ slut.” he murmurs, low and gravelly into your ear, hot breath sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins. “Wouldn’t want to be rude in front of our guests, hm?”

Whoever’s bowing before you two don’t know what makes shivers run down their spine more - Sukuna’s dangerous words or the way you whine desperately. “But Sukuna~” grinding onto his very obvious erection as you do, “Wan’ you so badly, haven’t been filled by you today.”

Shit, scratch that. The scariest thing here was the deep chuckle that echoes across the throne room - the King of Curses laughing. Laughing.

They watch in horror - unable to rip their eyes away - as he snakes down two large fingers to your dripping cunt, spreading open your swollen folds. Absolutely delighting in the way you flutter around nothing - his lil’ slut, so desperate for him.

You buck readily into his hold as Sukuna bullies two large fingers into your snug cunt. Ready walls clenching down so sinfully at finally getting some of the friction you’d been aching for all day.

“Ohh, yes. Sukuna, finally. Wanted you in me s’bad.” you squeal as he curls his fingers deftly inside you, expertly grazing that familiar spot he knew would have you falling apart in a matter of a few seconds.

“So spoiled.” Sukuna hums, a sly grin curling his lips - and the scum bowing before him completely forgotten - as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of your sloppy hole. Thrusting in rough, jerky little movements that no matter how filthy and unrefined they seem - hold a dangerous, calculated intent as he hits that spot over and over.

The ones before you find their cocks hardening traitorously at your breathy whines and the lewd squelching sounds. Torn between training their eyes on the ground and greedily watching your thighs quiver on the monster’s lap, cunt dripping so obscenely onto his robe.

“Look at her.” a sharp order jolts them out of their reverie. Sukuna didn’t have to ask, he knew you were a heavenly vision in his little hell. Yet, he continues anyway, amusement spiking at the way they can do nothing but gape at what they can never have “Look. So desperate f’me. Should I make her cum?”

“Nooo, Sukuna don’ be mean~” you whine half-deliriously at the silence that follows. Voice strangled at the merciless pace Sukuna had on your cunt, rolling your swollen clit on his fingers, dipping in and out in and out in and-

Sukuna chuckles darkly in your ear, over the protests of the trash at his feet, “Seems like they don’t want you to cum.” He increases his pace ruthlessly, over and over. Hitting that spot with reckless abandon, delighting in the way you writhe and convulse on his lap. “But s’alright, I’ll be the one to make you cum. Your king, hm?”

And make you cum he does. Adding three fingers into your tight cunt now, thrusting in and out at a pace that has you bowing into his hulking body. Over and over. Hurried. Hasty. Almost torturous for those watching.

“Ah! Yes yes yes, Sukuna~ M’gonna-” you can barely finish the sentence before you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, broken moans of Sukuna’s name leaving your swollen lips. He doesn’t stop - not when your orgasm is mere tingles, your voice too raw to even let out fucked-out moans. Not even when you’re quivering and fidgeting on his laps. Not even when he leans down to mutter in your ear, voice husky with pure need, “Now, how should I kill these fuckers off?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Just a lil’ taste

The great Gojo Satoru loves all things sweet, and that includes you. Not just you, but your pretty lips, your sweet cunt, and the sweetest - something else he’d never admit to anyone but you - the taste of him in you.

And right now - bullying his throbbing cock into your snug cunt, his heavy balls smacking your ass over and over as he rams into you hard, fast - Gojo knows there’s something for him to look forward to.

The bed creaks in protest as he chases the heavenly feeling of your tight pussy around him, mixing with the filthy moans leaving your mouth.

He was probably going to get another noise complaint - good, let them nosy fuckers know how good he makes you feel.

“Ah! Hah- hngh, Toru filling me up s’good.” you mewl and buck your hips underneath him for more more more- wanting, needing the feeling of him stretching you so deliciously. His glistening veins dragging along that one spot so deliciously, pulsing against your tight walls at an urgent, incessant rhythm.

“Oh yeah?” he grunts. Cock pushing into you deeper and deeper, cervix kissing your tip so painfully good. “Like this? Like it when I fuck you like this? Can’t get enough of it, hm?”

Because of course, Gojo Satoru can’t stop running his mouth even when he’s fucking you relentlessly. Even when his thrusts grow frenzied, sloppy with desire. And especially not when you’re creaming on his achingly hard cock.

God, you’re so fucking perfect he can’t help but lose himself in the heat of the moment as well.

Body arching off the bed, you see stars behind your eyes as Gojo cums in thick, hot spurts inside your fluttering walls. “Shit, oh Toru, s’full inside me hah-”

You think you probably cum harder just at the sight before you.

Gojo’s head thrown back, blue eyes prettily rolling to the back of his head as he bites his lips in concentration - desperately trying to fight off that feral, animalistic part of himself that just wants to fuck his cum deeper and deeper inside your dripping cunt. Wrestling that urge to breed you full to the back of his mind.

No, because he’s got bigger things in mind.

Bigger things that include urgently dropping to his knees as soon as your breathless moans bate. He wrestles your hips on the mattress, grip bruising on your waist as he pulls your pretty cunt closer. All wet and painted white with his cum, dripping so obscenely onto the fresh sheets below.

Mouth dropping into a soft oh! at the sinful sight before him, Gojo doesn’t waste a second before surging forward.

Nose-deep in your pussy, he doesn’t stop till he’s nose-deep and breathing you in so obscenely. Tongue bullying its way in between your swollen folds, dipping into your sloppy entrance in and out in and out in and out-

He groans into your cunt as he tastes himself. Tastes you.

Sweet.

The absolutely filthy mixture of his cum and your slick sliding down his tongue as he laps up your juices with the desperation of a madman. God, it makes the blood rush straight to his dick at the way your mouth drops open in disbelief - he never does get used to it.

Messy. It was so fucking messy.

“Mmm, s’sweet on my tongue, baby.” he slurs, drunk off the absolutely intoxicating taste of your sin. “Fuck- Can’t get enough of it. Shit.”

You flinch as he swears into your throbbing cunt. Seeing flashes of white behind your eyes each time he flicks his tongue just right to graze over all your most sensitive spots. You could almost cry from the overstimulation - walls fluttering sensitively around his relentless tongue.

And you probably do really cry when Gojo moves up your dripping pussy, sucking on your swollen clit. Rolling his tongue over and over at the same maddening pace of the tears down your cheeks.

Absentmindedly, you wonder whether he’s done with his little feast - and moving on to torture you full time now.

Gojo huffs out a laugh into your cunt, popping off your abused clit with a lewd pop! Hands snaking down to grab his rock-hard base. Pulling in short, desperate little tugs to get himself ready for what was to come. “Yeah, m’done, baby.” he chuckles darkly. Shit, did you say that out loud?

But you have no time to wonder too long about that, instead stuck on that dangerous little glint in his eyes as he stands from his position nose-deep in your cunt. Swiping his tongue across his lips, savoring every last drop of you.

Dazed, your eyes drift from his slick-glossed mouth down, down, down to-

Oh.

“Don’t worry, baby. M’gonna be feasting again real soon.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

24K notes · View notes

wandasaura · 12 days ago

Text

SINFULLY

summary — it’s been a tantalizing exchange of passion and tension for seven days. they’ve pushed you to the edge, forced you to the cliffs peak, but in a moment of weakness, you become the problem in need of solving, and it only spirals from there

warning(s) — porn with plot, established relationships, threesome, dom/sub, bdsm elements, age gap relationships, professor maximoff, personal trainer natasha, beefy!natasha, innocent!reader, brat taming, choking, pussy inspection, punishment, daddy kink, professor kink, faux pity, manhandling, pussy spanking (w/ rings), spanking, edging, verbal humiliation, light anal play, plugs, ruined orgasm, orgasm denial, masturbation, voyeurism and exhibitionism, threats of bondage, vibrators, dildo, mean dom wanda, crying, begging, dirty talk, name calling, praise kink, subdrop, anxiety, aftercare, men/minors dni

authors note — i definitely missed some tags but i think you get the hint that this is absolute filth regardless of if i mention anything else. enjoy ;)

“Sorry.” You apologized when your phone pinged with a message from your girlfriend. The one with fiery red hair that encapsulates the effects of her unrelenting passion; not the one with blonde hair that falls around her shoulders in a choppy cut she did herself two weeks ago. Your eyes glance down at the screen, not needing to guess what Wanda had found to warrant texting you so randomly in the middle of the afternoon.

You’d been waging an internal bid since that morning, when you’d enveloped her waist in a tight possessive claim and rested your head on her shoulder beneath her craned head so sweetly she didn’t notice your hand dipping into her pocket and discarding the yellow panties she’s picked out for you that morning, wondering if she’d notice then, or in the car, or in the middle of a lecture with students around to watch her flush and darken with lust. Natasha hadn’t noticed then either, and she’d been standing at the front door, already halfway outside with a thermos of coffee and a yoga mat under her bulging bicep as she waited. She dropped Wanda off at campus on Fridays. You should know. The first time you’d established that the cute girl you were seeing at the gym was your college professor's girlfriend, was on the street corner at 7th and Park on your way to a Spanish lecture. Natasha had all the windows down, but the roof still protected her sports car from seasonal rain, and her hair had been red at the time, peeking out through the windows as the wind blew. She was wild, reckless. Wanda was never that. Wanda had sat in the passenger side of the car with her hair pulled back in a bun. You’d known it was her because her side profile is haunting, encapsulating, delicious. You see her on campus, from down the hall, around the corner, across the parking lots. It’s not a big school, not by any metrics, but its big enough to never have her classes. It’s big enough for you to have swallowed the guilt of fucking a professor to allow you to boldness to leave your panties in her pocket before a lecture.

“Are you okay?” Kate frowns, glancing at you from across the table. You're in the library, a free period granted by your American History professor who actually has a brain on his shoulders and recognizes that sometimes students just need structured time to get their assignments done, or at least started. Your paper is filled with notes scribbled in purple ink, and the document you have opened on your laptop is highlighted with that dusty pink color that’s third from the bottom on the color gradient in Google Docs. Even with the lack of panties between your legs, the wetness you can’t deny dripping onto your denim shorts that feel like a nightmare against your sensitive clit when you twinge just slightly in your seat, you’ve been productive enough to make Wanda proud if she asks how you day at school went. ”You’ve been kind of quiet today.” Kate frowns, her eyes squinting like she’s trying to find an answer beneath the surface of your features. It’s not something that she can directly name. You’ve laughed at all of her jokes, smiled and teased her all like normal, but there's something that hangs over you that she knows isn’t right. “Oh god, is Wanda sexting you?”

Your face flushes. You’re suddenly aware that you’re not empty, not entirely at least. Your core clenches, slick walls pleading for friction, but your ass is full. It clamps down hard on the flared base of a silicone plug Natasha worked into your ass before she’d peeled herself out of bed to take a shower. It’s not one of the bigger ones, not one of the red princess plugs that came in a set of five that Wanda seldomly pulls out for intense scenes you’ve already discussed at length. It’s small, insignificant enough to be worn daily without much interference. It’s more a reminder of control than an interference, but right now it sparks every nerve in your belly and reminds you that you’ve been wanting for days. Four days.

Four days ago, on Monday, Natasha had pinned you up against the wall and touched you for the last time. She’d dipped her fingers beneath your denim shorts because it had been warm enough to bare your legs for her to ogle, and she’d worked you up on her fingers until arousal was dripping down her knuckles. She’d pulled away before you could cum. That was the third time she’d done that. The edging started Saturday night. For no reason. Wanda had come home from a pilates class at Natasha’s gym, which ironically was never run by Natasha but instead of best employee Pepper, who is actually named Virginia, and had taken you on the couch without even consulting Natasha who’d watched from the door frame with yearning eyes. She said nothing when she fucked your cunt with her tongue, her nose inhaling your scent as it bounced against your clit clumsily, and then she’d stopped and walked away like nothing happened, going into the kitchen to finish up dinner that Natash had thoughtfully already started. It hasn't ended since. It happens like this sometimes. It’s days of edging and denial until eventually Wanda explodes, but it’s never been like this before. It’s never reached the seventh day and still nobody’s let you cum. It’s thrilling. You think. Kate’s question catches you off guard. You’re emboldened by their experience, you allow them to corrupt you however they want, but in the absence of their dominating presence, you're just the innocent girl they plucked up off the streets.

“No!” You snatch your phone off the table like if it sits there any longer, Kate might develop a sixth sense for deception and absorb all the contents of your text chain with Wanda. You’d die if that happened. You have a hard enough time telling them what you want in explicit enough details to satisfy their vulgar desires, you wouldn’t be able to look at the Kate the same if she knew what the text said.

You decided to be a whore today, huh?

It’s simple but chilling. Eight words have unraveled you entirely, but you still have twenty minutes before you can sneak away to your car and drive back to Natasha’s house. It’s not their house, despite having been together for six years. Natasha had told the story as such — one day Wanda came over to spend the night and she never went home, the end. Legend has it, the redhead has a highrise apartment somewhere upstate, but she’s never ventured there with you in tow, and you’ve never seen a picture to prove it either. It’s basically your house now too though. Like Wanda, one day you’d gone over to spend the night, and then you’d never returned back to your dorm where Kate basks in the glory of single living. You think she’s pushed your beds together at this point and made a Queen for herself out of the two Twin XL’s, but you haven’t been back to check on the state of your belongings to know.

“She’s just telling me that Natasha wants meatballs for dinner, so she’ll send me money to get something on the way home.” You shrug, and it feels bad to lie, it makes your belly burn with guilt you don’t typically feel so intensely, but with your period four days off from ruining your entire month, you don’t dwell on the intensity of tears thrusting to prick your eyes and you deceive Kate for no reason. There’s no reason to lie, but you find yourself doing it anyway. There was no reason to leave your panties in Wanda’s pocket and risk her job, but you did it anyway. You’re impulsive without them guidinging you. It’s been months since you’ve been distanced enough to remember that.

“I wish Yelena would sugar mommy me.” Kate sulks, and you make a face as if to say they’re not even together, but Kate pointedly avoids glancing into your eyes to find the unspoken taunt. “Who sugar mommy’s you more? Natasha or Wanda?” She questions, and amusement fills your cheeks with hot air as you close your laptop and throw your highlighters and pens back into your pencil case, aiming to start wrapping this conversation up so that you can get home once your phone pings with the end of the allotted essay period.

“Well, Natasha owns her own business and Wanda’s a teacher so…” You break down the logistics of their finances, because it feels imperative that you remind Kate that regardless of anything else, Natasha still trumps both you and Wanda with inconce rates. Kate should know that though, she’s been obsessed with Natasha’s younger sister since your freshman year, and Yelena’s only finally giving her enough attention for lunch dates to be delusionally morphed into plans of marriage. You’re going to hate the day she learns Yelena’s asexual, and she has a better chance of fucking a fire hydrant than the blonde.

“She’s a professor!” Kate interjects, and your eyes roll. “They get paid more, and it’s hotter.” She’s had the hots for Wanda since she took Slavic Languages last semester on a whim after failing Spanish for the second time. You’ve only ever heard impeccable things about Wanda’s reserve when she’s giving a lecture, so even though your blood boils every time you remember other girls think about Wanda the way only you get to have her, you never can say you blame her for fantasizing about the lengths the redhead goes to romantically.

“Neither one of them really sugar mommy me.” You shrug, finding your voice again after Kate. You hope she doesn’t notice how your hips shift against the leather cushion beneath your awkwardly distributed weight, but you don’t think you’re entirely subtle as you attempt to alleviate pressure on the plug. Thankfully, you’re entirely certain Kate doesn’t even know the first signs to look for. She talks a big game, but you’re certain her last kiss was some douche bag at NYU before she was expelled. “I mean, I guess Wanda pays for dinner when we go out, but other than that it's pretty even.” Your words are a breathless huff when you move and the cushion expands without your pressing weight, and presses against the plug when you least expect it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate frowns, once again drawn to how something just isn’t completely right with you. It comes in waves, and it makes her uncomfortable for a reason she doesn’t know. You don’t even notice the way she shifts like she wants to retreat to basic elementary school survival skills and go find a trusted adult to confide in. You’d find it funny that sexual tension makes her uncomfortable, especially because all she does is yearn after Yelena Belova and some girl in her chemistry class named Maia, but it doesn’t even crash upon the surface of your mental shorelines. You’re so far from what's actually happening she could call you out on your horny bullshit right now and you wouldn’t know she saw through you.

You’re not great at being deceptive, in fact you’re pointedly bad at selling a lie even when you believe it fully, but something keeps you on your toes now, something like Natasha’s quick wit and self-preservation skills finally rubbing off on you. You find something in your head that’s not entirely a lie, and it falls off your lips before you can consider the implications of this potentially backfiring on you later on. It’s not a big deal, she’s not going to care that you’re horny because you’re in a lovely, healthy relationship where you try new things, but you’re making it a big deal and you don’t know why. ”Yeah, I just remembered I left the Zyrtec in Wanda’s trunk.”

“Oh, you’re still dealing with those allergies?” Kate frowns, and you deflate in immediate relief that you’ve managed to salvage the conversation and her worries all in one go. You let her guide the conversation from there, because you’re not sure you can focus on much of anything outside from how your clit graces against the inseam of your shorts when you cross one thigh over the other and shift your weight until your thighs become one. It’s humiliating. You’re humiliating yourself without their influence. Your cheeks burn. How have you fallen so far? How did you get to this point? If Natasha were beside you, you know she’d be grinning like a devil watching you squirm. If Wanda were here, you know she’d scold you for being so naughty in public, for being so needy that you can’t even sit still like a good girl while your friend tries to talk to you. They’ve ruined you.

Kate walks you to your car despite trying to part ways at the door. She’s kind as she tells you about all the events coming up on campus that you’re certainly going to avoid going to at all costs, but she tells you any way so that you feel included. It wouldn’t have bothered you any other day, but you’re certain that the crotch of your shorts is a shade of blue darker than the rest of the denim material, and you can’t face the realization of her knowing you’re so honry yoru thighs are slick with arousal and it’s your fault. You can’t help but think that you should’ve never left those panties in her bag, because now your thighs glimmer beneath the sunshine of June, and your arsenal that slips down your thighs in tantalizing beads are like high beams for anyone to lock in on at their own will. You’d never know if someone stole a glance from across the parking lot, if they took that image home with them and got off on it in secret, or if they didn’t even wait, just slipped into their office and worked it out then and there. You hate that Wanda’s convinced you that’s a hot possibility. You hate that it only makes the coil in your belly grow more and more until you’re clenching your fingers into fists and forcing back tears as Kate drags out her goodbye at the driver's side door of your little car with hardly any life left in it.

The commute back to Natasha’s has never felt so bumpy, and you’re ashamed that by the time you pull into the driveway, you’ve broken out into a hot flash that turns your cheeks cherry red and threatens to push you over the edge into a touchless orgasm that shatters you completely. The plug in your ass has nearly been pushed out twice, but the force of your ass meeting the seat as you bump against the unevenly paved highway forces it back into place. It’s never been a distraction like this, but your senses have also never been on overdrive like this away from your bed or the exotic spots chosen by your girlfriends with caution. It feels like there are fireworks before your fingernails, burrowed deep into your cuticles and unwilling to move. There’s an agonizing pressure in your belly that is enough to riddle you with tears and hiccuping sobs. You’re desperate, on the verge of an orgasm from roadside construction instead of your girlfriends, but just like they’d been doing to your body all week, the drive home ends before you reach your peak, and for the millionth time, you're edged and left stranded in the middle of blinding electricity and somebody forgot to flip the breaker.

Wanda isn’t home yet. She should be, but she’s not. A part of you is worried that she got fired, That she pulled the panties out at the wrong place, or at the wrong time, but she’d never texted you again, and you have the slightest hope that if she were facing unemployment she’d at least give you a heads up. When you’d slipped the panties into her pocket, you’d wanted someone to see them, but that thought swallows you up and echoes in the back of your head now like a demon willing you down a tainted path. It’s too late now. You’re already down it.

