#women are the superior sex

[mikasasrippedtoenail]

Profanity and Misogyny

"Motherfucker", "cunt" , "bitch", "Whore" etc. are words that are so commonly used in colloquial language that one almost forgets the nuance attached to them. In almost every language there exist a myriad of swear words that refer to the degradation of the female vagina. A woman's sex is seen as her badge of shame and if she has control over her it then she has become astray from the path of the virtue.

"To insult a man, you insult his woman". I remember awkwardly shuffling in my seat, getting very uncomfortable when male peers would call each other "motherfucker" or "cunts" so casually. A woman much older than them was reduced to her sex, a tool to insult their friends. My sex- the organ that I was born with- was a sign of weakness. If you are meek or a coward you are a "pussy". In my language, I could never find the word equivalent of vagina, for it was too sexualised to use in society. Before I was even old enough to understand the workings of my body, a organ that I had been born with was left redundant to its function to please a man-villified by porn.

"Fuck" is seen as an insult because men consider sex a defiling act that takes away the dignity of the woman. Another misogynistic implication is the term "deflowering"; having sex takes away her innocence. After sex, the woman is not a human to them but a "cunt". The sexual paraphernalia of a woman is associated with purity. There is such a huge emphasis that is put on the concept of virginity, because it brings control to the patriarchal society over a woman's autonomy.

The sexual liberation of 70s was brought as a rebellion to these norms- young women were groomed into thinking that sex is empowering. Hookup culture also emerged as an aftereffect of the sexual liberation. The politics of a woman's sex is argued all day while the male penis remains as a neutral organ despite having been a tool to oppress women.

Sex is a completely neutral act of pleasure that is neither degrading nor empowering. However, this statement would only exist in a vacuum. Men use sex as a form of violence upon women-rape is a political tool. For women to take back control of their sexual autonomy, they must acknowledge the politics of sex-or lack thereof. Selectively choosing whom you are having sex with is the first step.

I implore everyone to stop using degrading profanities that have misogynistic connotations. When others around me --especially men-- use these swear words, I ask them why their insults always involve a woman to be degraded and humiliated. Not acting as an accompalice to patriarchy, not keeping quiet against the patriarchal violence and spreading word against misogyny is the best silent mutiny.

[1overrita]

Hey🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[bumblingbabooshka]

Don’t ask Tuvok for Relationship Advice.

[tciddaemina]

on sex, marriage, and family - some headcanons about the Gerudo

so i’ve been writing a lot of fic for LoZ recently, and its got me thinking about the Gerudo, specifically what the impact of being an all female race has on their culture regarding marriage, family, and the bearing of children

already, at a biological level, there’s some interesting implications. since the Gerudo still look like one single uniform race, as far as ethnicity goes, we can assume that their children inherit most of their traits - skin colour, hair colour, features, sex, etc. Gerudo have insanely dominant genes, and no matter who they have a child with, the child always takes entirely after their side of the family. the child of a Gerudo will always be a girl, and will always look like a Gerudo, to the point where the father’s genetic contribution is more or less invisible. 

this sort of makes sense, since because theres no male Gerudo (shh, i’m getting to that bit) it means that for a Gerudo to bear a child, she has to go looking outside her own race for a sire. every child a Gerudo bears is by default a cross-race child, born to a father of another race. if the children didn’t take strong after their mothers, the Gerudo race would soon cease to exist because they’d be watered down by half with every generation. for the race to even continue to exist, the sheer dominance of their genes has to be like that. 

this establishes two things: a) every Gerudo child takes strongly after her mother and b) that for a Gerudo to have a child she must look outside her own people. 

there are Gerudo men, of course, with Ganondorf being an example. they are born extremely rarely, like only once per generation, and are essentially born to be the king. once the old king starts to age and weaken, and new one is born somewhere in the population. however, there is only one of them, and even if they sleep around pretty heavily the majority of the population of would-be Gerudo mothers still has to look elsewhere to find a sire for their child. 