Natasha is home though, and the light gleams through the window and tells you she’s waiting in the living room. Maybe she’s not waiting though. She might just be watching TV, she might not even know that its one o’clock and you’re never home any later than one-thirty. You push through the front door like it weighs a million pounds, and there’s not one second to consider if Natasha knows what happened today or not. The minute you glance at her all comfortable on the couch, her biceps bulging as she crosses her arms over her belly and hides the handfuls of skin on her hips from you, you know that she knows, and she knows that you know that she knows. It makes your head swim. You want her with a burning passion.

“Oh, you’re home?” She asks, already rising from the couch though her tone feigned disinterest. You swallow thickly, shrinking beneath her stare. It feels so hot, so heavy. She’s unmaking you entirely, and yet she doesn’t seem to give a fuck whether you’re coming or going or somewhere in the middle. Her eyes sweep over your frame, and you know she’s reading every miniscule emotion portrayed across your demeanor, so you try your best to appear unassume, innocent, even if your belly churns knowing evidence of your disobedience stains your car seats now and your inner thighs. Your denim shorts feel heavy around your waist, the center weighed down by arousal that continues to collect. It’s uncountable, sticky. There’s no hiding the difference in hue anymore, sodden denim exposing your desires.

“I’m home.” You whisper, your throat bobbing as you swallow dryly. It doesn’t help anything. Your head is no clearer and you find your words no easier, but you force yourself to swallow again and hope that this time it helps. Natasha quirks an eyebrow, and the uninterested reserve drops entirely as her green-blue stare — you can never decide which color she wears more authentically — darkens into mystical lust that almost resembles charred ashes.

“Were you proud of yourself?” Natasha backs you up against the door. She’s not a tall woman, she’s only a handful of inches taller than you depending on what kind of shoe you’re wearing, but you feel impossibly small beneath her right now as your back meets the hard wood of the door and one of her buff arms comes up to frame the side of your face. It slams against the wood at first, hard, aggressive, aimed to startle you, and then it slides so slowly you think she may be tracking a fly, before it settles on your cheek with a burning weight that has you itching for more. It doesn’t last there for long. Natasha’s never been a woman skilled with stillness. She’s always moving, always finding ways to keep herself busy, so it doesn’t surprise you that she can’t even keep her palm on your cheek for long enough to capture your attention the way she wants. Instead, she trails it down to your throat, and you know then that you’re entirely screwed. She squeezes, not tight, but firm, and your eyes become wide as your reel beneath the easy dominance. “Were you proud of yourself when you snuck those pretty panties into Wanda’s jacket? I bet you wanted everyone to see them, huh? You probably couldn’t help but think about them falling out onto the floor during her lecture, or maybe you thought she’d find them during her meeting. Yeah? While she was sitting right next to Eleanor Bishop talking about you, and your major, and the future of your program.” Your belly is suddenly filled with a weight you know is guilt, and Natasha can see that. She’d aimed to let the reality of your decisions wash over you, and only when she’s satisfied that you’ve sat with the realization long enough does she lean in to kiss you and simultaneously work the button of your shorts open with the hand that's not around your neck.

“I didn’t think-“ When she pulls away from the bruising kiss that makes your head spin and the coil in your belly threaten to wind up again, you desperately try to find confirmation on your tongue that will assure her you’d never wanted anything to happen to Wanda outside of a little frustration. Even then, you weren’t sure what your aim had been this morning. Maybe it was to get her back. To make sure she knows how much this is killing you. Maybe you’d just wanted the attention. You don't know.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it, moya lyubov? You don’t think. You just let this cunt tell you what to do, even if it gets you in trouble. I bet she’s wet, huh? Oh yeah.” Natasha groans when she cups your core through the denim shorts, not even having to attempt to prod at your entrance through the thick layers, she can feel the moisture and heat radiating onto her calloused skin just from the possessive grip she’s initiated. “You’re always wet, always so easy to fuck. It doesn’t take much does it? I bet that plugs been driving you crazy all day, and you thought you were gonna be a brat and outsmart Wanda, but I bet not having any panties on only made it worse, huh, princess? I bet you’ve been wet since you left. Did you break my rule, baby? Did you touch this cunt without permission?”

A gasp falls off of your lips when Natasha cups your core harder, grinding the heel of her palm into your clit just hard enough to move the inseam of your shorts with it, forcing pleasure on you thats too rough and too intense all at once. Tears prick your eyes, but there’s still a question to be answered, and you’re not gone enough to have forgotten that if nothing else, she expects you to find an answer for her. “N-No!” You wail, frustration bubbling up inside of you when the pressure ebbs into nothing and your clit is left unsatisfied again. “I didn’t!”

Natasha’s tuts, clicking her tongue against her front teeth as she cranes her head at you sympathetically. The hand around your throat eventually trails away, cupping your face and then wiping the tears off your cheeks. “See, I don’t believe you, detka. I’m gonna have to check for myself. Open your legs wider.” She removes her hand from between your legs all together, tapping your hip in warning as she gives you space to comply with her request. When you just stand there, floundering for something to grasp onto and pull you through the dark waters with, Natasha huffs. “Open your legs wider. Now.”

You do as she asks, because it’s only natural that you do. You had half a mind this morning to do that exact opposite of what they asked, and yesterday, you’d pointedly avoiding doing what Wanda asked until there was no other choice but to comply or stand beneath her disappointed glare from across the kitchen, but that wingless push of confidence has evaded you now. It’s nowhere to be found even when you try to find the courage to stand up to her in your fingertips.

Your zipper doesn’t stand a chance against the force of her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties until he bypasses your clit and france’s her fingers along your labia. There’s a distinguished squelching sound that meets the air when she dips just one knuckle into your entrance, filling you up for the very first time since Monday afternoon, and you gasp with so much relief that you don’t even recognize the sinister smirk on her lips as she reads your expression like a book she’s memorized dutifully.

“You’re so wet.” She comments, “Are you sure you didn’t touch yourself?” She knows you didn’t. The way you contract against her fingers as she eases another one into your walls and spreads you out like she’s preparing for a game of rock paper scissors tells her that you’ve not had an ounce of real pleasure since the last time she’d allowed it. She thinks it was two days ago. You’re unaware that she’s seemingly lost in a haze of days and mundane adult routine.

“I didn’t! I didn’t! Daddy, please!” You gasp, your back arching off the door when her fingers scrape along your walls. She makes an interested sound high in her throat, like she’s surprised to find that your sensitive there, and does it again, this time with full intention to overwhelm you with pleasure.

”Oh, are you sensitive right there, detka? Is that your spot?” She coos, and it feels so wrong so be treated like this by her. Natasha isn’t soft, but she’s not cruel, and right now she’s wearing Wanda’s condescension with her blonde hair that tickles your cheek when she drops her forehead against yours. “I didn’t know.” She pouts, and you wonder why for a second, but then it makes perfect sense when she pulls her fingers away and you’re left clenching around nothingness. She’s apologizing for giving you pleasure with nothing else. She’s pretending to care that she’s just wound you up for the hundredth time this week and left you high and dry in the middle of a puddle with wild electricity sparking in the close distance.

A broken sob leaves your lips and your hips chase her fingers but its useless. Natasha doesn;t care that you're desperate, she doesn’t care that nobody’s fucked you good in days, it’s not about that right now. You lost the right to her sympathy when you decided to be a brat. Again. She remembers the last time you were in this position. She remembers leaves changing colors and apple cider always being in the fridge because you love it more than apple juice in the middle of October, and she remembers how your ass had gleamed red for days after Wanda bent you over the island because you just wouldn’t watch your mouth and mind your damn manners. It’s been a while since either one of them had dished out a punishment that actually forces you to think about your actions. It’s been a while since either of them have really fallen hard on their swords as dominic acts and truly sacrificed you to the wolves of letting go.

Natasha will never apologize for loving you to deeply to keep her roles separate. She will never apologize for loving you so much, she gives into your pouting face and crying eyes when you just need her more than anything else in the world. Wanda won’t either, and she’s notorious the hardest nut amongst you to crack. None of you care that your dynamics have been muddled with pathetically sweet domesticity and romance for months at this point, but its beginning to catch up with all of you now. You have all of these limits beneath your belts, all of these wild impulses that you only ever indulge in with each other, these kinks and desires are derived from real trauma, and real connection, and real willingness to be the most unapologetic version of yourself no matter how socially unacceptable, and she’s allowed all of you to forget that the beauty of building a dynamic outside of romance is the freedom to hold grudges and correct behavior. She won’t give in so easily anymore, because before you, she never would’ve allowed anything less than perfect obedience and that had been the one thing that lured you back to her workout classes.

“Please, Daddy!” You beg, and Natasha can’t help but smile at how desperate you sound for her already. She’s barely touched you, and she knows that's your problem,that the root of your begging is the pointed lack of attention her and Wanda have been giving you since Wednesday night in her head, but there's nothing you can do about it right now when she has the cards and its her body that pins you to the door and keeps you immobile beneath her.

“Turn around.” She muses without interest for your tears, she’s already wiped them away once, it wouldn’t be the first time she told you to strop cry before she deems it acceptable. Your cheeks always flame when she does that, like its your fault that she’s unmade you to the point of tears.

“No.” You choke on a desperate cry, reaching out to attempt to tangle your fingers into her hair, but she intercepts before you can succeed, and her grip on your wrists is strong as she pins your hands above your head and glares deep within your eyes like she can see every part of your soul and the privilege doesn’t astonish her. It does astonish her. She can’t believe that you;ve given all of yourself to her like this, but who would she be if she allowed you to read the gratitude rolling off of her so easily? “No, I want to touch you!” You cry out, trying to fight her, trying to convince her to let you win. Natasha knows you well. She knows when you’re being bratty, and she knows when you’re just so overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion that you just don’t even process what they’re saying to you. Sometimes she thinks you make up conversations in your head, but she knows that you’re just drunk on sensations they’re withholding and your body is desperately trying to make up for the lack of stimulation however it can. You’re somewhere in the middle right now. It’s not bratty defiance that keeps you and her in a standstill, wasting precious minutes before Wanda gets home, but its not entirely blind submission either. Your trying to keep yourself above the tide, key word is trying, because you’re failing faster than you even register, and Natasha knows if she plays her cards right you’ll be putty before Wanda even gets in the door. You’ll have no idea whats in stores or you then, and she knows you need that. You need to be caught off guard. You need to be grounded, and humbled, and reminded of your place beneath them. “I want to touch you, Daddy!”

“Daddy gets to decide when you’ve earned the privilege to touch me, and you haven’t yet, little girl, so turn around and stop whining before I give you a reason to stick that lip out at me.” The threat hangs in the air before you and it paints your face white with shock as your eyes meet hers with crystals of tears brimming in your waterline. You don’t have to think about complying on your own regard, because Natasha tugs you how she wants you against the door and doesn’t think twice before pushing your shorts down your legs once your cheek is flush with the wood she’d once thought about painting green after moving in.

You gasp when her hands brace against the globes of your ass, not making any pointed moves, but you know what she’s aiming for when she pulls your cheeks apart and allows cold air to assault your dripping, glimmering core. A whine escapes your lips when she drags a finger down the crack of your ass to your entrance, collecting wetness of the pads of her fingers that she then spreads around your puckered hole that holds tight to the princess plug keeping you open. She circles the jeweled base of the plug with disinterest almost, never grabbing at it, never pushing at it, she just circles it to remind you that it's there, that she’s the one who placed it there and gave you firm orders to keep it where it was until she took it out. At least you’d listened to her. She’d know if you didn’t. You can’t get the plugs in yourself, and it enrages you to no end when she’s away on a business trip and Wanda has no desire to pull them out of the closet where you keep all of the toys you cycle through routinely and healthily. This is Natasha’s fortier, it's one of the only things that she can give you that you haven’t learned how to give yourself. She hopes you never get comfortable enough with the plugs to put them in yourself. She hopes you always gasp and squirm like it's the first time anything has ever breached your puckered hole when she bends you over to do it herself from time to time. It’s intoxicating. you’re intoxicating.

The jewel is a baby pink color, shaped like a heart, but what matters most is the shade that you’d never thought specifically about until Natasha leaned in close to kiss you with lips glittering in arousal to tell that it matches the pink of your cunt after Wanda fucks you raw with the strap and she gets to lick you clean. You’ve never been able to keep your composure around baby pink since then. You still can’t now just imagine the sight she’s seeing as she spreads you open for her and fiddles with you however she pleases.

“How did it feel? Wearing this pretty plug to class today?” Natasha asks, leaning in to let her lips trail along the clammy skin of your neck that only aquires a thicker sheen the longer you stand without any airflow on parts of your body that matter. It’s hotter than hell in the house, or at least it feels that way to you, but the air that continuously brushes against your core is cold and unwelcoming.

”We had a study period in the- in the library.” You gasp when Natasha grabs the base of the plug and turns it clockwise just slightly, enough to let your ass feel the stretch of the plug as sit spins within you. The pleasure is intense, but only because anything would be enough to push you over the edge right now. “I— Daddy, please.” You beg when she presses the plug deeper into you once, and then twice, and then it seems like shes setting a tempo as she taps her fingers against the jewel.

“Keep telling me about your day.” Natasha directs, unbothered by your frustration and arousal, unaffected by the fact that she knows it's hard for you to think straight with her hands holding you apart like you’re some object to ogle, not even considering your prolonged frustration and desire. “Be a good girl for me.”

“I couldn’t sit still.” You whisper and your cheeks flame with embarrassment that you know she enjoys every second of. “Gave Wands m-my panties and was so sticky, Daddy! Please, it hurts. It was dripping all down my legs, and I just hope Kate didn’t see. Please Daddy, I need you.”

“Oh, so now you gave Wanda your panties. Spinning the narrative, are you?” Natasha quirks and eyebrow, and she pulls your gaze back to look at her with a tight grip on your hair. You whine, wince, your entire body tenses and becomes a light with electric sensitivity that has you gasping and moaning and writhing against the door with no reprieve. She slams you back against the door, her tongue clicking against her teeth as she reminds you to stay still, to be good for her, you’re not being good right now.

“I don’t know!” You cry out, dropping your face against the front door again when she lets go of your hair and instead grabs the base of the plug and plucks it free from the confines of your ass without any chance to adapt to the stretch or subsequent emptiness.

”You don’t know anything, because all you are is a slut for Daddy to play with.” She sighs against the shell of your ear like this isn’t a new development for her, and your chest burns with shame as you moan and thrash.

“No, please! I want it back, please Daddy. Please, I want it back. I want to feel good. Please, please. I want to feel good, I want you to make me feel good.” You're a mess of tears and pleas when it finally dawns on you that your ass spasms and clenches around nothing — that the only consistent pleasure you’ve found all day, for the first time in a week, has now been ripped away without so much as a soft, fake apology.

“Shh, come away from the door.” She guides you away softly, affectionately — the gentlest she’s addressed you since you first stepped inside the house. You think it’s because she’s giving in, letting you win, getting ready to led you to the couch or the bed nad make up for seven days without relief, but instead she forces you to stand still beside the front window where Wanda’s somehow appeared despite Natasha’s car still being in the driveway beside yours. She didn’t pull you away from the door to cut you a break, or even pretend to feel pity for your tears and quivering lip, but only so that Wanda could come inside and destroy you in her own way. “Hi, my love.” Natasha smiles brightly when Wanda steps inside the house, her hair glowing with the radiance of summer sunrays brightening her naturally vibrant waves. She drops her briefcase by the door, and you notice for the first time that she brought the meeting bag with her, not the bag she brings that had daisies on it and is filled with extra handouts she expects her students to have lost between their last meeting. You hadn’t noticed that this morning. You’d been too consumed with need that was left untouched.

“Hi.” Wanda smiles, drawing Natasha in for a warm kiss that makes you wonder if she’s still frustrated and mad about your disobedience and boldness. It’s evident that she’s still mad when she doesn’t glance in your direction, instead keeping her eyes on Natasha as both of them pretend like you’re not within ear shot. Wanda fishes the panties out of her pocket, and your cheeks burn as she holds them up to the light for Natasha to see clearly as well. “Ten minutes in these and they’re ruined.” She hums, and you whine like you’re incapable of formulating any kind of response or rebuttal. It’s futile, they're not talking to you, or even paying you any ounce of attention, but you still feel the need to interject because you just haven’ t learned that they’re not going to cave yet. That’s their fault, but you’ll learn.

“She was humping my fingers like a bitch before. I’d say she only made it worse for herself. The little exhibitionist was hoping that people would see her. Was hoping someone would notice that she’s dripping down her thighs like a slut. Couldn’t even behave herself and sit still in the library with Kate, apparently she was all over the damn seat trying to rub one out.” The words are vulgar and they cut against your sharply, enough to have you shaking on your feet by the television, hardly even aware of the face that your ass and your hips are in perfect sight for anyone outside to see.

“Oh yeah?” Wanda quirks an eyebrow, and it takes you a minute to realize she’s addressing you. There isn't an ounce of warmth in her tone as she crosses her arms and unmakes you with a cold sweep of her crystal eyes across your half naked frame, but she’s not looking at you like she hates you either. It’s sheer dominance and lust that overcomes her now, and it's a combination you’ve never seen so deadly and aimed solely at you. Natasha's been on her shit like like this before, but never you, never their good girl, their angel who has only ever seen herself over their knee for punishment four times in an entire years long relationship. Someone should be picking up on the signs, but nobody is. Not you, not Natasha, not Wanda. “Come here.” Wanda arches a finger when she realizes that you’re directly in front of the window and don’t even seem to register it. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve toyed with the idea of giving the neighbors a show, but even with the cold reserve she’s giving you, untempted by her love to go easy on you, it unsettles her to take your vulnerability for granted in any way, especially like this. If you seemed to realize you were giving anybody a show, if it seemed like showing off was an underlying current in the scene, maybe she would’ve left you there for a while after realizing, but she can’t stomach to do that now. She’s mean, she’s cruel, but she’s not a monster and there’s still boundaries to her wild fantasies that unmake you from the very inside out.

You only come close enough for her hands to reach you if they try, but she doesn’t invite you any closer when you stop to look at her uncertainty, so you take her silence as rejection and continue to stand on your own — cold, but so uncomfortably hot. “Is Daddy telling the truth? Were you acting like a slut in the library? Hoping anyone could see how wet you were?” She taunts, and the words creep up your veins until they reach the middle of your belly where pleasure and frustration and emotions you’re too hazy to name take over entirely.

“No!” You plead with her to believe you, because it had never been your intention to be anything but good for them in the library, but you just couldn't help yourself when your clit caught on the inseam of your jeans or you shifted just right on the chair, and you’d hoped Natasha would see the honor and integrity in your coming clean, but instead she’d weaponized it into this. You were in enough trouble without her meddling, and it turns your lips downwards, but you never have any leeway to say that it’s more than just the teasing that’s weighing you down, so Wanda never stops to consider your pout or sparkling eyes.

“So now Daddy’s a liar?” She digs deeper; sinks her claws into you unrelentlessly without even touching you at all. She doesn’t need to touch you to own you. You’re beneath the wings of her control so beautifully right now she almost hates to be so cruel. Almost. It’s a fleeting moment of hesitation that allows you to think you’ve found reprieve from punishment for a moment, but then she remembers that this is what she really loves when you peel her layers back like an onion, and just like an onion she makes you cry but you keep coming back for more because it adds something, it spices things up, it makes dishes complete and she completes you. And for a moment you think that maybe she’ll bend, that maybe she’ll wind you up with this teasing and condescension and then she’ll let you down soft, let it all be some elaborate mind fuck that renders you a blob beneath their touch, but then she sets her gaze on the staircase beneath your body, and her jaw is locked so tensely you think she might chip a molar. “You’re digging yourself a deeper hole the more you open that mouth, so why don’t you keep it closed and go wait for me upstairs. I want you naked and on the bed waiting by the time we get up there.”

“But I want—“ You’re ready to tell her exactly what you want. It takes a lot to get you to this point of open communication. You’re their shy girl, their innocent angel that still blushes when it comes to asking for sexual acts from your girlfriends, but they have you wanting enough to throw caution to the wind and scream to the entire town that you’re a whore; their whore. You haven’t been broken down entirely, but you’re so close to the edge of fuzzy bliss that you have no morals to stand firm on. You’re malleable in their hands, and they know how to make you into exactly what they want.

“I didn’t ask what you wanted. I gave you a direction, and I expect you to follow it. Am I clear?” Wanda takes a step toward you. Just one. She’s taller than Natasha. You know this, and you love this, but sometimes you forget that she’s only a couple inches away from reaching six foot, and she towers over you with a completion and complex you can’t even begin to mimic to even unsuspecting strangers. She’s alluring. That’s the simplest way to put it, and she unmakes you even further as she sizes you up and makes you feel small like you’re nothing to her. It’s been a while since you’ve fallen so heavily into these roles. It’s been a while. It’s an echo in your head, a warning to tread carefully, but you don’t see it as anything more than a reason to fight harder, claim victory and finally find release in your center.

Your head bobs — just once. It feels so simple to think about motions as numbers right now. One pass of Wanda’s eyes over your exposed thighs and hips. Two taps of Natasha’s heel on the hardwood as she waits for you to comply with the direction you’ve been given. Four seconds before you realize that Wanda’s waiting for words, and that you still haven’t moved even with your nonverbal acceptance. “Yes.” You whisper when you find the words on your tongue, and you think that it’s going to satisfy Wanda, that maybe she might praise you for finally finding the right choice to make, but instead she clicks her tongue against her teeth, and she cranes her head to the side, and her eyes squint as you like you’ve just done the worst thing you could do; not try at all.

“I know it’s been a while since we’ve played like this, but I didn’t think my angel was dumb enough to forget such a simple rule. Are you dumb, princess? Or are you just too needy to think straight?” Wanda sneers, and your face flushes with heat that makes your belly twist with something sickeningly sweet. It’s all encapsulating. You can feel it in your toes, and your gallbladder, and your left lung all the way into the very back section of your brain that probably does something really important and specific. You don’t know. It doesn't matter. The sky could be green and chickens could be flying, and still all that would matter to you would be Wanda and Natasha.

“Not dumb.” Your voice is breathy, soft enough to be delicate and breakable. Wanda knows you, she knows what you can take, and so she lets her eyes sweep across your body until they meet your eyes, and when she finds nothing but bubbling tension beneath your surface, she hardens her glare and crosses her arms over her chest, forcing her tits farther into your line of vision. She’s wearing a generic t-shirt, but she’s dressed it up with a pair of black slacks, kitten heels, and a blazer that you think she’s probably only worn for the commute there and back. Her bra is black, the thin strap sticks out from the collar of her shirt when she moves her arms, and the cups push her full breasts up even further. It's almost considered sinful by your standards, and that's a hard metric to meet, but Wanda does it without breaking a sweat.

“Then address me properly.” She settles you, and there’s nothing you can do to get out of this corner you’ve backed yourself into, so without any other choice, you submit to what she wants of you, and with that last ounce of control out of your grasp, your brain goes fuzzy around the edges until you’re taking the stairs one at a time at a pace that's almost robotic, but Wanda and Natasha are tuned in enough to know that you just can’t move any faster without your thighs creating friction that gets you in even more trouble. They laugh as you retreat, and the sounds of their echoing amusement following you into the dark, empty and cold master bedroom leaves a chill in your bones that you're not sure is ever going to warm again.

“Yes, Professor.” Your words echo in Wanda’s head even after you’ve disappeared into the bedroom. She assumes you’re doing what she asked, getting further undressed and settling into the bed with full intentions of being good for her, but she gives you time to marinate regardless. She kicks off her heels, kisses Natasha twice, three times, four times, until they’re backed up against the wall ripping off layers until it's bras and panties on both of them and t-shirts scattered on the floor beneath slacks and leggings. They don’t go any farther. As mean as they’ve been, as cruel as they still plan to be, it feels premature to go any farther when you’re waiting upstairs and Wanda hasn’t touched you since Sunday.

She thinks that Natasha took care of you. She was under the impression that you’d been given as many orgasms as you were allowed by Natasha while she was at work, handling end of year papers and exams that she just couldn’t focus on in her office at home. Her absence at home had been planned for weeks, she’d forearnderd you the day before she packed up all her favorite red pens and headed for the office that the next couple of days were going to be long without her home, but you had persevered and she had thought that your lack of whining over text meant that Natasha had satisfied you. Natasha just couldn’t keep the days straight without Wanda home to be nagging in her ear about recycling day and bulk collection day and how Pepper always goes to Yoga on Thursdays so she needs to stop counting on her to get finances in for the pilates class at her gym. She hadn’t realized that the last time she touched you was cruel and unsatisfying and four days ago, she has no reason to dwell on the specifics and she doesn’t even now. Not when Wanda breathes against her lips that she’s so happy its Friday, that she’s so relieved the semester ends next week and exams are two weeks afterward. It’s a small tidbit left undiscovered in a glass bottle on the coast. Her eye hasn’t caught the sparkling reflection of sunbeams bouncing off like warning signs.

Natasha enters the bedroom first. She glances at you, and she almost smiles when she finds you on the center of the bed, naked like Wanda asked, but holding a yellow throw blanket over your body as you shiver in direct line of the air conditioner that points toward the bed. She pads over to the thermostat without saying a word, turning the air off entirely though she knows that’s a dangerous game to play for later on when you’re all hot and sweaty and too tired to peel your bodies out of bed and deal with numbers and math and perfect temperature debates that never get settled but instead mulled over with compromises and grumbles of annoyed and reluctant compliance. For right now, she’s okay to sacrifice future comfort for present comfort, but there’s hardly enough time to take note of her wordless gesture because Wanda comes stalking in after her, and she pushes the door closed with enough force to have the sound reverberating through the bedroom. You flinch, grab the blanket a little bit tighter, and for a moment Natasha frowns, narrowing her eyes, trying desperately to see if there’s something beneath the surface that she’s missing, but your eyes are blown with lust, and you crane your body towards Wanda’s with a yearning desire that is so automatic you don’t even seem to realize you’re closing the gap between your bodies until the mattress dips beneath your ebbing weight and you nearly topple off of the bed.

“Drop the blanket and come here. Edge of the bed.” She clicks her tongue, her fingers too. It’s degrading. It makes your belly do flips and your eyes glaze over. “Spread your legs. Wider. Wider. Stop trying to hide from me.” She growls and the first touch of her skin against you is harsh and cruel and demanding as she spreads your thighs wider and opens up your cunt completely. Arousal drips from your entrance onto the bed sheets, pearls of glittering desperation unable to be hidden between your thighs any longer, and now that the moonlight shines upon those inches of skin too, evidence of lust is painted against your skin and it looks like it’s been that way for hours with the way your skin is red and raw with moisture. It’s pathetic, and it’s so unbelievably hot that Wanda isn’t even embarrassed to moan wantingly.

”She’s dripping.” Wanda hums, glancing over her shoulder to look at Natasha who hasn’t taken her eyes off of you yet, though she isn’t intent on unmaking your inner emotions anymore, but rather watching as Wanda sinks a finger between your thighs, spreads your labia, and prods your weeping hole with a featherlight touch only long enough to collect a bead of arousal on her fingertip and hold it up to the light. She pinches her fingers together, rubs the moisturized pads together until they’re both effectively lathered in slick, and then she pulls her fingers apart like they’re a sizzling mozzarella, and the pull of arousal following both of her fingertips makes your cheeks flame worse than any cheese pull ever has. You whine. It’s desperate, and wanting, and so small, but it only fuels Wanda further. She needs to feel you now. She needs to have her way with you for the first time since Sunday and remind you that you’re hers until the word goes up in flames. “You’re so sweet, princess. I could just eat you, but I won’t. No, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet. Right now, I’m going to spank that pretty pussy raw, and then I think I’m going to fuck Natasha, and you’re going to watch it happen, and you’re not going to get more than I give you, and you’re not going to break me down, and you’re not going to complain. Do you understand me, detka? This is your only warning.”

You don’t have the words to answer her, so instead your fingers tap against your thigh twice, and for the very first time her lips curve into a smile and she nods like you’ve done something right. “Can’t find your voice? Too dumbed down to think straight?” She sneers, and her eyes are filled with something that you can’t decipher. Natasha knows its pride. She can practically see it dripping off of Wanda as she basks in your obedience even after deliberate disobedience for days on end. Again, neither of them realize that it’s been nearly a week since you’ve found peace with their touch. Again, neither of them realize that they’ve failed to communicate with each other and in turn left you stranded out in a sea you don’t know how to navigate on your own.

Neither of them realize you are giving them exactly what they want right now because it’s the only thing you can think to do to get any ounce of attention anymore.

Your fingers tap against your thigh again. Two times. Wanda nods acceptingly. “Good girl using your signals.” The praise washes over you like a blanket, and if you’d forgotten how you got into this mess at all, you remember now with every sense you have left in your head. The praise is warm, like sunshine or cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven and homemade in the dead of autumn. It wraps around your bones first, just hot enough to warm them for a moment before the feeling travels and it drowns your sensitive little heart in lightness that can only mean good things. It’s a momentary encouragement, but it’s enough to get you further into the scene at least. “Show me what stop is.”

Your fingers tap against your thigh twice, and then you stop, and then they tap three more times. Wanda doesn’t acknowledge you at first, so you repeat the action, and this time she nods with satisfaction that you remember. She doesn’t offer you any ounce of praise again, instead she just sinks behind you on the bed and wraps her arms around your waist until you’re flush against her chest and even more spread out than you were before.

There isn’t a warning before her hand comes down on your core with full force, her palm open, aiming to hit all of your sensitive parts with cruelty. It only takes one hit for you to realize that she wore rings today; more than just the promise ring Natasha had gifted the both of you on your respective one year anniversaries. The sting of metal is conflicting. It’s cold, sharp, what you imagine a venomous snake bite to feel like in the wild when it catches you by surprise and flashes through your veins with lighting speed. It’s a quick sensation, but it lingers on your labia and your clit and your weeping cole that caught the brunt of the friction from her palm that’s always rough with dryness.

Your hips jerk upwards, they chase her palm because the sensation is sharp, and it's painful, but as it ebbs away, it’s so sweetly pleasurable that your core jolts with burning desire to find more, to drown in it until there’s nothing left to feel or process besides euphoria. Wanda doesn’t like that. She doesn’t like that your hips jerk, and she wasn’t expecting them to. She doesn’t like that you’re still finding ways to misbehave even beneath her touch.

“Stay still.” She warns, her teeth nipping at your earlobe sharply. It stings, and she never soothes the ache with her tongue, and you whine so earnestly that Natasha almost feels bad, because she’s mean, but not as mean as Wanda, but she doesn’t feel bad enough to save you, and so nobody tends to the ache in your ear, or the pinch in your cunt when another slap doesn’t land in quick succession like you’d hoped. “Can’t even take a punishment. It’s like you’ve forgotten everything I taught you. Did you forget, detka? Do we need to start from the beginning? Reintroduce everything? Do you want to go back to only getting Daddy’s fingers because your tight little cunt can’t handle the strap?”

Your head shakes frantically, and you must look absolutely wild beneath the light that spills in from outside. The city is bright, shiny, dazzling, but Wanda Maximoff is a burning star and Natasha Romanoff is the very universe she explodes in and lights up with brightness that’s too hot to touch let alone look at nad see the full picture without being blinded and breathless and useless and you’re spiraling, you’re spiraling so far down into darkness that your train of thought abandons you and in the very moment that you lose all sense of where you are, drowning the scent ofWanda, and your arousal, and Natasha pacing across the room, apologetic but not enough to intervene, another slap lands between your legs and you howl with pain that becomes licks of tantalizing pleasure you can’t get enough of. You manage to stay still this time though. You don’t jerk, don’t chase her palm. You tense, you tighten, you bite down on your bottom lip until you almost taste copper, but you never move a single muscle.

Another slap comes down, and then another. She didn’t ask you to count them, so you lose count after the sixth. There must’ve been a nineteenth, because that number always makes Natasha laugh, and through thick tears in your eyes you registered her shoulders jostling from across the room before she’d turned away from the sight of you so completely unmade against Wanda’s chest to rummage through the closet. It weighs on you that she doesn’t even stick around to watch you be taunted and pulled apart so slowly and cruelly, it burns in your belly like shame, and for the first time you gasp in pain that has no pleasure, but before you can spiral, grasp onto sensations that have always been beneath the surface, that have fueled your every action since Wednesday afternoon, your brought back beneath the current of lust and willingness to do whatever the the hell they want when a slap comes down on your pussy that perfectly hits your clit. You're close. So close. Wanda knows. Of course she knows.

“Little sluts gonna cum from getting her cunt spanked!” Wanda calls out to Natasha, and your face burns with humiliation when you hear the thick laughter rumble from the closet. She slaps your core again, directly against your clit again, and that’s enough to have you dangling over the edge. You’ll take this orgasm. This orgasm that's going to be painful not just right now, but tomorrow morning when there's no pleasure left and only swollen lips and bruised skin, but for right now you’re willing to take it because it's the only thing they’ve given you outside of half asleep cuddles since Monday.

A gasp falls off of your lips when Wanda’s hand slaps against your clit again, but not with the same cruel pressure. It’s light. Deliberate. Your hips attempt to follow her palm when she retreats, her skin sparkling with slick, but she’s faster than you now, more coherent and intune with her body and its functions. She holds your hips down, forces your thighs wide. Your orgasm crashes over you and then it's gone, ebbing away into waves of pleasure that never dwindle, but never quite crash against the surface either. You’re sobbing, a mess of snot and tears, but no words escape you, and your fingers never tap your thighs, and your hands desperately shoot to Wanda’s wrists and try to pull them back to your core that weeps and drips lips a faucet or a widow, you’re not sure which one it is at this point — an inconvenience or a tragedy.

“Oh, you didn’t think I was just going to let you enjoy that orgasm, did you?” Wanda frowns, cupping your cheeks and bringing her thumbs against the damp skin, clearing away tears that are like diamonds on your flush skin. “Silly girl, you didn’t even ask for permission.” She clicks her tongue, and your brain is too fuzzy to comprehend that she’s blaming you for the ruined orgasm. She’d expected you to ask permission when she knew from the start that you couldn’t vocalize your wants even if you tried. It’s a thick blanket of something uncomfortable that smothers you when you realize that it had been a trap from the very beginning. You can’t handle another trap, another bout of teasing and creautly, but Wanda still has half of a plan to hatch, and you know she’s not going to stop unless you call it completely, but no part of you has the cognition to do that right now. Your brain is muddled, your thoughts aren’t your own, and the only thing you can process is them. Professor and Daddy. Professor and Daddy. Professor. Daddy. You need them. You need them fully and spiritually. You need them sinfully.

“Get on your belly.” Wanda moves away from you until her feet are on the floor and it's just you in the bed that feels too big for just your body. You do as she asks, even if you barely comprehend the task, and let your weight sink into the mattress as you finally lay down. It dawns on you now how tired you are, but Wanda can’t see your face, and Natasha watches your hands closely, but they never tap at your thighs in any fashion. You’ve always spoken up when something was too much. You’ve always used your signals when you were too deep into subspace to drop. She trusts you, and you’re showing clear trust in them, so they keep going, their reserves don’t break, and nobody sheds an ounce of pity as you whine and drip onto the comforter beneath your knees that Wanda props up like you’re just a doll for her to manipulate.

Somebody settles something between your legs, and only when your knees are guided back down and your hips are repositioned do you realize that it's the vibrator Wanda apparently bought three weeks after meeting Natasha. It’s big, and bulky, and you think superpowered though you have no proof, and when somebody flicks it on, you’re not sure who, it nearly sends you flying over the edge before somebody taps the button once, twice, three times and changes the setting to a low pulse that fades and goes at an uneven and deeply unsatisfying rhythm that you think must’ve been invented by a clueless man with no hobbies in life.

“You move a single muscle and I tie you up, understand?” Wanda waits for your fingers to tap against your thigh, even when it takes a full minute for you to process that she asked you a question at all. You tap twice, a silent confirmation of your understanding and acceptance, and so nobody thinks twice before they move on, Natasha pouncing on Wanda and stripping her out of her bra and underwear whilst Wanda does the same with her. They work in tandem. They always have. Wanda moves one way, Natasha moves the other. Even when Natasha’s searching for something dominating in Wanda, allowing her softer edges to shine through, they still move in harmony like its a practiced dance they’re showing you and ever so slowly teaching you. Even though you can’t see them, your face still buried in the blankets as your hips fight to remain still, you can imagine that they’re not moving with any less harmony and unity right now than any other moment you’ve witnessed them in. It makes everything ten times harder to handle, but when you finally do glance to the side, needing air that wasn’t restricted by the fabric that genuinely attempts to smother you in plain sight, you erupt into a whole new world of isolation when you watch Wanda hammer a dildo into Natasha’s cunt while the blonde’s fingers are burrowed between her legs, aiming to pull a quick and harsh orgasm from the redhead who doesn’t seem to have any complaints about not wasting time.

“Please!” It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a while, and your throat is scratchy and dry as evidence. You sound utterly pathetic, you look even worse, but there’s something soft about you as you fight to keep your head held up, twitching and jerking and so utterly helpless but in full control of your body. It’s addicting, alluring, intoxicating. It fuels Wanda on, but she doesn’t say a word, just rubs her thumb harder against Natasha’s clit and works the dildo faster, rougher, angling up to hit that spongy part in her walls that makes her head spin.

You can hear the vulgar squelches of their cunts as they work each other to orgasm, but you can’t distinguish which incessant squeak is Natasha’s and which is Wanda’s. They’re both moving too fast, with rhythmic paces that appear chaotic and unorganized to you right now. The soft tufts of hair between Natasha’s legs are red, ginger really, and they curl just slightly when she lets the bush grow out in the winter, but for summertime, her bikini line is cleanly waxed and her mound is adorned in only short strands of coarse hair that Wanda finds intoxicating to run her fingers over in the middle of the night aimlessly.

You’re still watching them when Wanda leans forward and captures Natasha in a kiss that looks bruising and rough and all encompassing, and your reserve breaks entirely when you watch them both come undone in climaxes that look satisfying and rewarding and soft as their fingers move slower and their wrists snap softly and they work each other through the height of blinding pleasure sweetly and tenderly — everything that you want, that you’ve been denied. It’s like they don’t care about you anymore. Do they not care about you anymore?

Suddenly it's hard to breathe, and even though Wanda never followed through on that threat of tying you down, you feel like your limbs are shackled to the bedpost and even though every nerve screams with oversensitivity from sensations you haven’t even been awarded yet, you can’t seem to move away from the vibrator that still torments your clit.

Natasha catches it first, the way you break,the way your knees lose their tension and your elbows unlock and your head drops against the bed like you just can’t bear the weight, and its confirmation that you’ve been off all along that has her rushing to your aid on the bed and quickly pulling the vibrator out from between your legs. “Hi, my love.” Her words are soft, sweet, so gentle you don’t recognize them and you continue to sob, gasping for breath, clawing at your throat, looking at her like you can’t even see her, twitching beneath her hands like you can’t feel them at all.

Natasha pulls you up into her lap, and apologizes when your clit catches on her thigh and pleasure shots through you so intensely that it hurts and you cry harder, coughing, spluttering, probably covering her with splatters of saliva but she doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t close her eyes and try to avoid the spray of your unruly emotions. She just lets you feel, and she lets herself feel, and she grounds herself in this moment because how did she not see it before? You’re never bratty. You’re never blindly disobedience nor are you rash or sexually impatient enough to do something as bold as slip Wanda your panties.