(on a side note, this leads to them having a very egalitarian society. since the next king is never the child of the previous king, its not a hereditary title, and the next king could be born in any subset of the population. while there are nobles who have more money, and farmers who have more modest livings, there is no true poverty or squalor in the Gerudo desert. this is because the king can be born from anywhere, including very poor families, and whenever one is they have the background and incentive to make sure that there is a healthy and equitable wealth distribution and services for the population as a whole, even their poorest people. not really relevant to the family headcanon thread here, but still an interesting thought all the same.)

so the Gerudo desert is all women, and they don’t allow men to travel freely through their lands, which means that there is not an abundant supply of potential sires just wandering by. if they want to have a child, they have to find a stud, and that means travelling outside the Gerudo lands more or less exactly for that purpose. 

the Gerudo are a warrior culture who live in a harsh environment, and prize strength and skill and martial might. they’re often called ‘thieves’ or ‘raiders’, and yes part of their raiding over the borders into the neighboring kingdom might be bands of Gerudo after goods and grain and stuff, but i think part of it is that you get these bands of Gerudo who have decided they want to have a child, band together, and go off on a journey to find some sire. they’re warriors, and they want their daughters to be strong warriors too, and so they want to find studs that will give their children strong genes. 

ie. they rove around challenging people to fights, and when they find someone who meets their criteria of being strong enough, or cunning enough, or maybe even just charming and sweet enough, they offer them a tumble in bed, fuck their brains out, and then continue on their way whistling merrily. they don’t do this to fall in love, they don’t want to marry these men, they purely want a roll in the hay so they can pop a bun in the oven, before wandering back to the desert to have the child and rear them themselves. (and yes, if they see a woman who is a good fighter, or even simply just very charming, they will 100% also roll in the hay with her, and also be way more likely to maybe invite her back home to get married if they end up really really gone on her).

Gerudo don’t have any possessiveness over these studs, since they’re usually only after them for one night, and so have no problem sharing. Which gets to fun things like a) a band of Gerudo deciding they all want one guy and (if willing) just passing him around and then moving on and b) some warrior getting a reputation among Gerudo for being strong and also honorable (and maybe also a good lay) and so getting tracked down specifically by questing Gerudo so they can use him as a stud, after challenging him to a fight so he can prove his mettle of course. fun times. 

all Gerudo are, by default, lesbians, with the vast majority being bisexual. there are some Gerudo who might decide men hold no appeal, at which point they’ll just decide they’d rather help raise someone else’s kids, and happily spend their entire lives in a lesbian relationship without even ever having to leave the desert or see a dick. there is no “straight” since men are not a norm in the culture, with the default instead being lesbians, with most Gerudo happy to also sleep with men for the purpose of bearing kids. some may also just, shrug, like sleeping with men, but it’s nearly always on a, yeah thats a bit of fun on the side kind of way. 

this whole system makes their concepts of marriage really interesting, tbh. like, of course Gerudo fall in love and get married, but they do that with other Gerudo. when Gerudo get married, they do it as a pair of wives, for love. after all, together they can’t have kids, so there’s not really a point to arranged marriages to tie together families. two Gerudo will fall in love, get married, and when they decide to have a child, they will maybe one or both wander off with a roving band to go fight and find a stud. 

this has interesting implications for Gerudo attitudes towards sex as well. as sex between Gerudo is by necessity solely for pleasure, since they can’t get each other pregnant. which means that they have very liberal views towards it, in regards to it being seen as a very normal and natural thing, done primarily for the enjoyment of the act itself, rather than as a means of only having kids. similarly, sex with men, or outsiders, while fun, is largely a functional thing, done for the specific purpose of trying to get pregnant, and is a ‘no strings attached’ kind of deal.

so ‘marriage’ = ‘Gerudo marrying Gerudo’, ‘studding’ = ‘going and finding a man to sleep with so that you can have a child’. aka ‘women = love’, ‘men = no strings attached sex’.