“It’s Friday.” Natasha blanches, her eyes trailing toward Wanda. She doesn’t let go of your cheeks, but she recognizes that you can’t hear her right now, that over the blood rushing in your ears and the sensitivity in your core not just from arousal but from Wanda’s unrelenting spanks too, you can’t even begin to process anything she’s saying. “I… I knew it was Friday, because I drove you to work, but I was convinced it was Wednesday because Pepper rescheduled the newsletter. Fuck.” Natasha pales, but Wanda’s still confused. Wanda still doesn’t know that you haven’t been properly touched in a week, or shown any kind of affection really, and so while she has sympathy and concern for your state, and her heart aches wondering where she went wrong, she’s not picking up on what Natasha’s trying to get across to her.

“What?” Wanda stalks closer. She’s unbalanced, slightly wobbly, but she doesn’t let it bother her anymore than she can control. You’re her entire priority, her entire world, and Natahsa’s scaring her immensely the longer she dances around the truth in burning shame and personal disappointment.

“I.. the last time I touched her was Monday. Did you let her cum at all?” She whispers and Wanda’s face pales, it’s her turn to realize that they’ve neglected you for days after scenes that warranted aftercare all on their own, let alone when they were strung together so closely and pointedly. She’d wanted to drive you crazy, she’d wanted to fuel you up, but then life had gotten busy, and it’s no excuse, but she’d forgotten all about your sexual escapades because it was just easy to move on with you. You take what life throws at you, and you always do it with a smile on your face — even when it’s breaking you apart.

“No.” Wanda shakes her head, and her hair falls over her shoulder and tickles her cheek as it sways and shifts with the motion of her head. “No, I told you to let her cum. I thought you did. Oh, my baby.” Wanda frowns, rushing the bed with a desperate urge to feel you and protect you. She can see it now, what she couldn't before, or perhaps didn’t want to. The blind devotion, the emotional withdrawal, the attitude and bratting. All the signs were there in theory, but you were just too damn good and appealing to their every desire. You were too damn good at sacrificing yourself for them even when the entire premise of your relationship is to do exactly the opposite. “It’s all done, moya lyubov. All done. Come back to me.”

It doesn’t happen right away. Not for a couple of minutes. But, eventually you begin to recognize hands on your cheeks, and you recognize hands on your lower back and thighs. Wanda touches you everywhere; wherever you can reach. Natasha stays in one place, she never moves, never even brushes her thumbs against your cheeks to clear your tears, she just holds your cheeks and keeps your eyes on hers even when Wanda moves around in your perphieral vision.

The ginger appears entirely calm, cool, and collected in your peripheral and hazed sense of cognition, she always appears so perfectly put together, but you know that she’s not somewhere deep inside of you. That small voice of reason doesn’t find a way out in this moment, instead, you drown in the promise that Wanda knows what to do, that Natasha won’t let you fall, and that they’re the only things that exist in this entire world even if they’re mean. that’s all you can think. Mean, mean, mean. You’ve stopped crying, but then your bottom lip begins to tremble again, and Natasha makes quick work of shaking her head and guiding you back to calm collectedness.

“Can I ask you a question, honey bee?” Natasha whispers, scared to hurt you, to scare you, to break you anymore than you already has. She recalls how you’d flinched when Wanda slammed the door unnecessarily and her heart clenches. She should’ve stopped the scene then. She should’ve trusted her gut in that single moment and stopped before it got to this point. Before it broke you so sinfully. She may like to see you cry, but she hates when it’s because she’s hurt you, failed to see you fully like she promised she always would. She loves when you tremble, when you twitch and jerk beneath her, but not when it’s from anxiety, when it’s because you’re so on edge and wound up that you don’t even know how to regulate your own emotions without her full guidance and attention on you. Wanda fares no better, but she can handle the mistake with grace because she has to, but Natahsa’s one tear away from joining you in your deep pit of darkness — dom drop. Wanda’s about to be playing a dangerous game if she doesn’t get the both of you under wraps before chaos really ensues.

“Natalia.” Wanda cuts in, and your eyes shot to her in alarm, a whine falling off your lips at her harsh tone. Wanda melts beneath your attention, scooping you up into her arms and leaving Natasha alone on the bed and still half dressed. “Idi, perevedi dukh i prinesi yey stakan vody. Tebe nuzhno uspokoit'sya, poka ya ne poteryal i tebya, ladno? (Go take a breath, and get her a glass of water. You need to calm down before I lose you too, alright?)” Wanda lets the words fall out naturally, like it takes no effort to switch back to Sokovian Russian and dance with Natasha intimately and personally. It dazzles you, it’s the first true glimpse at relief you’ve felt, and Wanda’s not lost on how you always seem to fold whenever her native tongue or accent comes out. You’re worse when its Natasha, and there’s evidence in your reaction as you whine and melt into Natasha like you’re just a little kitten desperate for warmth.

“I’ll be right back, printsessa.” She whispers, and her words are husked with a twinge of Russian that drives you absolutely crazy and clears the fog in your head just a little bit, but not enough to earn your voice back or pull away from Wanda’s chest at all. You nod, blink slowly, and grab at Wanda’s bra strap desperately until your knuckles are white and there’s no chance she can leave.

“I’m sorry we didn’t realize sooner, angel.” Wanda whispers once Natasha is out of earshot. Natasha may not be an outwardly emotional person most times. You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen her cry, but you’ve learned that she’s more sensitive to failure and human mistake than Wanda is. If you were any clearer headed, you would’ve recognized that she’s beating herself up over this, but you don’t, so instead you just accept Wanda’s apology and believe her when she follows up with a whisper of, “It’ll never happen again.”

When Natasha comes back, she’s carrying two glasses of water and a protein bar that she only makes you eat when you don’t have enough energy to fight her because you hate the chalky taste. She feels like an asshole for bringing it to you now, but she always worries about you eating enough, call it a Russian stereotype, and she definitely would have brought Wanda one if she thought the ginger would’ve humored her for a second and even grabbed the bar when she handed it over. You weren’t as tuned into your surroundings, your cheek flush against Wanda’s chest as you cuddle as close as you can into her, desperately leeching her warmth. That’s another sign she missed, or maybe wanted to ignore. You’re always hot, their little furnace, but the second she’d come up to you shivering and hiding beneath the yellow blanket, she should’ve known something was wrong. She can’t change it now, and she can tell that Wanda’s already amended all that she can when you’re still so floaty, so she doesn’t waste time on another apology when you’re only half awake as it is, mindlessly chomping your teeth together because she’d fed you a bite of the protein bar when your eyes were closed.

“Off.” The first word off off of your lips is a breathy plead for more contact with Wanda, and she doesn’t hesitate for a second before she’s reaching behind her and unclasping her bra with one hand, freeing her breast for you to cuddle into all while Natasha merely admires the sight like she’s never seen it before. Not Wanda’s breasts, although she does spare a couple of seconds to admire them, but just how tender you are with them, how you let yourself be loved and comforted even when they caused it. She doesn’t deserve you, but she cherishes that you picked her regardless of her worth.

“Take a sip of water.” Wanda coaches when Natasha raises the glass to your lips but you refuse to drink, keeping your lips firmly pressed together and your hands on her breasts, squeezing, touching, just trying to feel as much as she’ll let you. She shifts when your weight becomes too much for her thighs, pins and needles shooting through her limbs, and you gasp when your clit catches on her thigh, and you're reminded of the sensitivity that is simultaneously blinding need. “Nu uh, not tonight, my love. Tomorrow I’ll make it all better, but we’re all done tonight. You were so good for me, so good, but it’s time to rest, so have a sip of water, and then were going to lay down and rest our eyes. We’ve had a long week, huh? You just need some cuddles and sleep to make it all better. I know. I know everything, baby girl. You never have to think when I’m here, so just stop, okay? No more thoughts, take a sip of water.” Wanda pauses, waits for you to comply, and when you do, greedily gulping down half of the glass when you realize how thirsty you are, she smiles. “Good girl. Such a good girl, my perfect girl. My best girl. That’s it, one more and then we’re going to lay down.”

You push Natahsa’s hand away after the last sip you take, feeling full and probably very buoyant fi you tried to go for a swim out back, but you don’t even think to move when you realize you have to pee, or that Wanda and Natasha haven't peed yet despite always going after a scene. You don’t have the entry to remind them, and Wanda, the stickler of the two, doesn’t seem to mind, so you don’t say anything that doesn’t need to be said. She guides you down into a laying position, soft and slow, cautious of the sensitivity in your head after so much crying. It makes you dizzy regardless, and you whine into her chest as she shifts and gets you comfortable.

“Shh, I know. I know. You’ve had such a long day, my brave girl. It’s all over now. All you need to do is close your eyes.” Wanda’s fingers tickle your back, gentle patterns that mean nothing but hold the potential of everything luring you to sleep until you jolt with sudden anxiety, reaching out for Natasha who seems too far away and too clothed.

“Off.” You huff again, and she laughs, but this time not like she did before, when it was cruel and mean and uncomfortable to handle and stand beneath without wilting. It’s soft now, charming, that laugh that fills you with light and love and energy, but there’s no energy right now. You’re tired, burnt out. You settle equally into her chest and Wanda’s when she takes her bra off, throwing it onto the floor to be added into the laundry later on along with your clothes and hers and Wanda’s that are still downstairs in the living room in a heap.

When your eyes finally close, and you fall asleep, you don’t wake up until one o’clock the next afternoon, but Wanda and Natasha are still beside you, wrapped up in bedsheets and t-shirts that drown them and conceal their chests from sunlight. For the night though, their skin is yours to feel fully beneath every inch of your body, because it had been far too long since they gave into this instinctive pleasure that keeps you all going. Never again would they let a week pass without prioritizing this — you. You’re everything to them, and Wanda tells Natasha as much before her eyes close, sleep winning the battle as you breathe deeply and evenly between them.

1K notes · View notes

lazyjellyfish300 · 16 days ago

Text

that o was crazy where am i 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

@sugurusangxl 💕

⋆˚࿔ OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR — artist! geto suguru

SUM. Going from being your lover last week to not knowing your name this week.

CONTENTS. 18+ contents, MDNI. 7k words. x fem! reader. non canon compliant/au. smut. angst. amnesia. lovers to strangers. inappropriate use of paint. 69. cunnilingus. face fucking. spanking. unprotected p in v. fingering. missionary. doggy. cum eating. creampie. switching. use of pet names.

A/N. twas truly on a geto run last year. positive comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

Almost every artist's dream is to create a piece that resembles one that stands proudly in museums, the one bewitching masterpiece that garners the attention of everyone around it. That attracts attention the way a light beckons a moth.

Or at least, that's what Suguru had been trying to achieve through the countless doodles and paintings that he'd made throughout college. Using cheap colors that he'd bought at a bargained price after working too many hours at a job that paid too little.

A number of sketchbooks stuffed into a drawer, each of them offering a glimpse into what lingered behind his subconscious. The gorgeous aspects of life that he could only hope he was able to encapsulate through his work and the more.. nasty aspects.

And now that Suguru had all the art supplies that he could dream of (and more), he couldn't bring himself to actually draw something. The cabinets in his office were filled up to the brim with different pigments, oils and watercolors, blank canvases. All just simply begging to be used as the days passed by. "I'll do it tomorrow," he assured himself every time throughout the week after when after that he passed the closed office door.

After many many tomorrows, Suguru finally decided to step into the room. His movements were slow and deliberate as he prepped his workspace, adjusting all the brushes to be lined up against each other uniformly. As if the slightest displacement of his brushes would be enough to get him to mess up the work he'd been planning to do. After rearranging for what seemed to be the hundredth time, Suguru decided to pick up one of the brushes.

Just to firmly grasp it in his hand, the plastic digging into his palm. Standing completely and utterly still.

Suguru could feel himself slowly start his descent into madness the longer that he stood in front of the empty canvas with a paintbrush in hand, his paints starting to dry out with every minute that he was still. He'd been stuck in a creative rut for the past couple weeks, wanting to put one of the many ideas that roamed freely in his head onto the canvas without actually being able to. It was like his mind went black the second he was ready.

The once bright sunlight that'd been peering in through the windows had now started to dim down, leaving behind a shadow that covered a majority of the room. A shadow that would surely ruin Suguru's work if he were to get started now. Surely. That's what he told himself when he decided to call it quits for the day, untying his apron and hanging up on the coat rack at the back of the room.

Even so, he couldn't help himself from walking back over to the canvas. Hoping that some surge of inspiration would come to him—the same inspiration that he'd sacrificed nights of sleep long ago just to be able to create a piece to his liking. The type of inspiration that deeply embedded itself into his brain, begging to be put onto the canvas. Begging to be executed. Begging to be seen.

You stood by the door, quietly making your way into the room to where he stood. "What're you up to?" You whispered, your lips hovering above his ear while your arms were wrapped around his lower stomach from behind. Suguru melted into your touch automatically, his eyes fluttering shut. You'd distracted him—that much was certain. But that seemed to be exactly what he needed right now. Allowing himself to get out of his head.

"Staring at an empty canvas and hoping it magically turns into a masterpiece. You, pretty girl?" Suguru turned to face you, his hands instinctively resting on your hips. "Staring at an artist hoping he magically makes a masterpiece."

"With you in the room, it'd be a hard task not to create a masterpiece."

"That's what I was going for. Been told I'm an excellent muse."

"My excellent muse." Your lips connected with Suguru's in a span of seconds, your eyes fluttering shut as the taste of him completely invaded your seconds. One of your hands reached back to the mess that he'd raked his fingers through countless times, holding a fistful of his hair to pull him closer to you. The exchange was something like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.

And in the midst of kissing you, a lightbulb went off in Suguru's head. The first bit of inspiration that he's gotten since entering the room nearly three hours ago. "There's something in that big brain of yours?" Your question drew out a laugh from him, the small huff of air hitting the side of your neck. "Something like that, yeah. I need your help with it, pretty girl."

Suguru taped piece after piece of white paper together—completely covering the pristine brown floors of his studio. He knew damn well he wouldn't hear the end of it from you if he ended messing up the floors with the little experiment that he had in mind. You could only stare from the doorway with your arms folded, trying to decipher what he was hoping to achieve.

"Come here, please," Suguru gestured for you to join him once the pieces were secured onto each other. You joined him once the floor, watching as he slipped off his shirt with ease. Your clothes ended up on the floor in record time, watching as Suguru grabbed some acrylic paint bottles from one of the overflowing cabinets. "Normally acrylic's a pain in the ass to work with since it dries so fast but it should be fine."

"Should be fine for what, exactly?" Your head cocked to the side, watching as he took off the plastic wrap around the cap. Suguru looked over at you with a sheepish expression, hesitating before answering your question. "Just hear me out," Suguru's hands ran down your bare thighs in some half-assed attempt to soften the blow, "I was thinking we could put some paint on us and y'know.. have sex on the canvas."

Oh.

"That's it?" You retorted, having to stifle a laugh.

Suguru's hands stilled on your thighs, looking over at you with a half glare on his face, "I nearly had a heart attack trying to ask you that and you're laughing?"

"Well, yeah. I was expecting something worse, to be honest," Before the laugh you were holding it in escaped your lips, a spurt of paint landed on your stomach. A small gasp left your lips, grabbing the nearest paint bottle and aiming straight at Suguru. "Not the h-"

"Yeah, yeah, not the hair," you finished for him, covering a majority of his chest and neck in green paint. You weren't sure who even ended up winning the fight between the two of you, the two of you nearly covered from head to toe in several layers of drying paint. "Ready to admit defeat?" You prodded with a teasing smile on your face, hovering just above him.

A teasing smile that was wiped from your face within a span of what seemed to be two seconds. "I thought you were the one about to admit defeat."

Suguru rested above you, his hair tickling the sensitive skin of your neck when he lowered himself down to press sloppy kisses in whatever spots he could reach. In whatever spots he could leave a hickey only for his eyes to see. His teeth nibbled at your collarbone, his lips enclosing around the skin and sucking. Treating you like his very own canvas, painting your skin in a mix of small bites and his teeth marks.

"Get on top of me, pretty girl," Suguru's hair splayed out against the canvas, the golden hue of the sunset hitting him perfectly from the window when he laid down. You were about to sit down on his lap when he cleared his throat, "Not like that. Turn around for me."

"Su-Suguru," your breath hitched when you felt his teeth bite down onto your inner thigh just as you barely adjusted, his lips wrapping around the supple skin to leave a mark on you with something other than paint. Suguru kissed his way up to your clit, giving it a chaste kiss before moving back to your inner thigh. Repeating the process until a soft groan left your lips, your hips wiggling back against his mouth.

"Doesn't this defeat the purpose of the paint all over us?" Your words came out in a breathy whisper, suddenly becoming hyperaware of the drying paint on your skin. Suguru squirted some of the paint onto his hand, bringing his hand to your ass cheek. Squeezing the flesh in between his fingers, a sharp SMACK following. Leaving a yellow handprint behind.

"Are you complaining, princess?" Suguru asked in a taunt, the tip of his tongue tracing against your folds, "Plus, we're mixing the colors together. Variety and all."

Couldn't really argue with that logic. Not that you'd even begin wanting to argue—the tip of his sharp tongue rolling against your throbbing clit.

Suguru's lips enclosed around one of your slick folds, his eyes shut in bliss as he gave it the sloppiest French kiss that you'd seen in your life. "So good, wanna stay like this forever," Just one taste of you had the man intoxicated. Suguru spat up into your cunt, his tongue mixing it in with your slick.

"Wanna fucking drown in your pussy, lemme do that. Please, please," incoherent babbles spilled from his lips, begging for.. you weren't even sure what. "Sugu, don't stop," your moans only encouraged him, your nails digging into his thighs when he pushed a thick digit inside of you. Slowly pushing it in and out of you, his tongue swirling around your clit just as slow. "F-Faster, baby. Please."

The baby was almost enough to get the last bit of his remaining composure to crumble—another one of those sweet whines escaping his lips. Even so, he was determined to tease you, "You sure you can take it?"

"Y-Yes, yes, fuck yes, faster," you felt like a bobblehead with the way you were nodding. Suguru's finger curled inside of you, hitting your g-spot when he pulled it out of you. "Since you were nice about it," Suguru's lips wrapped around your cunt, his tongue swirling against the nerves while another finger pushed inside of you. He moved the two in a scissoring motion, working your walls open slowly.

Your thumb and pointer wrapped around the tip of his cock, your other paint stained hand wrapping around the base. Just the slightest bit of contact and Suguru was already bucking his hips into your hand, a groan leaving his glistening lips. "Please, need you," he babbled, pulling away from your sensitive cunt. You simply traced one of the veins on the side with your fingertip, your touch featherlight.

"What do you mean? You have me, with my hand wrapped around your cock. Be more specific," you executed the clueless act almost perfectly, a borderline whine leaving Suguru's lips. From desperation. From need. From how much he was starting to like when you teased him like this. "Need your mouth on me, pretty. Your teasing's too much."

"Your fault for making it so easy," you drawled out, your tongue darting out. Tasting the precum that leaked out his reddening tip. Your thumb swiped against his cockhead, smearing the mixture of his pre and your spit around it like makeshift lube.

"F-Fuck, just like that," Suguru let out a groan into your cunt, the vibrations shooting up all the way up your spine. You slowly began bobbing your head, your cheeks hollowing out as you tried to take more of his thick cock in your mouth. Drool leaked from the corners of your lips, some of the paint that managed to get onto your chin dripping onto the paper underneath. "Lemme fuck your face, princess. Please, please."

"Just. Like. That," his words were punctuated with his hips snapping up into your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You were left a gagging mess, your eyes starting to water from the sting. If Suguru could see you, you were certain he'd make some stupid comment about how good you look.

And almost as if he'd read your thoughts, "B-Bet you look so pretty gagging. So so pretty taking my cock."

"And I bet you'd look better with your mouth on my pussy instead of teasing," you clicked your tongue, your lips wrapping around the sides of his cock. Slowly rubbing them against his shaft, your hand going down to his balls.

Suguru had been putty in your hands long ago—but the feeling of your hand on his balls only reaffirmed that fact. Your fingers gently rolled against his sac, each of your movements completely in tandem with your mouth. Almost like a synchronized dance. "S-shit, pretty," Suguru's moans were muffled, his nose deep inside of your cunt.

Suguru's balls started to grow heavy underneath your fingertips, strained gasps coming out of him. "S-Stop," you pulled away when you heard Suguru's words, your brows pulling together.

"You okay? We can stop if you want," you assured him, moving to get off him. His grip on your hips tightened, keeping you still against him. Suguru didn't move from his spot, his head laying back against the paper in some attempt to catch his breath.

"No, no, nothing like that," Suguru let out a shaky laugh, his words making relief crash over your body like a wave. "Just- You almost made me cum."

"Is that a bad thing?" While your words were innocent, you looked anything but. Looking at you was akin to looking at a succubus incarnate. A succubus that Suguru wouldn't necessarily mind submitting to if it came down to it.

"No. Just wanna do it inside of you instead."

"A true poet. You should consider that as a career," a short laugh left your lips. The sound turning into a moan when Suguru smacked your ass again—this time with red paint. The previous yellow on his hand mixed in, leaving an orangey red tint behind. "And you should consider being a comedian."

Suguru shifted the two of you, having you underneath him yet again. His hand wrapped around his cock, pressing it against your cunt and swiping his shaft up and down your folds. He looked over at you—seeing the way you bit down on your lip to keep yourself quiet. Not that it'd mattered, your pussy couldn't exactly lie the same way that you could.

Your walls clenched around pure air—your dripping pussy coating his shaft with each and every swipe. One of his hands moved to cradle your cheek, tenderly. He moved his thumb to where leftover tears remained, wiping them away with one shift motion. The action was meant to be sweet, loving—and yet it was completely betrayed by the shit-eating grin on his face.

Suguru was completely shameless in sticking his thumb in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it while he licked away your salty tears. All the while he maintained eye contact with you.

"O-Oh fuck!" Suguru reveled in the sharp gasp that left your lips when he pushed the tip of his cock inside of you, your mouth left agape. He leaned down, pressing his lips against your own. Unlike the other kisses, this one was more desperate. More needy. His teeth clashed against your own, your tongue moving against his own messily. Just needing to have him close to you.

"There we go, that's it," Suguru purred in your ear, studying each one of your reactions. Watching as you squirmed the further that he pushed his cock inside you. He stilled his movements, your walls tightly clenched around his cock. Even if he wanted to move, he couldn't.

"Take it so well, you were meant for me. All of you," Suguru's lips moved down to your breast, his paint-covered hands staining the skin even further. His tongue swirled around your nipple, the tip prodding against the hardening buds. "Could never get enough of you. Never want to get enough of you," his babbles served to distract you from the slight sting between your thighs, your hand intertwining in his hair. Getting paint on it despite your previous promise.

"You can move," you assured him, his hips snapping into you almost immediately. Suguru's head hung low, already getting lost in your cunt one thrust in. "So good, so perfect," He panted, his thrusts starting off slow and shallow. Getting you more and more comfortable with each one. One of his hands reached out to grab your own, calloused fingers intertwining with your own. He brought your hand to his mouth, gently pressing a kiss.

Suguru's thrusts began to grow faster—meaner. "S-So deep, Sugu," you breathed out, your nails digging into the back of his hand. "Yeah? You can take it, though. Can't you?" He repeated the same words from earlier back to you, watching your eyes glaze over with lust. Rolling back with each punishing thrust. The sound of skin against skin resounded throughout the room, paint splashing against each other.

"Take it so well, knew you could," Suguru disentangled his fingers from your own, moving his hand towards your clit. He slowly began rubbing circles against the bud, your legs starting to quiver from the overwhelming stimulation. It felt like too much, it didn't feel like it was enough. You didn't know what to ask for. "Please," you managed to get out, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

"I know, I know. I got you," and even though the ask didn't seem that coherent to you, Suguru seemed to have gotten it immediately. His fingertips sped their pace up on your clit, your walls clenching around him. Your toes curled against the paper, that all too familiar coil building up in your lower tummy. "Close, close," you chanted like a mantra. Suguru's fingers continued, pushing you towards your orgasm.

Your walls clenched around his shaft, your orgasm hitting you like a wave when you unclenched. Your release covered his shaft, your folds, and some of it managed to drip down to the canvas. Messing up the messy artwork even further. Suguru pulled his fingers away from your clit, bringing them up to his lips with your slick glistening against his digits.

And just like he'd done with your tears, Suguru completely licked his fingers clean. "Fuckkk, you're so good to me," he groaned out, the taste of you immediately infiltrating his taste buds. The only thing left when Suguru pulled his fingers out was his own spit.

"Come on, get the canvas all nice and covered," Suguru helped you get on your stomach, your back arched and your ass up in the air. Your pussy still wet from your previous orgasm. You rested your elbows onto the paper below you, supporting your weight while Suguru smacked your ass with the tip of his dick. "Got so lucky with you," He mused out loud, sounding completely entranced.

Suguru pushed his cock inside of you, filling you up inch after inch. "That's my little Picasso," he teased, watching you put some more paint onto your hands. His hands gripped your hips, his cock pushing deeper inside of you from this angle. The ridges on his shaft brushing up against your g-spot, brushing up against every right spot. All you could feel was him, him, him.

Your fingers laid across the paper, tainting the white paper below you in a mixture of colors. Drip. Drip. Drip. You weren't sure if that was the paint or your pussy at this point. Probably both. "F-Fuck Suguru, don't stop," you moan out, your cheek resting against the paper underneath. Suguru's grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier by the second.

"N-Not gonna stop until my cum's dripping out of you," Suguru practically whined, completely and utterly pussy-drunk. Your walls clenched involuntarily, something Suguru couldn't have missed even if he wanted to. "Tightened up so fucking much. That's exactly what you want, my cum filling you up?"

"Mhm, please. Fill me up," your whines sounded like a melody in his ears, a melody that he'd never grow tired of. Your tight cunt was milking his cock for everything it had, gripping around him tightly like a vice. Suguru's balls twacked against your cunt with each mean thrust, each thrust sloppier than the last. Like he just needed to be inside you—no matter how.

Ropes and ropes of cum painted your cunt white as he came, his breathing ragged. You felt so full. It was so much cum—the sticky substance dripping down your thighs. Suguru's mouth instantly went to your pussy, licking away his cum that dribbled down your folds. Pushing the remainder in with his fingers before allowing himself to lay down next to you.

The two of you laid still on the canvas with dry paint coating the two of you from your cheeks to your other set of cheeks. You'd ended up splattering more paint on each other than on the paper below you. The sun outside had set, leaving only the sound of cicadas outside and moonlight filtering in through the window. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you albeit for the sound of your quick breaths.

Suguru had been to copious amounts of art showings and galleries throughout the course of his career—seen all different kinds of things. Sculptures, oil paintings, photographs, etc. Some of them taking him a second glance to try to see the meaning while some were effortless in the way that they presented their beauty. But somehow all those paintings seemed to dim in comparison to you in this moment.

You in all your post orgasm glory—with beads of sweat dribbling down your forehead, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your inner thighs shaking from the after shocks and covered with his semen. A view that he couldn't begin to replicate even with the world's most expensive paintbrushes, the most expensive canvas.

No matter how many times you told Suguru that a painting he'd done of you was nothing short of extraordinary, he couldn't help but feel as if something was missing. As if he couldn't capture your beauty in all its essence. Whether it be that your nose ended off balance by one half-inch, one of your eyes ended up slightly more crooked than the other. Nothing seemed to really encapsulate what he wanted to portray onto the canvas.

But the work that lay below you almost expressed you in a way that he could only dream of achieving in this lifetime—expressing you in one of the rawest forms possible. In pure bliss and ecstasy. Pure bliss and ecstasy that he'd been responsible for.

Suguru was nothing short of gentle, reverent when he swiped the washcloth across your paint covered skin. Wiping away all the dry pieces that started to flake off. "Nothing short of being the perfect muse," He spoke in a way that made it seem like the words were meant just for your ears. Suguru pressed a kiss on your shoulder, his lips trailing a path down to your back.

"All I did was have sex with you on top of a piece of paper," you responded, turning around to face him. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you all that much closer to your body until you were chest to chest. "Maybe. But I've never felt this surge of inspiration before. All because of you, beautiful."

Seeing the final piece hanging up on the wall of his studio, you almost couldn't help but think that it was disorganized chaos. That it was just splatters of paint showcasing what the two of you had gotten up to just the night prior. "I know what you're thinking, but y'know how art critics are. Chances are that they'll enjoy this piece more than any of the others I've done," Suguru spoke up, standing next to you as he looked up at the painting.

"Even if they don't, thank you for indulging me. Don't think I could forget about this painting even if I tried," Suguru wrapped his arms around your waist from behind you, resting his head on your shoulder. You leaned back into his touch almost instinctively, staring at the painting for a bit longer. All the nonsensical shapes and splatters on the wall slowly starting to become something beautiful—something made out of love.

And enjoy it they did. Not one day passed by since Suguru submitted the painting to be hung up in several art showings where he didn't get a call with some offer. Each of them going higher and higher, each caller trying to outbid the last. Coming back to him with a bigger and better offer, all for the chance to see the painting the two of you made. Nothing at all like the days of being a starving artist, living off ramen and a dream.

Suguru's career had been built from the generous donations from coffee shops around the Tokyo area that were willing to pay for a couple of his pieces, of maintaining relationships with artists he didn't talk to for more than once in college to gain some kind of connections. It felt bizarre—having people practically want to display his work for the equivalent of a down payment on a house. Not only from the Japan area, but a couple galleries from overseas.

"I'll see you when I get back, okay? I love you," You were barely half awake, barely registering Suguru when he moved to press his lips against your forehead. He'd barely gotten of the shower from what you could tell, wet hair strands tickling your face and the smell of amber cologne filling up your nose.

"Love you too. Fly safe," you mumbled back in response, or at least you'd made the attempt to do so. Hopefully he heard. In a span of mere seconds, you'd pulled the blankets back over your body and went back to sleep.

For the second time that morning, you were woken up from your sleep. Only this time it wasn't the feeling of Suguru's lips against your skin, rather the shrill sound of your phone beside you. A rather rude awakening. You rubbed your eyes, sitting up in bed and clearing your throat in all attempt to make it sound like you didn't wake up two seconds ago. Picking your phone up, you were met with the sight of an unknown number.

You'd grown wary to answering unknown numbers—whether it be from a multitude of spam calls throughout your day or one of Suguru's fans that found your contact information. You couldn't really begin to explain it, but something, something, compelled you to answer the call at the third ring. "Hi, we're calling from Tokyo General Hospital. You were listed as Geto Suguru's emergency contact."

If you weren't awake before, that greeting was enough to wake you up. "That's me. Is everything okay?" You felt goosebumps all over your arms, a bad feeling sinking down into your very bones. The person on the other line kept talking—the words not registering inside of your head just yet. He was supposed to be on a plane, maybe on his layover. Throughout the call, you could only pick up certain words. Accident. Critical condition. Stable for now.

Rushing over to the emergency room in nothing but your pajamas and a pair of bunny slippers. "H-Hi, I got a call," you took a moment to catch your breath, your knuckles gripping the front desk. Forcing yourself to try to calm down somewhat. Trying to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Despite that every breath only seemed to be wearing you down even further.

"I'm here about Geto Suguru. You just brought him in," you managed to get out, your fingers anxiously tapping against the counter. Every second that the nurse spent typing on the computer felt like a second too long.

"He's currently in emergency surgery. The waiting room's in the fourth floor," the nurse finally spoke up after what seemed to be an eternity. "Thank you," your words came jumbled up in a rush, turning around and speed walking towards the elevator. The stench of antiseptic filled your nostrils as soon as you stepped out into the fourth floor, a grim feeling settled into every crevice of the halls.

The clock on the wall ticked by slowly, marking each second almost painfully. Each second marking someone being brought into the world, someone being taken away from the world. Marking tears of agony, dispair, joy, and relief. Your brain continued to spiral every time a doctor came out of the surgical wing—giving you the briefest glance before going over to talk to someone else.

A wisdom teeth removal without anesthesia would've been a more welcome thought than the unbearable waiting.

Despite his farewell, the next time that you saw Suguru wasn't at the airport after the art show that would make his career skyrocket. With a smile on his face when he looked at you, like you held the universe in the palm of your hand. Like you were the only thing really worth looking at. But instead, you had to settle for seeing him in a hospital bed.

You could practically see the gears turning in Suguru's head in some attempt to recognize just where exactly he knew you from, where he'd seen you before. Almost like one of the statues that were around his studio, you stood completely still. You gave him your name after a nod from the doctor and crossed your fingers in the pocket of your pajama pants, waiting for some kind of sign that he knew you.

That he remembered the hour long conversations between you, the feeling of your skin underneath his own, that he at least knew he loved you. The action was for naught, however. Panic slowly began to settle in Suguru's features, his arms straining against the needles attached. His face was cold, detached, his finger pointing towards the door. "Leave!" even with the breathing tube down his throat, you at least made out the command.

Before Suguru ended up ripping all the different IVs out of his arm, you made your way out of the room. Standing by the door, almost like a puppy who'd just been kicked out to the curb. Looking through the small window, you could see that Suguru was still on high alert. His eyes darted around the room, the two nurses attempting to restrain him starting to visibly struggle.

His shouts bled through the thin walls, "Leave! Leave!" Until the room went completely silent in a span of seconds, his panicked breathing starting to even out on the monitor. "You're free to come at another time," the doctor offered a sheepish smile, handing over a guide. How to deal with a family member with amnesia. The smiles on the front page only served to mock you even further.

You opened up the door to his side of the closet when you got home, the silence of the room almost overwhelming. It was never this quiet. You'd grown used to hearing Suguru's footsteps echo in his office while he paced around—convincing you that it got the ideas flowing (spoiler alert: it rarely did). The scent of his body wash and cologne covered the room like a thick blanket from his shower this morning.

Looking around the vast space, you could see a couple of his shirts with the color faded out with years and years of use, of wash, and of love. And with that, you noticed a couple shirts hanging up with the tags still attached to them. Shirts that he'd probably been intending to wear for future art showings. Would he even dress the same? Smell the same? The uncertainty chipped away at your composure, leaving you gripping one of his old band tees at the back of his closet.

You sprayed his cologne first thing in the morning throughout the following week, something that you could hold onto for the time being. The thought of packing up his clothes was one that persisted the longer you kept staring at the untouched articles, yet you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Every time you set out with a box on the floor—you couldn't muster to even get his shirts off the hangers.

It felt wrong, in a sense. To almost be mourning him despite that he was well in the hospital. Doing better than expected, even. You couldn't help but feel like you've lost him completely, though. That Suguru Geto was completely gone after that accident. You recognized his body, the one who'd held your own during cold nights. But you weren't sure who he was, not like you used to. You didn't know who he was going to become.

You willed yourself to keep the same enthusiasm as the doctors had been trying to instill, deciding to pack a couple of his essentials in a bag before visiting him. If he was anything like the Suguru you knew, he was probably desperate to wash his hair with something other than cheap travel sized shampoo.

After days and days of avoidance, Suguru finally stood in front of the mirror and looked into it. At first, all he could see was just how weak he looked. How sickly pale he looked against the bright fluorescent lights, how sunken his cheekbones were, how tired he looked. Even if he didn't know who he was supposed to be—the sight was anything but welcome.

And then Suguru looked at the mirror. Really looked into it. Desperately seeking for some kind of hint of the person that people were expecting him to be. The one he'd seen various art critics write about in overlooked magazines that were around the hospital lobby. Only to come up completely and totally empty. With not one single recollection of what happened before the car accident.

Staring at himself in the mirror was like staring at a hollow shell of himself—a corpse with his face, his body, his hair, his voice, that held no memory of the person that he was used to be. A body without a brain. Who and what was he supposed to be acting like? As much as Suguru stared at himself in the mirror, he couldn't find the answer that he so desperately craved.

The canvas and paint set that you'd left behind nearly a week ago remained untouched in the hospital bed stand, still in their original package. Suguru reluctantly pulled it out, setting it down on his lap. "Stupid thing," he muttered to himself, prying open the plastic and looking over at the palette of colors. After facing the same four grey walls of the hospital room, he found himself staring at them for more than necessary.

But even while Suguru held the paintbrush in his hand, the thought that he was even doing that wrong lingered in the back of his brain like a plague. Every line that was sprawled onto the canvas felt like a mistake, the smallest divergence in between the two points almost made him throw out the canvas out the damn hospital window and never paint again. Everything that he was supposed to be, he simply was not.

A deep breath left his lips, forcing himself to calm down before he went through another spiral in less than ten minutes. Suguru's grip on the paintbrush was unsteady, unpracticed, each of his strokes either coming out too wet or too dry. Lighter colors were starting to mix with the darker colors, turning into a shade of mud brown. And yet, this was the calmest he's felt in a while. The calmest without any sedatives, anyways.

The painting didn't come out to be anything significant—anything that he deemed worth putting into an art museum. But the process of making his splotch of colors was an escape from trying to force himself to be someone he wasn't sure he could ever return to. The one time he didn't feel like he was disappointing someone since waking up. The short moment of bliss was broken when Suguru heard the door knob jiggle, his eyes darting around the room.

Looking for any place where he could hide the canvas. Anyplace where the poor excuse of his work couldn't be found—where he wouldn't get someone's hopes up. Opening up the drawer next to him, he decided that was a decent enough hiding spot. Suguru turned the canvas to face down, the paint smearing down onto the scratched wood when he placed it down. Completely ruining the worthless piece.

"You can come in," Suguru called out, watching as you came in with the grocery bag in tow. Looking at you was nothing less than looking at another stranger—nothing different than one of the nurses who came in to poke more needles into his arm.

"Hey Suguru," you popped your head in through the door, almost expecting for him to have that sudden moment like they did in telenovelas. That just one look, one kiss, one touch would bring back the man that you loved. Waiting for a moment that didn't come no matter how much or how many times you wished for it. He gave a nod, simply just acknowledging your presence.

Everyday that Suguru didn't recognize you just felt like one more stab to your bleeding heart. You could see the way that he slightly inched away from you whenever you got too close. Conversations didn't flow the way they used to—you'd learn to measure your words so you wouldn't upset him. To only ask about how he was feeling, what he ate for lunch even if the nurse gave you the report earlier.

"Can you tell me some things about me?" Suguru broke the silence after you'd taken a seat, his attention solely on you. How would you even begin to address that can of worms? What even was the best way to begin describing him without sounding like a romance novel?

"As I'm sure you're probably aware by now, you were an artist. You were dedicated, not just in that, but in everything that you did," you started off, your fingers tapping against the side of your leg. "Your perspective on the world was interesting, a bit nihilistic though."

"You keep saying were. You don't have the same hopes as the doctors?" Suguru asked almost immediately after you finished speaking. Leaving you completely and utterly speechless. You refused to look over at him, staring at the floor with a newfound interest. Without saying anything, you essentially confirmed the question that lingered in the air.

"Can I see some of the works, then?" Suguru tried his luck with that question next. The tension disappeared from your body almost immediately, a breath leaving your lips. "You're free to look around at a couple of the pictures on there," you handed your phone over. Most of them were just off-guards you'd captured when he was sleeping or cooking, really. A couple of his works thrown in between.

Suguru scrolled through your phone for a bit, bringing one specific work to your attention. The last work the two of you had made before he landed in a hospital bed. "Looks like a bunch of paint thrown on there. What made me do that?" The same piece that he swore to never forget was the same one he was criticizing now.

"You made that piece with me," you had to will yourself to blink back a couple tears that were threatening to spill, keeping your voice steady. "I guess you can just call it a product of love. We basically just covered ourselves in paint and had sex on the canvas." The explanation definitely sounded better in your head. Suguru simply looked at you with his mouth slightly agape, probably trying to figure out how.

"Was.. that comfortable?" A tamer question than you'd been expecting.

"As comfortable as the floor can get. It was messy in the end.. but it was pretty fun," you willed your voice to remain steady as you spoke, only to have the smallest of cracks at the end. You'd never expected the painting you once thought of as nothing but a splatter of paint would be making you this sentimental. Suguru had more questions, if his expression was anything to go by.