kids raised in the Gerudo lands are raised communally by the mother and her family. like many cultures, they live in large multi-generational families, in which many people live together or are in the vicinity, sharing close ties. grandmothers, aunts, cousins, sisters, they all help out in the raising of the child. a child is a big ordeal, and tiring, so everyone helps out, and the child is essentially considered the child of the family. this is reinforced by the fact that because going and getting pregnant is such an effort, theres not a lot of women who have babies at the same time, meaning that by and large most family members and friends are available to lend a hand at any given time. after all, most of them want kids, but just haven’t had the chance themselves yet, or can’t be bothered having to go on a whole long quest for it.

this is where things start to get interesting in terms of relationships with the fathers. by and large, Gerudo don’t even really consider men an option for marriage, it just doesn’t occur to them. part of this is that ‘marriage = wife’ according to their culture, so the norms regarding marriage is for lesbian couples who will raise their kids together. but part of it is also the effect of what would happen if you did decide to marry a man from an outside culture. 

see, in most cultures marriage exists as a way of tying men and women together. each man has his wife, that no one else can touch, as a way of ensuring that all her kids are his and that his family line is being continued. a woman takes her husbands name, and her kids belong to his family, taking their fathers name as well. 

and this causes enormous strife when it comes to the Gerudo, because they’re matrilineal. all children belong to the mother, and are from her line, and are raised by her family. to marry a man and let him claim the children is essentially to steal the right to those children away from the mother’s family, robbing the rest of her sisters and aunts, etc, of the chance to know and help raise the child. no men live in the Gerudo desert, so any Gerudo who married would have to stay with the husbands family - never mind the fact that is is also how marriage traditionally works historically irl - and so any children would, in addition to being claimed by his name, be literally so far away that the theft is very much a physical one as well as a spiritual one. 

to chose to marry a man of another culture, staying with him, is essentially choosing cultural exile and robbing your daughters of the chance to be raised with the love and support of her aunts, grandmothers, sisters, etc. for anyone, but especially for a Gerudo, that’s pretty devastating, and so even if some of them were inclined to be like ‘yeah that guy is sort of nice' the cons just so far outweigh the pros that they’d never consider it. 

if anything, if they saw a man they like and were like ‘yeah actually, i’d like to keep him around’, they wouldn't marry him, but rather bring him back as a stud. essentially a lover on the side, who would (if willing) also be shared with the Gerudo’s wife and sister warriors. even this is exceptionally rare, and is done with the understanding that all of the kids born by that father are the mother’s first, taking her name, since the concept of ‘fatherhood’ doesn’t really exist to the Gerudo. at best, the man would take the place of an uncle, same as all the aunts, helping in the communal raising of the child but without any special distinction placed on his role, since the gendered role of ‘father’ within the family simply doesn’t exist in Gerudo culture. 

this cultural clash between children belonging to the mother and children belonging to the father is part of the reason that men are more or less forbidden in the desert. like, if a man was willing to marry a Gerudo and travel back with her, there’s still those cultural norms and assumptions about how the family should work and who is the head of it, which just simply don’t gel with the Gerudo’s more communal matrilineal approach. it’s not so much an ‘ew you have a dick go away’ kind of motive, but rather a means of protecting their culture and way of life, to avoid men marrying Gerudo, settling in her homeland, and causing conflict as his way of life comes at odds with her’s and their norms of how a family is run clash. marrying men isn’t how its done, and only causes problems, so men are not allowed in the Gerudo homeland. 

tldr; the Gerudo are an amazonian culture of lesbians who marry each other, have matrilineal families, and wander out of the desert to go fight men and sleep with them, using them as studs, before waving goodbye and wandering back home, leaving the men slightly stunned and wide eyed in their wake. 

[noncompliantbi]

[cecenyss]

More people need to write “I made this male character a female to demonstrate how their life would be different if they had gone through life being treated as lesser by everybody around them” AUs, and people need to stop writing “I made this character female so she could fuck” AUs

It’s really getting on my nerves

Please I just want to read about Captain America as a girl is that too much to ask??