But you didn't get the chance to elaborate more on the painting when the door hinges creaked, the door swinging wide open.

"Oh good, you're here," the doctor you'd seen on your first night here greeted you, a clipboard resting on his arm, "So, we have the latest results from Geto's scan and they show no improvement. While he does seem to be recovering without any problems, chances are that the damage can be permanent." The rest of the doctor's words dimmed down into a ringing noise in the background.

You forced yourself to nod along when you deemed fitting—forced yourself to pretend like your hopes weren't just killed within two minutes. "Well, let me know if you have any questions," the doctor finished up, looking between the two of you. "Nothing here," you responded, glancing over at Suguru. When the doctor received nothing in response, he simply nodded and left the room.

Thick silence weighed in the room—the realization that Suguru would never get back to who he was, to what he enjoyed doing, slowly starting to settle in.

Just a week ago, Suguru was scheduled to go to the biggest art show of his career and now he was looking up at you like you held all the answers in the world. And maybe, in his opinion, you did. The only guide that he had through the unknown. Tears of sheer desperation dribbled down his red stricken eyes, tainting his pale cheeks as he babbled, "I don't know how to be who you want and need me to be. I'm sorry."

324 notes · View notes

spiceology1 · 2 years ago

Text

Hell's Kitchen Sinfully Delicious

Hell’s kitchen sinfully delicious jars filled with unique flavours and taste profiles for providing you a trip to favorland with best quality spices prepared with care, caution and safety for experienced and home cooks. Visit Spiceology.

#Hell's Kitchen Sinfully Delicious

0 notes

aetherraeys · 3 months ago

Text

hands-on lesson

poly!marauders x afab!reader ⊹ 5.5k

direct continuation of visual learner (so no plot) mwah!

cw ⟢ smut 18+ mdni, swearing, lots of kissings, inexperienced!reader, praise, dry humping, fingering, lots of petnames, usage of "pet", aftercare

summary: it started out with a kiss but now youre well and truly in the deep end, and the boys think a hands-on approach is more effective.

a/n: two smuts in a row, no one call me a slut. this sinfully long and theres basically no plot and idc, theyre hot. i feel no shame! without a doubt doing a pt3 bcs this would be like 8k of fucking otherwise not proofread x

“Should we stop, or do you wanna keep learning?”

If your brain was anything other than a gooey mess in your head, you’d have been able to answer him, instead, all you could focus on were the soft kisses that Sirius planted against your skin, eyes shut—basking in his touch.

You’d forgotten he’d even asked when his questioning hmmm reached your ears, inhaling deeply through your nose, searching for the air to support your voice—but when your lips parted to answer, the words couldn’t seem to find their way out. Mind too foggy, the remnants of a shuddering breath falling from you as your response slipped away—the way he worked his way back up your jaw, pecking and nibbling at the skin—your head was all but spinning.

His hands had snuck under the hem of your top, the backs of his nails lightly dragging over the curves at your side, leaving goosebumps in their wake—a harsh shiver running through you, spine forming a delicious arch that made James’ throat dry. And as Sirius’ lips inched closer to yours again, you found yourself instinctively chasing after them, connecting your lips with a quiet, content sigh.

His grin against your lips was positively wolfish, though it didn’t last long—pushing back into the your lips with a feverish want that was palpable, to everyone.

James forcibly rubbed his palms against the fabric of his trouser, restless in his seat as he watched the way your fingers tangled in Sirius’ hair, room filling with your soft mewls—blending so prettily with the low groans you pulled from Sirius’ throat as he tilted to his head to deepen the kiss. James caught a glimpse of Remus, adam’s apple bobbing—gaze locked on the exposed skin of your torso that Sirius had so graciously bared, pads of his fingers dimpling the flesh.

Sirius had a way with his lips, undeniably intoxicating, dizzying you longer you stayed connected, a warmth burning low in the pits of your stomach. He was overwhelming every one of your senses and you couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away.

One of Sirius’ hands trailed up, palm resting over your throat, fingertips holding your jaw in place, taking your bottom lip into his teeth as he pulled away, eyes dark and lips stretching into a mischievous grin. Melting into his palm against your neck, letting him tilt your head back to nip at your collarbone again, small pants falling from you.

Words spread between the wet, open mouth kisses pressed to your skin, he huffed out a small chuckle—

”I’ll…take that…as…a yes…”

The quiet content hum you produced was barely a response, but it wasn’t your fault, Sirius had effectively turned your brain to goo and you weren’t going to stop him, savoring the warmth of his lips. He opened his eyes to sneak a peek at you, when his sights fell on James—cheeks almost as flushed as yours. Practically at the edge of his seat, fingers twitching at his sides, and Remus—he was no better. Shifting and fidgeting beside James, lips parted, gaze dark and intense as he watched.

He hadn’t meant to so self-indulgent, but you were all but putty in his hands and Sirius wasn’t going to deny himself such a luxury.

Though, he did feel a bit bad for poor James, he looked like he was about to combust from his efforts to restrain himself and remain seated.

Letting the hand that was delicately wrapped around your neck drift and join his other—cradling your face slightly, your eyes opened to find Sirius’ directly infront of yours, the tips of his nose brushing over the skin of your cheek. His lips were only just ghosting over yours, something glimmering in his eyes as they ran over your entire face—and though he held your head in place, he could feel the way you leaned into his touch.

Draw to his lips.

And it did nothing to quell his already inflated ego.

He was tempting—teasing you with another kiss, tilting his head when his tongue darted out to wet his flushed lips. Voice so low the vibrations sent a shiver through you—

“Mmmm, think Jamie wants a bit of your attention, sweetheart,”

Only then did you remember it was more than just you and Sirius in the room together, turning your head to find both James and Remus’ eyes already on you, burning so hot and intense you felt the air catch in your throat.

James’ self-control was already teetering on the edge, unravelling, thread by thread.

He was on you before you could even react, fingers slipping under your thighs as he pulled your onto him and out of Sirius’ lap. The smallest of gasps escaped you, fingers curling into his shoulders—your lips still buzzed with the remnants of Sirius’ kiss, and the heat of James’ palms as they gripped your thighs only added fuel to the small pit burning in you.

An amused chuckle sounded from beside you, Sirius, watching as you melted so easily against him, watching the way James’ eyes scanned you, as if sizing you up, like a predator evaluating his meal before pouncing.

James didn’t acknowledge his watchful gaze, or Remus’. He couldn’t take he eyes off you, not even for a second—his lips were so close to yours, almost touching, almost connected. Your breath fanned over the surface of his skin, leaving you in small huffs before you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, looking up at him through your lashes, innocent—bleary.

"You’re coming with me," he purred, voice honeyed, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

He adjusted his grip, one arm secure under your legs, the other braced against your back as he lifted you up both up and off of the sofa forcing the air left your lungs in a startled gasp—carrying effortlessly through the dimly lit corridor.

"Jamie!”

He cut you off with a kiss. Slow, deliberate, his lips pressing to yours as he’d been starved of touch this whole time. His steps never faltered, even as your fingers found the tufts at the nape of his neck, tilting into him. He hummed into your mouth, tongue flicking teasingly against yours before pulling back just enough to grin at you.

Behind you, Sirius let out a low groan. "Now he’s just showing off."

Remus swallowed thickly, eyes tracing the curve of your throat—James’ mouth against it—the way your lips were still parted, dazed from the kiss. Before he worked his way back to your lips, you saw the way Sirius leaned in to murmur something to Remus, a smirk playing at his lips as they followed after you.

You barely heard the way the door shut with a soft click behind you, the loud ringing of your pulse thumping in your ears—James' lips were still on yours—harder this time, fiercer, as if the kiss in the hallway had only stoked something raw—desperate inside him.

A startled sound left you as he backed you against the edge of the bed, his hands tightening where they held you. There was nothing soft in the way he kissed you now—nothing patient. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that stole your breath, a bruising kind of want that left no room for uncertainty.

A snall whimper built in your throat, fingers curling into his shirt, and he almost growled—a low, frustrated sound against your mouth.

"So pretty," he muttered, words hot against your lips before biting at your bottom one, pulling until you gasped. "Don’t go shy on me now."

The bed dipped beneath you as he settled between your legs, hands bracketing your hips, thumbs pressing into the bone. He kissed you again, tongue sweeping into your mouth, deeper this time—searching, devouring. When you hesitated, overwhelmed, he rocked against you once, slow and deliberate, his hips pressing into yours with enough pressure to make your head spin.

A gasp slipped past your lips, and he smirked, pulling back just enough to drink you in, his pupils blown wide.

“Thaaat’s it,” he murmured, dragging a hand up your side, slipping beneath your shirt to press his palm flat against your ribs. “You’ll let me teach you, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Your heart hammered beneath your chest, breath coming quick, body alight with something new—something ovewhelming an addictive. Setting the surface of your skin alight—you struggled to find air—nodding dazed, and James leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Atta girl.”

From the doorway, Sirius let out an appreciative hum. “Bloody hell, Jamie, and you were worried I’d break her,”

He only smirked into your skin before tilting his head back up, claiming your lips again, leaving no time for you to catch your breath. His lips moved against yours, rough, insistent. His hands travelling along you wildly, unable to stay in one place for long before he moved it, grasping and groping—leaving goosebumps in his touch’s explorative wake.

He kissed like he wanted to ruin you—like he needed to, like every ounce of restraint had snapped the moment he had you beneath him. Almost every part of James was pressed against you, not even a slither of space between you, his palm curling around the under side of your thigh, hitching your leg up to his hip. Molding your body against him—fingertips digging into the flesh as he essentially manhandled you.

His hips rolled against yours, slow at first—taunting, teasing. The friction sent a jolt of heat straight through you, a soft, unbidden whimper falling from your lips. James caught it with a groan, teeth scraping your bottom lip before he tugged, drinking in the sound like it had gone straight to his head.

“Yeah?” he rasped, pulling back just enough to watch your face, to see the way your brows knit together, the way your breath hitched and shuddered with every shift of his hips. “You like that, sweetheart?”

You could only nod, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, trying to ground yourself as he rocked against you again—harder this time, his hips pressing down with delicious precision. The pressure was overwhelming, each slow grind setting your skin alight, winding something unbearably tight in the pit of your stomach.

"Words," his voice was hoarse, muffled against your jaw.

A breathless gasp tumbled out, but James didn’t let up. His hands slid under your shirt, thumbs brushing the bare skin of your waist, pressing into your ribs as he pinned you down, lips ghosting over your pulse—your body burned hot against his

"Come on, love," he purred, voice like silk, laced with something mean. "Let’s hear it."

Your nails dug into his arms, breath shuddering as he rocked into you again, dragging a strangled moan from your throat.

“James—”

“Mmmm,” he purred, pleased. "Knew you'd be good for me."

His praise made your head spin, warmth pooling low in your stomach. He kissed you again, swallowing every desperate noise that left your lips, his movements growing more insistent. Your thighs trembled beneath him, and you barely registered the low curse from beside you. Both Sirius and Remus had settled on either side of the mattress—watching in dark amusement, backs flush against the headboard.

Remus leaned over slightly, running his hand gently over your hair, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. ”This is more bullying than teaching, Prongs,”

James didn’t stop. Didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, he smirked against your lips, eyes hooded as he murmured, “She can take it.”

Remus just swallowed thickly, exhaling a slow, hitching breath. His eyes wandering over both your figures, locking where James was grinding against you, discipline fraying with every moment because—fuck, you looked so good together.

Sirius was no better in his observation, joining Remus in his inclined position—breath tickling your ear, michief flickering wildly behind his eyes “Can you feel Jamie, sweetheart? Making you feel good?” his voice was teasing and syrupy, a perfect contrast to the way James’ hips moved with rough, calculated force.

Your head rolled towards him when James finally gave your lips a break—focusing on your neck.

Half-lidded eyes, blinking slowly as you tried to focus your gaze on Sirius, mewls still spilling from your lips with each mean buck of James’ hips against your core.

Gods, could you feel him.

Not just his lips—frenzied, nipping and sucking at the jaw, not just his hands—rough in the way they pawed at every part of your, from the curved of your ass to your hips and breast. You could feel him, the outline of his bulge, harsh and merciless in its rocking against you—making the saliva pool in your mouth, mind racing with lewd thoughts that sent even more heat rushing to the tips of ears.

He forced out a gasping whine when his hands came to pull you closer, bringing your hips up to meet his rough grinds. Your eyes were still on Sirius, you were nodding to him almost frantically—words breathy on another shuddering exhale.

“Yeah…mmph—’so big,”

Sirius’ brows cocked up into a suprised arch, always quick with his words until now, lips parting while he searched for a comeback and failing—a chuckle of disbelief falling from his lips, spreading into a grin.

If the combination of your moans and the delicious friction didn’t have James’ head spinning, your breathy little admission surely did the trick. His groan was deep, reverberating through his chest as he dropped his forehead against your shoulder, breath hot and uneven against your skin—rocking into you harsher, with more vigor, each rough grind sending little jolts of pleasure through you, making your body jolt lightly up the bed with the force of it.

The rough drag of his body against yours had you gasping, back arching as he set a pace that was utterly devastating. Each grind sent a pulse of pleasure through your core, stoked the warmth curling deep in your belly, made your thighs tremble where they bracketed his hips.

Sirius let out a low chuckle beside you, shaking his head in amusement. “Fuck, Prongs. You’re really set on breaking her in, aren’t you?”

James didn’t answer—too focused, too caught up in the warmth of you beneath him, in the way you gasped and clung to him with every deliberate roll of his hips. He was consuming you, and you let him, losing yourself in the sensations, in the deep pull of desire, in the way James knew exactly how to pull you apart.

Remus, lounging beside Sirius, exhaled a slow, measured breath. His eyes were sharp, intense, tracking every little reaction you gave, each quiver of your breath—your dazed expression. Letting out a half-exasperated sigh, the hint of a smirk curling at his lip, he shook his head. “James,” he chided, voice laced with amusement, “you shouldn’t ravish the poor girl.”

James groaned into your shoulder, pressing his weight against you one last time, rolling his hips in a way that had your breath catching in your throat. "I don’t hear her complaining," he muttered smugly. The warmth in his voice sent another wave of heat rolling through you, had your fingers tugging at his shirt like you wanted him closer even though there was no space left between you.

And yet, reluctantly, he pulled back, shifting onto his knees between your legs. His gaze flickered over you—your parted lips, the dazed, needy expression on your face, the way your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. Your legs were still spread around him, your skin flushed, lips swollen from kisses and your own unrestrained biting, top rucked up to expose the smooth expanse of your stomach.

You were wrecked—and they hadn’t even truly touched you yet.

Sirius made a sound low in his throat, something between a chuckle and a groan, dark eyes flicking over your form like he was committing every little detail to memory.

James swallowed, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip—maybe he had got a bit carried away. Exhaling a breath, he sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck, before finally shifting off you.

You barely had time to mourn the loss of his warmth before Remus moved, adjusting the pillows behind him before gently coaxing you up, guiding you to settle back against his chest. His arms around you, solid and warm, and the moment you leaned into him, a small gasp caught in your throat.

Because you felt it.

The hard, undeniable press of his arousal against your back, heat searing through the layers of fabric still between you. Your breath hitched, body going stiff for a fraction of a second before you melted against him, fingers unconsciously curling into the material of his trousers.

A deep hum rumbled through Remus’ chest, and his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he spoke, voice low and thick. “Y’alright, dove?”

He only felt you nod against him, still drinking in small breaths of air.

Chuckling softly, his hands smoothed over your thighs in slow, soothing motions, giving you time to come back into the room fully. After a few moments your breath evened he spoke again, “Wanna keep going?”

The question sent a fresh rush of heat flooding through you, but you nodded again, significantly more eager. He hummed lowly, palms still kneading your flesh, before slipping up, ghosting over the skin of your stomach. Tilting head to look down at you, he could see the way your lips were still flushed, a huffed chuckle punctuating his sentence—

“How about…we give your lips a bit of a break, love?” his lips just barely grazing your temple.

You still couldn’t trust your voice, humming in approval, tongue flicking lightly over your lips.

Sirius, who had settled beside you on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, let his fingers ghost over your leg, the touch barely there—teasing, absentminded touches that made your breath hitch. His gaze was dark, intruiged, dragging over your form with something keenly observant—like he was watching very closely for every little reaction you gave.

Remus shifted slightly behind you, hands sliding under the hem of your top, coaxing you to lift your arms. His movements were slow, patient, giving you time to stop him, but when you didn’t—when you let him—he hummed in approval, slipping the fabric up and over your head, baring you further to their hungry gazes.

The air kissed your newly exposed skin, raising goosebumps in its wake, and suddenly, you felt so aware of yourself—of the way their eyes were drinking you in, of the way Sirius’ tongue swiped over his bottom lip, of the way James’ breath hitched just slightly.

Sirius let out a low whistle, a slow, easy grin tugging at his lips. “Damn, sweetheart,” he mused, voice teasing but dripping with appreciation. “You’ve been hiding that from us all this time?”

Heat rushed to your face, but before you could stammer out a response, Remus exhaled a quiet chuckle against your skin.

Letting his palms smooth over your sides, murmuring his approval into your skin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your ribs, his touch feather-light, teasing. Sirius and James just watched, fascinated, as Remus took his time, dragging his fingers over the delicate lace covering your chest, gaze flickering over your figure.

Remus’ voice was softer now, a quiet murmur, honeyed and lightly laced with desire.

“I have something I want to learn, too.”

You almost didn’t notice the way his fingers trailed down your body, skin prickling at the back of your neck when Remus started toying with the waistband of your trouser. Only just slipping the pads of his fingers underneath the edge before pulling away again, testing, and each time his did—air catches in your throat.

His lips brushed against your ear, voice patient but filled with quiet intent.

“Do you want these off?”

You swallowed thickly, your gaze flicking downward, watching the way his fingers played with the fabric one again—waiting, asking.

Answering with a trembling breath, “Yes…please.”

Sirius hummed in approval, his grin slow and lazy as he sat up, his fingers joining Remus’ as they worked together to ease you out of the fabric, their touches warm and reverent.

“Hmmm, such good manners,” His praise was a murmur against your temple, a quiet rumble of satisfaction that had a shiver running down your spine.

Remus’ gaze never wavered, his fingers tracing along your newly bared skin, watching, studying, soaking in every little shiver, every sharp intake of breath, every unconscious tilt of your hips. His thumb ghosted over your hipbone, over the top hem of your panties and them under the one that hugged the seam of your thighs.

Touches slow and tentative, so much so that your almost forgot to breath—eyes following his fingers just as much as James and Sirius’.

Remus’ other hand skimmed lower, teasing at the inside of your knee, coaxing your legs to part just a little wider, making nonsense patterns into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. The pads of the fingers on his other hand, just barely grazing over the front of your clothed core. And though he couldn’t see it directly, he could feel it—the small wet spot the had formed, spreading and darkening the colour of the fabric.

Your eyes had already shut at the contact, hairs on the back of your neck standing on end—teeth sinking into the flesh of your barely settled, swollen lips. Hands by your sides, balling into small fists as Remus lightly glided over the fabric for what felt like forever.

Already squirming restlessly at the ghostly touch.

And when he finally—finally—dipped his hand under, you sucked in a sharp, trembling breath. Body tensing, ridgid in his hold, his palm was so hot against your skin and your mouth felt impossibly dry when you tried to swallow—rid yourself of the lump that had formed in your throat.

Remus was still careful, watching each twitch of your thighs, each skipping rise and fall of your chest—viligant. He’d still barely done anything. Just cupping you, hums of approval rumbling in his chest at the way your core practically drooled over his fingers.

The steady pulse of your heartbeat sounding in your ears almost drowning out his words, “f-fuck dove, you’re soaked,”

Your muscles burned from the strain, using every cell in your brain to not buck helplessly into his hand. It was torturous really. The way he kept his hand firmly pressed against your folds, unmoving, the way he muttered against your neck, “so wet,” pausing between each word to press a kiss to your skin.