[mikasasrippedtoenail]

A man's curiosity is welcomed, a woman's curiosity is punished

There are so many stories from the likes of pandora and her box, eve and her apple to the blue beard's wife and her key in countless cultures that serve as a reminder for women of the consequences of them asking questions. Men are afraid of the vast potential of a woman's mind therefore they try their best to suppress the intelligence of women around them. They know that once all women seek the truth their regime will crumble so they forbid women from pursuing education, advertising reading as an "unattractive" trait and punishing the inquisitive woman. A curious woman is the biggest threat to patriarchy. This age of anti intellectualism in women needs to end soon. Being a "Dumb Bimbo Tradwife" is not a feminist choice. Read, learn and spread your knowledge among woman. Our curiosity is our greatest weapon.

[caddy-crystal-queen]

If Clarence Thomas wants to go after the right to homosexual sex and rights, then I wanna put it out there that everyone should be asexual. Cause apparently any person suddenly has the power to jurisdicatate what an individual can or can't do the private setting of their own home. So you know what, fuck that shit. He bans gay sex/gay marriage, no one should be allowed to sleep with anyone! Period! Ban marriage, ban sex, because apparently any old body can just go around making laws and shit about people's lives.

Seriously fuck this guy in the ear with the biggest cactus!

[chelleisamazing]

I blocked my ex from every social media possible and STILL after one year of zero-contact he found a way to contact me, and the guy I REALLY want to hit me up won't do anything else but like my insta stories 🥲

[rulesforthedance]

Kind of only learned in the last few years that a lot of people get really mad/offended/hurt by people referring to “gold star” gays/lesbians, because they read the usage (maybe correctly? idk) as earnest, like the people saying it genuinely and uncomplicatedly believe the people they are talking about are doing a better job of being gay because they Always Knew. Meanwhile I’d always assumed that anybody who talked about gold stars was being sarcastic (self-deprecatingly so if they were calling themself a gold star), like “ooooh, you never had straight sex, you’re so special, you get a gold star!! Good job, little buddy.” Or at least, like, facetious/playful 

[sunbleachedfairies]

.

[writterings]

denji from chainsaw man is so fucking funny as a character concept. he's an orphan. he worked for the yakuza. he kills demons. he lived in an unheated no electricity no running water and no bed shack in the woods alone since he was a kid. his only friend was a demon dog with a chainsaw in its face that took over his body after the yakuza dismembered him. he's obsessed with boobs and would do anything to feel some up but never even thinks to touch a woman without her consent. he's being sexually groomed left and right by women much older than him and he has such a childlike view on sex and love that it's so heartbreaking to see him so earnest and trusting with these literal work superiors of his that use his sexuality against him and only see him as a weapon. his best friend threatened to kill him several times and even attempted to do so but they're still chill. he eats flowers. the only things he cares about in this world are eating good food, sleeping in a nice bed, and eventually being able to have sex. he still misses his dog that's possessing his body. he's even illiterate. and chainsaws pop out of his head and arms. character of all time.

[mikasasrippedtoenail]

Males in feminist spaces are only there to get laid and chime "not all men!!" after every discourse. They'll say "I respect women😊" then wait for every woman to fawn over them like they just dismantled the eons old patriarchy. A lot of them are fetishists who take female trauma lewdly. None of them have actually done something for women's rights. All talk no action.

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

there‘s a reason why it‘s „suck my dick“ and not „lick my pussy“ to demean someone.

there‘s a reason why we say „get fucked“ and „that‘s fucked“. fucked means: penetrated.

there‘s a reason why so much language surrounding penetrative sex is so violent: smashed, nailed, „rearranging someone‘s guts“, banging, screwing.

there‘s a reason why so many people have an aversion to gay sex, or even straight men engaging in passive anal acts.

there‘s a reason why lesbian porn catered to men usually involves dildos and strap-ons.

there‘s a reason why it‘s „big dick energy“ and „small dick energy“ and not big and small pussy energy.

there‘s a reason why a woman‘s vagina is considered „worn out“ when she had a lot of sexual partners while it doesnt impact a man‘s dick.

there‘s a reason why men say „i fucked your mom/sister“ as an insult: i stained your property, i dishonored your family.

there‘s a reason why women with a lot of sexual partners, or even women who arent virgins, are considered „dirty“ and dishonored, and why gay and bisexual men are seen as less manly.

there‘s a reason why women who are and were prostitutes or in porn are seen as less worthy while men who buy sex or do (straight) porn are seen as manly, which is considered good.

there‘s a reason why „whore“ and „slut“ are female specific terms.

penetration is seen as degrading.

and sex is often only considered as penetration. and the penis is considered to be superior, and a tool of degradation.

and to be penetrated is seen as a female trait, which in turn justifies women‘s degradation and misogyny. this is where a lot of homophobia stems from as well.

this is why the penis is not a neutral body part.

[fawnpires]

EVERY MAN GETS HIS WISH. — SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: under the enemy's eye, you're required to accompany the task force's lieutenant but an unfortunate situation of enemy attack occurs; falling victim to both things, your superior and some hidden feelings.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: sex pollen, non-consensual drug use, one-bed-trope, inappropriate relationship with a superior, oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, age gap, manhandling, pet-names, size difference, dirty talk, grinding, mild degradation, praise kink, porn with plot, loss of virginity, innocence kink.

He wasn't a saint, nor was he heroic man to be looked up to; which was baffling considering his status of customary deeds. Brave, noble, bold — all of those things checked off to be deemed as heroic, as simple as that.

Rather than a man of military, he was more of a vigilante — acting on his own accord, directing himself and the men he worked along with the mind of personal dominance. He knew he didn't fit the stereotype of a soldier; obscene mindset, crude jokes cracked, stiff posture that made him stand stall and all intimidating, and a exterior skull of a clothed balaclava. As daunting as the man was, he was just like peers — quite ill-mannered off the field, absorbed too much in himself.

But he had learnt to contain a majority of that. Solitude was more ideal than ill-mannered, and he preferred that. Often covered up with tracks of blood and brutality, his humanlike isolation made up the whole of him; swallowed him up whole. He didn't know why he enlisted for the military, or why he hadn't quit so many years into the position. Perhaps for the adrenaline rush, or to endure the experiences of war, but the utmost possibility was to make something out of the miserable man he was — sculpt a more successful alternative.

In some way, that had worked out, made him whatever a hero was supposed to be. If that had made him a hero, then be it, if it didn't, then who was he to care? It's not like he cared for his general image, what others thought of who he was; only a man of great cruelty, inhumane and cold-blooded.

A lot of that shifted with you. One of the few women recruited, reserved and utterly meek when interacting one-on-one. You're instantly caught in the range of his observations, curiosity and skepticism as the two perplexing sensations that send him over the edge. Though he's afraid, and not in a tensed sense, it's more based on his feelings; those feelings that he thought would be triggered off in him, until he has you in his sights. That's why he scarcely ever partnered up with you on missions, putting some separation there to rid of those perplex feelings compressed to himself.

Unbeknownst to both you and him, that changes by a great deal. With Price's organization of the next mission, only in need of two personnel, it's down to the coincidence of him being paired up alongside you. The one thing that he was oh-so-successfully doing so well for the couple months you've resided in the task force, but shattered to bits when approaching this unfortunate expedition — it's pressuring, wearing his nerves out — tense. (As if you weren't as equally on edge about being collaborating with your intimidating, enormous superior.)

You're close to him, practically almost rubbing arms together. The overhead sky is dull of sun and some additional clouds, reflecting off the shade of his masked face and the tactical gear he displays. Forwards on, there's nothing but fields of fading grass and a waning path. The intercoms attached to both your uniforms are radio silence; no commands, no Price on the other end except from a few minutes ago when given the straight order to push on until Ghost gives direct instruction there.

Every so often you feel his eyes on you, causing you to adjust your head in his direction only to see him facing the path in front of him; yet sometimes you catch him side-eyeing you through the holes of his mask. Anxiousness boils in the pit of your stomach with each passing second — with his close physical contact, aware of him catching tiny glimpses of you — it causes you to distance yourself from him without your own awareness.