Relishing in the way your body shuddered against his, burning hotter at the moments pass—he hadn’t originally intended to tease you so, but the small whimpers that built in your throat with each squirm just tempted him too much.

The way you chewed at your bottom lip, brows arched and pinched on your forehead as you melted into him—relishing in how sensitive you were, how responsive your body was to his words.

“y’this messy just for us, dove? Mmmm, we’re so lucky,”

Both James and Sirius hum appreciatively from beside you, your eyes were still screwed shut, but you were sure their eyes were stuck on your middle—watching attentively as Remus finally moved his hand, just slightly dragging a finger through your slit, twitching in his hold. Thighs instinctively shifting to close when Sirius’ hand caught you, hand coaxing your thighs to part further.

Your head fell back onto Remus’ shoulder the second he moved his hand, even the slightest bit of friction sending waves of pleasure over your body. A gasping whine rushing past your lips, “rem,”

His other palm was pressed flush against your skin, comfortable under the hem of your panties—massaging lightly into your hip bone. Smirking into your skin as your hips raised off of the mattress slightly—pushing into his touch, pads of his fingers just barely gliding over your swollen bundle of nerves.

Sirius’ smirk widened, fingers dragging feather-light over your thigh, gaze flickering from your core to Remus as he mused lowly, “Didn’t realise you were such a sadist, Moony,”

The corners of Remus’ lips split into a wolfish grin as he finally decided to relent, ending your torment by making a single pressurised flick over your clit—your body jolted in his hold at the feeling. A soft whimper of his name leaving slipping out, and it had him twitching shamelessly in his trousers.

With each deliberate, languid roll of your bud against his fingers had your hands gripping harshly at the sheets beside you, walls spasming and clenching around nothing. And Remus could feel it, the throb of your core against him—smirking against the dip of your neck. Drinking in the small pants that fell from your lips, each heave your chest—letting one of his hands trail leisurely up your torso taking a mean handful of your breast.

Kissing a path up to your ear, lips ghosting over the shell—earning a particularly sweet gasp when one finger circled your entrance, the low, candied cadance his voice took had you struggling to swallow the saliva that pooled in your mouth. Nipping gently at your earlobe between his words—

“Wanna learn…how…to make you…feel good, pet.”

He’d effectively turneed your brain into mush, sucking in a shuddering breath when his pushed in a finger, producing an obscene squelch that had Sirius’ adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Your head rolled slightly, brows twitching in the arch high on your forehead, unable to focus on anything other than the slow drag, the in and out and in out of his long strokes—

”G’na let me take care of you?”

God you could barely breathe, every sense overwhelmed, pressed firmly against Remus—splayed out on the mattress surrendered, at his mercy. And you could feel the pressure, the way all the eyes in the room were on you, trained to where you Remus’ hand pumped, tantalisingly slow.

Remus chuckled lightly behind you at the delirious little nods you made, followed by a satisfied hum—drunk on the way you clenched around him, practically gushing around his single digit. Walls fluttering around him when he pushed all the way in, knuckle deep—and it knocked almsot all the wind out of you.

Body slumping into him, squeezing your eyes shut impossibly tighter as your mewls bounced and echoed off the walls, “f-fuck—rem, ngh,” almost overshadowing the lewd wet sounds coming from your middle.

Thighs trembling forcefully when he worked another finger past the tight ring of muscles, jaw hanging loose—moans spilling uncontrollably from your lips. Unable to keep your body still, grinding against his hand. The stretch was immaculate, dizzying and it had the coil in the pit of your stomach twisting even tighter.

You barely heard the groan from beside you, just feeling the cold air against your folds, Remus had uncovered you, panties pulled lazily to the side. And you had no time to feel shy at the sudden exposure, because his was back to bullying his digits into you, fingers curling into your plush walls, searching for that one-

“Mmpfh! Hngh-”

Spine forming a delicious arch, jaw falling slack as Sirius inched closer to you, pressing small nibbling kisses into the flesh of your inner thigh, “—shit, so gorgeous, love,” taking his time to suck a small mark into your skin. Gaze shifting to James, who was just as breathless as you, palming his own tented trousers beside Remus, a smirk splitting onto his lips at the sight, “Look,”

Remus was reeling his two fingers back, all the way, just barely leaving them kissing the surface of your folds—spreading them slightly—a clear sheen of slick coating his fingers. Giving them a meer moment to admire you before plunging back in.

Rough pads of his finger prodding ruthless against that spot—over and over, like he was addicted to the fluttering clench of your walls around him. High on the sweet whines that spilled from you.

Muttering against your pulse, “Yeah, sweetheart? Right there?” grinning into your skin.

Your mind was scattered, chanting your hips up into his hand, desperate—feverish. The steady curling push push push had your eyes rolling into the depths of your skull, Sirius’ voice sounded far away, muffled—vaguely computing his words, “fuck, thaaat’s it, angel—you close?”

It was so overwhelming, the invasive heat that spread beneath your skin, the room practically spinning around you when you forced your eyes to open just a slither. Immediately met with Sirius’ hooded gaze, his smirk spreading wider across his lips, your fingers twitched endlessly at your sides.

Body jittering as the coil in your stomach wound tighter as the seconds passed—it wasn’t until Remus brought his thumb over your throbbing bundle of nerves, rubbing tight little circles in time with the rough prods he pushed against that spot—that your thighs threatening to clamp shut around his hand at the stimulation.

A sinfully sweet cry forcing its way out of your mouth, Sirius watched as tears sprung in your eyes, prying your thighs apart—and you heard Remus’ voice distantly in your ears, taking his own leg over yours to keep you in place,

“No, no, no keep them open, pet. Wanna make you feel good,”

He could feel the way you squeezed and pulsed around him, hips bucking wildly into his palm, choked incoherent whines filling the room. Sirius still littering marks over your thighs—his eyes flickering between you and James, who was desperately fisting his length in time with Remus’ hand—jaw slacked, huffing out breathless pants.

Tears clung to your lashes, teetering dangerously close to the edge, writhing in Remus’ hold—mattress creaking lowly, a lewd little staccato with the squelches from below.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head before squeezing shut—pushing tears out the corners of your eye. Desperately scrambling for purchase, anything to keep you tethered to the room.

Sirius interlocked one hand with yours, the other—clawing at Remus’ forearm as he worked to push you over the edge, words hypnotising and honeyed.

“you’re okay, sweetheart—that’s it, taaake it,”

Bringing his lips to suck a small bruise into the thin skin behind your ear, body seizing in his hold, forming a delicate little arch as your jaw slacked. Wanton babbles leaving you as the coil in your stomach snapped—high washing over you, stars clouding your vision. A string of strangled gasps “hngh—rem, so—remus,” spilling out.

Your eyes snap open, a broken little sob leaving you when his fingers didn’t stop—hips bucking away from his touch while he worked you through your high, muttering against your temples, “Goood girl, keep cumming f’me,” shuddering in his hold, the mantra of his name heavy on your lips even after you slacked into him.

Aftershocks wracked through you in quiet tremors, your body boneless against the mattress as your heartbeat echoed like waves in your ears—loud and steady and a little unmoored. Remus stayed holding you, murmuring soft praise as he slowly pulled out, careful and gentle with every motion.

He pressed small, fluttering kisses over your shoulder, the corner of your neck—reverent and grounding. One hand brushing hair from your damp forehead, palms warm and steady.

“Did so well,” words low and soothing as he whispered “Just breathe, love. I’ve got you.”

You let out a soft, trembling exhale, too far under to say anything yet, but the way your fingers curled around his wrist was enough.

Sirius inched up beside you, head resting lightly on your stomach, thumb grazing the edge of your temple as he took you in. “Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured softly, “Y’alright? Still with us?”

You gave him the smallest nod, blinking up at him with glazed, half-lidded eyes. Sirius sighed, all fondness, and leaned in to kiss your cheek, the corner of your lips.

James murmured something about water and padded off to the kitchen, returning a minute later with a warm cloth in one hand and a glass that he helped you sip from carefully, brushing his fingers under your chin as you drank.

Remus took the warm cloth, gently tending to you—every swipe over your skin tender and attentive, whispering praise into the crook of your neck, your hair, your temple. Eyes fluttering closed as you basked in the warmth of their touch.

pt 3

2K notes · View notes

aomiiine · 4 months ago

Text

PRAEDATOR CALEB who was assigned for you to monitor and investigate down in at his prison, chains on restraining his wrists together behind his back. His demeanour was menacing, cruel, infuriatingly teasing—overall unfriendly. Yet despite it all, he keeps fishing for your attention.

you were enforcer, someone tasked to take care of praedators like him. Your prisoners were supposed to be yours to control, but somehow with Caleb, it was like you were his plaything instead.

Ridiculous, you thought. He should be under your rule. And that was exactly what he wanted too.

So here you were, in the darkness of his confines, defined jaw in your firm grasp as he bared his teeth at you, attempting to fight against his muzzle. His dog tag was nestled into his mouth, your thumb against his lip making sure it stayed there. Caleb was frustrated, no doubt. Sexually so.

“Think putting your pretty heels on my thigh’s gonna do something, dear enforcer? You’ll have to get bolder,” the chained man taunted, suppressing a groan that threatened to erupt from his throat at the feeling of your sharp heel pressing down hard on his inner thigh, the flat surface of the sole grazing close to the raging erection he had throbbing in the confines of his pants. But it seemed like he refused to acknowledge it, keeping fierce eye-contact with you shamelessly even at his unsaid intentions to use your anger to get him off.

MDNI (18+) -> you get him off with your heels, perv/shameless caleb, light dirty talking, restraints (he’s chained up), eye-fucking your tits, he’s so fucking down bad lol, dom-ish reader but caleb intends to regain control

“You’re a sick perv,” you spat with a glower.

“Quit talking as if you aren’t one too,” caleb scoffed with a sneer, spitting the dog tag out with canines gleaming under the fleeting white lights of the officers light-tower.

Your face heats up a fraction at his swift response, brows knitting in disbelief at his brazen words, foot pressing harder in retaliation.

“Fuck, cat really got your tongue, huh?” The praedator hissed at the pressure, hips rolling in search for more of that delicious friction he desperately needed. He didn’t care if you were an enforcer tasked to tame him—his heart and mind demanded your attention and touch, regardless of how he gets it.

“If that’s the case, then you should really give me the opportunity to bite it next,” he said soon after he adjusted to the new sensation, feral eyes now flickering frantically between your eyes and the heel on his cock—soon to be, on his cock.

“Unbelievable,” you exhaled sharply, finally deciding to put him out of his pitiful misery for friction and using the flat surface of your shoe to press of his hard on, making little to no effort to rub his aching flesh up and down, earning a deep moan from him.

It was almost like he was on the brink of ecstasy already, lips parted for quick breaths through gritted teeth. Caleb’s chains rattled wildly, forearms and biceps flexing from how much he wanted to move much more, to grind up against the firm surface of your heel. The sight mesmerised you, leaving you entranced and sinfully wanting to see more of your unpredictable praedator.

so you exerted more force, showing mercy by setting up a steady pace that would surely get him. And true to thought, it did. In seconds, he was panting like a dog, chest heaving up and down and hips jerking forward desperately.

“Goddamn, officer, you really know how to please a rabid stray,” he grunted, head thrown back then forth when he felt his cock twitch in his pants, growing painfully aroused that he could feel the pre-cum drench his boxers. “Gotta do this more often, officer,” he huffed, drawing in you in with a glance up to you, a dreamy smile that felt more seductively mischievous and less scheming.

“Hmph. Dream on, Caleb,” you tsked, crossing your arms over your chest, amplifying the curves of your tits that he began to eye-fuck the rest of the time. What was worse is that you knew that he was doing it—you just didn’t say or do anything to stop him. You liked it, seeing him having to swallow the saliva that collected in his mouth in his attempt to not drool at the sight of your standing tall over him. It made you feel in control, wanted—even though the control was truly in his busy hands rather than yours. He’ll take you down from that high as soon as he gets the lock of those chains binding his wrists open. Then, you’ll be the one seeing him from above.

#This wasn’t supposed to be this long but okay #caleb x reader #Caleb #caleb smut #Caleb x reader smut #caleb x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #lnds #lnds caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deep space #lnds x reader #lads smut #lads x reader #caleb

2K notes · View notes

vivimura · 6 months ago

Text

PAIRING ~ bf!nrk x gf!reader

SUMMARY ~ riding riki's abs cuz he's too damn hot doing crunches.

GENRE ~ smut, ab riding, pwop(?).

WORD COUNT ~ 1.302k

ᯓ★ love the banner for this ngl. not my best work:( but it was requested so here

visiting your boyfriend's apartment to be met with the sight of him shirtless, doing crunches in his room was definitely a welcome you'd want to see more often.

you'd blame ovulation, but something about seeing the beads of sweat dripping down the pattern of his abs made you feel a certain tingle in a place sinfully up between your legs.

with a cool facade, you flashed a soft smile, settling your bag down in its usual place and unwrapping the winter layers you had on. “working hard, huh, riki?” you teased, but it was mostly just a mere attempt of hiding and distracting yourself from your fluster and desires.

"mm." he responded with the short, low hum that you couldn't decipher as a yes or a no. his breath came out in rhythmic puffs, hands clasping each other as he pushed himself up and down. he wasn't exactly talkative when he was 'in the zone', but the hint of a smirk curled on his lips as he looked up at you. "you're just on time. i was getting lonely." his little complaint earned a mostly playful scoff from you. “geez, i was gone for one hour because somebody refuses to be a grown up and get their own groceries.”

having had familiarity with his bedroom, you made your way to sit on the edge of the bed beside where he was on the floor without having to look up.

he groaned as he sat up, rolling his head from side to side to ease the strain in his neck, flexing his abdominal muscles by accident as he did. "mm. i hate grocery shopping." he retorted back quickly, his eyes settling on you. his gaze was intense, filled with a bit of annoyance and something else, something that you knew from experience would lead to your clothes being tossed to the floor in a messy pile.

with his new position, came the delicious little sight of his sweaty strands of overgrown bangs sticking to his forehead, his glistening flexed muscles and the naturally prominent tent in his gray sweats.

you cleared your throat, ‘discreetly’ looking back up at his eyes.

“you’re just too childish.” you countered, ending your sentence by hypocritically sticking out your tongue in a childish manner.

he rolled his eyes at that, the smirk on his lips growing a bit wider as he rose to his feet, taking slow and deliberate strides towards you. he towered over you, forcing you to look up in his eyes as he stepped between your legs, pinning you against the edge of the bed with his arms on either side. "mm, really." he chuckled at that, his eyebrows raising. "keep sticking your tongue out like that and i'll find a better use for it."

oh, he knew what he was doing. you swallowed thickly at the implications of his words, but scoffed sassily. but god, his abs were right there, in front of your face, glistening in a way that made you wish it was something other than his sweat.

“whatever. you’re sweaty and stinky, go take a shower.” it was a lame excuse, but at that point you’d try every bit you could to escape the situation.

riki chuckled again, amused at your attempt to keep him from sensing how his very presence was already making you want to throw your clothes off. he leaned in close, so that his nose was practically grazing yours. "that doesn't sound like the nicest thing you could say to your boyfriend who's been working so hard in the hot summer heat, now does it?" he teased back, a smirk on his lips and an obvious mischief in his eyes.

“and what do you think is the nicest thing i should say to my oh-so hardworking boyfriend?” you immediately snapped back, an edge of annoyance forming in your tone, thanks to his teasing.

he was absolutely infuriating, and all while looking so damn sexy that it drove you crazy in all the best ways.

he chuckled again, enjoying the smartassery you continued to try and push past his guard. riki pressed a light kiss to your forehead before giving you a response. "something... less rude." he stated simply, his hands gripping the edge of the bed now, caging you in. "like... i don't know, like…” he leaned in close to your ear, his body gently pressing itself against yours. "i think it should've been more along the lines of 'oh my handsome boyfriend, you're working so hard. let me help you relax~'"

you let out a scoff-like chuckle. he was really pushing it out of cockiness of having the upper hand and your admiring gaze here, wasn’t he? “self-indulgent much?” "damn right." he shamelessly said, his voice dropping an octave, eyes locking onto yours. "very." the smirk on his face curled into a half-smirk, his hot breath tickling your skin. his hips pushed against yours, his hands still on either side. "i want to be a little selfish right now."

you hummed, spreading your legs wider to incorporate his larger frame. with the decision to indulge in his little game, you questioned, “selfish how, hm?”

riki's smirk only widened as he settled between your legs, a hand gently taking your chin and forcing your gaze to remain locked on his. "in a lot of ways." he responded, his other hand gently gripping your thigh. "one of them being a nice reward for working so damn hard."

“i have a different proposition.” you suddenly interrupted, your tone one he couldn’t recognize. without giving him time to reply, you continued, “i have a very selfish desire, myself.”

his smirk widened again, his head inching closer like a lion nearing his prey. his eyes had a fire burning behind them, a sort of intense desire that you knew only led somewhere hot and messy. "oh yeah?" he responded, that hand that was gripping your thigh running up a bit. "and what's this 'very selfish' desire of yours?"

one thing led to another, and the next thing he knew- you were sitting on riki's muscular abdomen, hands on his chest as you coated his abs with your slick.

his hands moved to grip your hip instead, digging his nails in as guided your movements against his flexed muscles. he wore a lazy smirk on his lips, bringing one of his hands to make circular motions on your clit.

“fuck..” you cried out in pleasure, frantically riding on his abs like your life depended on it.

“you feel good baby? don’t even need my cock to get off anymore.. greedy baby.” he basically purred into your ear, continuing to rub your clit with his calloused thumb.

the pretty whimpers and gasps escaping your lips were like music to his ear, you were clearly too delirious to take offense to his teases, let alone come up with a reply. your pussy pulsated on his abs as a clear sign of approaching your orgasm, and it only encouraged him to further guide your hips and rub you.

“riki..” you mewled in utter glee, your hips jerking forth involuntarily ever so often.

“yes, baby? you close? gonna cum on my abs?” he teased, his voice ringing low and deep in your senses.

you gripped onto his chest just a little harder, the knot in your stomach breaking apart with a lewd moan. you stilled your hips as he rubbed your clit through your orgasm, your ejaculation now coating his proud muscles.

he groaned at the wet warmth of it, now gripping onto your hips in a way that made his own needs evident. “that was fucking hot..” he commented, making you return back to earth from your high and hide your face in the crook of his neck out of post-nut embarrassment.

“shut up..” reblog and comment or i'll appear in ur room at 3 am with a knife :3 💗

2K notes · View notes

kunoichi96 · 2 years ago

Text

Autumn Reading List 2023

Sorry, it has been a while since my last post. Long story short, I caught COVID-19 and was bedridden for a spell and I am still dealing with the aftermath. I usually have the energy of a hungover sloth so it has been worse since. I still struggle to breathe a bit even now and even have occasional bouts of vertigo. The first time it struck was terrifying, I had never experienced that before and…

View On WordPress

#Autumn #Autumn Reading #Autumn Reading List #Book Blog #Book Blogger #Book Recommendations #Books #Bookworm #Interview with the Vampire By Anne Rice #Maple Sugar Crush by Beth Labonte #Mister Magic by Kiersten White #Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia #Sinfully Delicious by Amanda M. Lee #Woman Eating by Claire Kohda

1 note · View note

anakinstwinklebunny · 1 month ago

Text

PAIRING: mafia!anakin x f!reader

(kinda) SMUT ❦

gif from: @mvst4far

The dough under your hands was soft, a little sticky, but it was slowly coming all together - flour dust floating in the air like little, tiny snowflakes. You huffed, cheeks a bit puffed in frustration, trying to push and fold it like the vague instructions said, but—

“Easy, dolcezza,” ANAKIN SKYWALKER's voice melted into your spine before his body did. “You’re being too rough.”

Your breath caught the second you felt him; the firm brush of his chest against your back, hands sliding around yours like a velvet around the snake. His fingers - so longer, so strong - curling over yours, guiding them into the press and fold motion like you were performing a slow dance.

“Like this,” he murmured, right beside your ear. His voice was low, like it wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. “You gotta feel it. Let it tell you when it’s ready.” Which you tried on doing. You really did. But it was hard to focus when his breath fanned your neck, when he dipped down to kiss just behind your ear—soft, reverent, like he needed to. Like he’d been dying to.

“Good girl,” he whispered as you moved with him, his hips brushing lightly into yours with each push of the dough. Yet you felt it; the subtle pressure pressing firmer into your ass. Feeling soo..tempting, delicious in a way that would satisfy you. You swallowed hard, chest rising. The slow grind of his hips wasn’t accidental anymore. It was warm. Thick against you.

You whimpered-barely -but it was enough to crack something open in him. He grinned against your neck, lips trailing kisses down to your shoulder, letting his teeth graze lightly. “Mm,” he hummed, voice sinfully low, “that a moan I just heard, baby?”

You felt his cock nudge firmer into you, hips rolling slow, teasing, like he was trying to match the rhythm of your breath. “I said knead the dough,” he chuckled, licking your skin slowly, “but here you are—making the most divine sounds I’ve ever heard.”

You gasped, hips twitching back into him without thinking. “Anakin…”

“You feel what you do to me, angel?” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “Just your soft little moans and I’m fucking hard for you.” your knees buckled slightly when he pressed again, the praise melted into you like honey. Like he was kneading your body into something more.

“Go ahead baby, keep working that dough,” he teased, even as hands slipped to your waist, gripping tighter. “Make it perfect… while I make a mess out of you.”

His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, dragging lightly over your stomach. “Can’t help it. You in my kitchen… in my shirt… making my family’s food? That’s wife shit, sweetheart.”

He leaned in again, voice softer, grittier. “And I’m gonna fuck you on this counter when the dough’s rising. That’s a Skywalker tradition now.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl @fredswrite @mvst4far @alealuvshayden

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #star wars #anakin #anakin skywalker fanfiction #hayden christensen x reader #christensen hayden #haydenchristensen #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x fem reader #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker thought

645 notes · View notes

tonycries · 1 year ago

Text

Prettier When Messy!

Synopsis. They aren’t afraid to get messy while making a mess of you, in fact, they love it - in all sorts of ways.

Pairing. Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, bréeding, really messy, light pússy-smacking (Nanami’s), spítting, cúmplay like a LOT of it, squírting, oral (female + male receiving), fíngering, overstím, jealousy (Gojo’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 3.6k

A/N. Wrote this n’ then had to have a run in the rain for a spiritual deep-cleanse.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Big n’ scary? No problem!

Now, Toji wouldn’t consider himself to be a nice man. But to be honest, the way you’re looking up at him with such adorably teary eyes, lips wobbling so nervously at his rock-hard cock, has got his heart lurching ever-so-slightly. And as does his swollen dick.

“What’s wrong, doll?” he caresses your cheek, like the shameless bastard he is. Heavy balls twitching at the way he catches your sloppy pussy clenching in- anticipation? Fear? Both? “Nervous?”

“I um-” And oh if Toji thought he was painfully hard before then he wasn’t ready for that delirious little nod you give him.

Ah, it never gets old. He loved this effect on you - how cute it was that you were so cockdrunk already, letting out a few whines. A few complains about how he was too big. And he knew exactly what to do about it.

“Spread those legs some more, pretty.”

And you barely even get the time to react before Toji’s impatiently wrestling open your legs so shamefully for him. Taking in one long look at how perfect you were for him - quivering and leaking so sinfully onto the sheets below - before spitting once. Twice. Thrice.

Missing on purpose to let a steady stream of saliva and slick trail filthily down your quivering thighs. So debauched and wet for him - and if Toji was any less of a man he’d just fuck your pretty pussy right then and there.

But, no. Oh no, instead, with a low hiss, he rests his swollen dick on your stomach, letting you gape at him in awe. How he was so hot and heavy on you.

“See?” Toji muses, voice so infuriatingly even for someone that was leaking thick, hot precum all over your stomach. “Nothing to be afraid of. In fact, m’just gonna be right-” He traces his finger down your tummy, resting right above an invisible line where his fat tip was. “Here.” Pressing down. Hard.

You jerk at the pressure, jolting - God, you should’ve known that Toji would fuck so mean. Playing around with the pretense of “comforting you” to tease you. To watch the way you keen and gasp at his movements.

“But-” your breath hitches as he smears his precum all over your skin. So fucking sloppy, having way too much fun than he actually should - all at your expense.

“No buts, jus’ told ya, m’girl.” Toji chuckles darkly, leaning down to whisper hotly against your ear. Cock twitching so ferally on top of you at the way your voice cracks so adorably at the end, tinged with desperation. “N’ now, I’ve had enough of being nice so are ya gonna take it am I gonna have to make ya?”

And nothing more is said - by either of you.

Because with that, it seems the last bit of Toji’s patience - or his restraint - has snapped at the sight of you splayed out so deliciously, too much for him. You, his favorite meal - gaping at his thick cock, all needy and messy with his precum - how could a man possibly say no?

“Oh! Fuck fuck fuck- s’too-” you squeal deliriously as he slides his angry tip between your swollen folds.

Stretching you to your limits. Mindlessly pushing in quick, purposeful little grinds to bully his massive cock inside your tight pussy. Each movement getting more and more erratic than the last. More desperate. Sloppier.

So debauched and dirty.

And Toji - oh he’s just in heaven - letting out a deep, guttural groan as he just barely bottoms out. Heavy balls smacking your ass, those tufts of hair at his base scratching your throbbing clit just right. Thumb stroking that sinful little line of precum he’d made - and where he could feel himself bulging inside you.

“Hey, doll, ya think I can go even deeper?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - To clean

You don’t know what makes you flinch more - the way Nanami was buried dizzyingly nose-deep in your cunt, lapping so greedily at your sweet sweet juices, or the way he just stops.

“K-Kento?” you whisper breathlessly, mind reeling from both the way you were so close and the final, deep kiss your husband gives to your swollen clit. Grinning at the way your hips jerk mindlessly in protest as he pulls away. “Why did you-”

And whatever disappointed whine dies in your throat at the heavenly sight before you - and oh it was so hard to look at Nanami without wishing he was back in-between your thighs. Hair ever-so-slightly disheveled, glasses sliding down his nose, venturing dangerously towards where your slick was glossing so prettily over his lips, all the way up, up, up-

“‘Why’, my love?”

That snaps you out of your little reverie, and no sooner are the words out of Nanami’s mouth before he’s leaning in - capturing yours. So sloppy and desperate.

You let out a muffled moan at the way you were tasting yourself and him and you. So sweet that you wondered which one of you tasted this addictive.

“Now now,” and then he’s pulling away, angry cock twitching so painfully at your broken little whimper. “Don’t get too greedy.” As if you could be anything but.

And maybe if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have said anything about the pure disrespect shining so uncharacteristically in Nanami’s eyes. About how utterly mean he was being as he slid his fat, weeping head up and down your swollen folds. All the way from the base, just grazing your throbbing clit.

“I dunno if you deserve this, my love.” Nanami gives your quivering pussy a little smack! as if it was a little punishment, letting your slick smear all over his fingertips. “You’ve just been so messy- just look at my glasses.”

And oh, you can’t look away.

Because your juices were blurring his glass, dripping so enticingly off of it that whatever rational little part of you thought it was on purpose. Absent-mindedly, you wondered how Nanami could see a damn thing. Seemingly moving on sheer instinct as he slides a long finger along the frame. Slowly.

“I- want it s’bad, Ken- Give it to me.”

Several things happen at once, and before you know it, Nanami’s shoving his fingers inside your mouth. Muffling your fucked-out moan as he immediately presses into your heavenly pussy. Not even bothering to ease you into it this time before he’s thrusting into you. Rough. Again. And again and-

“They were expensive, y’know.” Nanami presses right in the back of your tongue, just loving how adorably you gag and moan around him. “The least you can do is clean me off.”

And you don’t have to be asked twice - or at all, really.

Because you’re sucking and swirling your tongue around Nanami’s warm fingers like they’re your favorite candy. Looking him right in the eyes with such a deceivingly innocently, matching the pace of his hips in and out in and out in and- “Such a cute lil’ slut f’me, my love. When you’re all done with that, take care of m’cock too, y’got it very, very messy.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Hairband.

When Geto ties his hair back, you know you’re not going to be let off easy. Why would you?

It just means he’ll have no mercy - have you folded in half and stuffed full of his thick cock, begging and crying to just let you cum. It felt pathetic, really, but at this point you were too far gone - babbling delirious little pleas while he rocked his dick into your plushy cunt. Relentlessly.

“Please please please- hngh- Sugu- m’so close.” you whine, hips bucking wildly. Tears streaming down your face, your snug pussy clenching so tight that some part of Geto almost wanted to tease you for it.

“Awww, poor baby. You wanna cum?” he coos, voice so mockingly innocent. Barely audible over the blood roaring in your ears. “Y’know what I always hah- say…”

And despite his words, Geto sounds as fucked-out as you - because, hell, he’s been torturing himself just as much as he was your poor cunt. Cock rock-hard and so so angry inside your heavenly pussy, teasing his orgasm while he waited for you to explode with yours.

Sobbing out, “I- hngh- I know!” Breath hitching at the way his heavy balls sting your ass with each thrust. Sure to leave marks for tomorrow - his fingers on your hips, yours running down his sculpted back. “Wan- me to- hah- squirt, f’you. I wan’ to.”

God, it was so hard to not paint your pretty pussy white already.

Instead, Geto’s capturing your swollen lips with his - partially because they were irresistible, partially because he really needed to shut up those cute lil’ whines right now.

“Not just squirt.” he moans against your lips. Fingers frenzied - almost painful - on your throbbing clit now. “Wan’ you to fuckin’ cover me in it- fuck-”

And he seems so content, smug about the way you flinch each time he yells out little profanities into your mouth. At the way you’re so cockdrunk, barely even realizing the soft ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he hit your poor, abused g-spot. Finger frenzied on your clit - not even bothering to draw those steady little circles anymore, just lewd little patterns to get you off.

He wanted this. Needed this so bad - needed to have you cover him with your sweet sweet juices until it’s glistening all over him. Unforgiving. Geto Suguru was absolutely unforgiving.

And, well, cover him you do.

Because no matter how much you might babble out those adorable little protests, Geto knew your pretty pussy well. Almost too well.

Well enough to know that you’ll have your orgasm crashing through you. So hard and borderline violent that it’s all you can do to claw at his back in an effort to get him to fucking slow down. That familiar little song and dance.

Because Geto didn’t stop until he was all glistening with your essence - absolutely depraved in the act. His pretty girl was so gorgeous squirting all over him. Only milking his painfully hard cock on your trembling pussy harder.

Everywhere. See, the hairband always comes in handy. And Geto wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here right now, letting your juices smear all over his aching dick, to his abs - darting all the way to his lower face.

It was so messy. So debauched - it sends Geto over the edge as well. Pumping thick, hot ropes of cum that paint your pussy white. Loving how fucking sloppy your pretty lil’ cunt was as it sucked up everything so greedily. Again and again-

“Hey, gorgeous.” Geto mutters, tongue darting out to get a taste of the slick coating his lower lip. Honestly, he doubted you could even hear him with how fucked-out you were. “Can y’ do it on m’tongue, too?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - You look good in white

“Fuck fuck fuck, open wider f’me, baby-” Choso groans, angling his head just right to catch the way your throat bulges so obscenely around his swollen cock. Watching the way it goes in and out in and out in and-

You were so gorgeous like this - you always were - but here on your knees, nose pressed firmly against the small tufts of black hair at his toned pelvis, he thinks you’ve never looked better.

Now all he has to do is hold off until the best bit.

But it was so difficult when you’re shoving yourself down inch by fucking inch. Milking Choso’s aching cock for all he’s worth. So greedy with the way you were gagging and choking so prettily around his thick cock. Swirling your tongue under his sensitive slit just the way you knew he liked.

And oh it has Choso feeling like he could just pass out. He could just feel the way you were smirking - knowing exactly what you were doing.

“Sh-shit.” he gasps, fingers trembling on your hair as he fucks your mouth like his own personal fucktoy. “Ya hngh- like this, huh?” Thighs quivering, hips stuttering deeper into your hot mouth. “Like me using that s-smart mouth like ha- this?”

The only response he gets are your nails dragging down his milky hips, leaving angry, red marks in their wake. A warning - a request. One that Choso knew was a sign that you needed to taste him - to have him.

One that had him speeding up his sloppy thrusts, over and over- Abs aching with the movement, veins throbbing at a maddening little thump! thump! thump! against the roof of your mouth.

“Oh- Oh fuck! Feels s’good-” he babbles, hips bucking up involuntarily into your slutty mouth. “Shit shit shit oh-.”

Faster. Deeper. Sanity held together only by a delicate tether - one that snaps when you look up at him with those beautiful eyes, moaning around Choso’s cock like you were begging him to ruin you.

Oh and then Choso’s cumming and cumming so hard he thinks he might’ve just died and gone to heaven right there. And you - you were such an angel, tears stinging your eyes, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth.

Mixing with his cum in such a sinful combination as he spills desperately into you, shooting thick, hot spurts of seed down your waiting throat.

So fucking filthy.

Only getting filthier when that feral, debauched part of Choso really can’t help but pull out ever-so-slightly. He chuckles at the way your eyes widen in surprise when he smacks his weeping dick all over your face.

Ah, this was his favorite part - always was. And he can’t even think to bring himself to be disgusted as he smears his seed all over your face. Twitching angrily in his fist at the way it drips down all over your chin, forming a lewd little pool on the floor. So, so pretty for him.

“Now now,” Choso lets out a guttural grunt, balls squeezing so painfully at the ruined state of you. “Wan’ see if I can hah- mess up this cunt jus’ the same, baby.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Wipe those tears!

Your only problem was that Sukuna was as mean as he was absolutely filthy.

“Aww, pretty baby.” Those words would be reassuring - but you knew better. Because his tone was just dripping with something so dangerous - something that had you feeling more and more like Sukuna’s little toy. “I thought you could give me another one.”

“B-but-” you gasp. “S’too much, Kuna, don’t think-”

“You will. Or-” he cuts you off, fighting that feral, cruel little urge to shove his entire dick in your snug cunt. No care or concern for those big, frustrated tears welling up in your eyes. “I’ll just make you. Your choice.”

God, you could almost sob - maybe from the way Sukuna was chuckling at your expense. Maybe from the way he was pushing in shallow, determined little thrusts to fit inside your tight pussy. Trying to fuck out- which number orgasm was this again? Ah, you don’t even know - and Sukuna doesn’t care.

He’s had you creaming around his fingers- his tongue- his thigh. And now, all he wants is for you to cum on his dick. You could almost feel his weeping tip graze your cervix already and- was he even halfway in, yet?

“Nope.” Sukuna hums, leaning down to those tears rolling down your cheek. Shit, did you say that out loud? “Maybe m’not even a quarter inside your pretty cunt. Why don’t y’take a look for yourself, brat?”

And it seemed like Sukuna was well and fully intent on driving you insane. Because no sooner have you craned your neck to take a glance, you’re met with the most sinful sight you’ve ever seen - your swollen folds stretched so obscenely around his weeping tip, soaked with precum and sucking him up so eagerly. Sukuna’s fingers toying deftly with your sensitive clit, rolling it between his fingers.

Which really made sense why he loved this little routine - have you pathetically pretending you couldn’t cum for him again, acting like your slutty lil’ pussy wasn’t trying to fucking milk him dry. He loves it. Loves the way your mind is telling you to run away but your needy cunt wants more more more-

“Enough of the games now.” he tuts, wrapping a hand around your neck, pulling down down down onto his thick cock.

And you can only keen in response, tears streaming down your face faster because his cock too big. The stretch too sinful. Prominent veins grazing your plushy walls in a maddening bump! bump! bump! you were losing your mind to.

Sukuna wants you to cum- he needs you to. More badly than he wants to cum. Thumb just erratic on your clit, so sloppy and needy.

And then you’re cumming and cumming so hard that sensitive little tears roll down your cheeks. Not even realizing it at first, barely registering the stars behind your eyes, white-hot pleasure shooting up your cunt. Over and over-

Sukuna quickly darts out his tongue to lick them away. Long, languid stripes up your face. So fucking sloppy with it on purpose. But you can’t even bring yourself to be disgusted. Mind reeling with how good you felt and those sharp fingernails resting right over your racing pulse.

Dangerous. A warning.

As if Sukuna would kill you if you didn’t take his cock - when he was the one that actually felt like dying right now.

Because you were too cute like this, cockdrunk and milking him greedily inch by fucking inch. So fucking tight. Enough to give the king of curses heart palpitations, honestly.

A full-on heart attack when he finally bottoms out. Ramming the rest of his length in one quick, harsh thrust.

He smacks his lips, savoring the salty taste of your tears. Some tiny part of his cold heart so fucking proud. He knew his lil’ slut could give him another one - you always do. “Dry up those tears, brat. Because I haven’t cum yet.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - “To think of me~”

“T-Toru, I really need to go-”

“No no no- fuck m’so close, sweetheart.” Gojo gasps into your mouth. Hips so frenzied and sloppy against yours, squeezing his throbbing cock in you like a man possessed. The idea of stopping not even close in his pussydrunk mind.

It’s been this way for so long now, and you’d only been halfway out the door before Gojo was pulling you back into the bedroom. That lil’ sundress was way too pretty that he just had to hike it up your hips and pull aside your drenched panties. Making sure to stuff your pretty pussy full.

And, well, the fact that you were going to meet one of your old guy friends might have had something to do with it, too.

Hey, even the strongest gets jealous sometimes. And Gojo is so sloppy when he is. Hips stuttering and bucking wildly into yours. All filthy desperation where he was usually so suave in bed.

He just can’t help but make a mess of your dripping cunt, reeling back to watch the way your sloppy hole struggles to take all of him. Glistening and trying to milk the soul out of him in the dim lighting. In and out in and out in and-

You’re letting out such a pathetic whine, “But- m’so-”

“Close?”

“Late.”

Of course, Gojo rolls his eyes with the audacity of someone that wasn’t the reason you’ll have to make up some excuse about traffic being awful this time around. Instead, he’s rolling his thumb over your sore clit , breath hot against your ear, “Guess m’gonna have to hurry up then, hm?”

It’s all that’s said before he’s fucking into you deliriously. Faster. Deeper. Bouncing you on the plush mattress like some slut.

Scoffing, “Y’should just stay home.” Hips snapping ever the more mercilessly with each word. “Stay with me insead. I’m sure she-” He gives your pussy a quick, sharp smack! laughing at the way you’re moaning breathlessly. “-definitely agrees.”

“Shit- feels s’good hah- shit shit-”

So fucking sloppy. Like he was trying to fuck the idea of staying home into you - each thrust so harsh. Running on pure jealousy and the feeling of your heavenly cunt wrapped around him. Unforgiving.

“Toru- m’gonna cum- I’m so-” And it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. Nothing but white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, and it’s so good that you’re pulling Gojo closer by his toned hips. Being late be damned because you’re cumming so hard you’re sure you see the pearly gates of heaven itself.

Or maybe that was just Gojo - tears pricking his eyes as he cums with such a strangled gasp of what sounds like your name. Thick, white ropes that gush out of your snug pussy, smearing all over his sensitive balls.

It feels so heavenly that Gojo really can’t help but check if it looks that way too.

Thumbing apart your folds to watch the way his seed spills out of you, so fucking filthy as it pools on the fresh sheets. So bloated and messy with him. Pulling out ever-so-slightly like he was torn between milking out every last drop of cum on your cute pussy and making a mess of your panties.

The latter wins, apparently. Because he’s painting your panties white, shooting out thick spurts of cum that smear all over your legs. So drenched and flimsy that it was almost difficult for Gojo to snap them playfully back in place.

“Something to remember me by when you go. Have fun~”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

10K notes · View notes