"Careful, kid," he said, his rasped voice the only sound you've heard in the rounds of minutes, "Stay close, don't want you wandering off now."

You blink a few times in a daze at the name, sliding yourself right back next to him, uneasiness tainting the void that was slotted right between you and him. Your hold on your firearm loosens, clutching it closer to your chest, the fingers of your left hand tightening around frontier piece. The sole use of his pet name intact for you leaving you flustered and weak in the limbs.

A sigh blows past your lips. "How much further?" you ask, "Been minutes, hours."

"Almost there, right through this path." he replies swiftly, crouching before gesturing to the right, "Cut here."

He takes lead, in front, and you linger close behind. The trail is cut off, there's more open field and sky where the sky darkens; shadows drawn on the ground, sun merely in sights and lowering beyond the horizon line. Arising in the distance, a structure stands its ground; a warehouse, seemingly deserted, dim light fixtures hung side-by-side with a half opened roll-up sheet door.

In a crouched position, he kneels in the fields of dried grass, signaling for you to do the same — which you oblige with. The slinging strap of your gun digs through your tactical wear, felt into your skin, marking the flesh with the outline of it. Around the airspace is tight and claustrophobic, your chest heavy with the beat of your palpitating, head weighed with a throb and some exhilaration.

"Visual on the hideout," he presses his intercom open to Price, gloved thumb to the button and his head tilted.

Price is heard clicking his own intercom through. "All yours, Ghost, your command from there."

Ghost pauses in his movements for a second then aligns his head back in position on his neck, closing off his intercom as it goes back to the original state of radio silence. He revolves his entire body in your direction, even crouched he's still so much towering and intimidating, eyes a shade of sepia surrounded with black war-paint dying right into your bare ones. "Stay close by me, then separate once inside, then you stay on watch while I locate, understood?"

It's a different request, more distant than what you were usually accustomed to, but in this position; there was really no arguing back on this, or better yet declining.

"Affirmative." you reply, getting off the ground and maintaining a standing position, still bent on your knees to avoid possible detection. He does the same, taking lead again and scurrying out of the grass into the open expanse of the warehouse's front, taking careful measures as he leans to grab a hold of the half-opened roll-up door's handle and widening the entrance so that's their enough space to set foot in. You're sweating, pumped of adrenaline as the whole situation sends yourself into a condition of delirium and kicked of a strange thrill — rifle no longer clutched to your chest, but in a prepared-aiming stance.

A scent, between a bitterness and saccharine, stings your nose. The inside of the building reeks of it, your face hit with a handful of it, causing you to pull up the cloth of your uniform and hold it over your nose.

(Luckily for him, he sported that damned mask of a skull all the time. The one time that you've fully understood to why he would need it, even coming across a situation like this.)

Fluorescent lights in tubes buzz overhead, flickering in flashes across each of your faces, background of quietude besides the shuffles of Ghost moving in his gear and the humming of the lights. He raises his arm to gesture the previous order given, you stay put up against a wall while he proceeds further and observes the stairs, the upper level with a room; unsuspected of the flat, low contour of a light that casts through the glass panes of the space. You watch across your shoulder, moving up to the bottom of the case of stairs, detecting each of his calculated steps, prepared to act on direction.

He reaches the top platform and eyes the door — though, before he has the chance to elbow the door wide open, his suspicions of there being lifeforms present are confirmed — the solid matter of the door bursts open without warning and a clink of an object hits the ground where he stood.

Adapting the consciousness to back away from it was far too late to act on now, a blow of the now-identified smoke grenade pollutes the atmosphere around, white and clouds around more than you had expected it to. Despite having your uniform stuffed to your nose, the scent is brought back to you — that bitter, sweet-smelling one — and it throws you into an abrupt coughing fit. Some of it breaches to your eyes, leaving a whole of you to be incompetent to retaliate against the enemy; hell, you couldn't even fend it off.

There's a grit of your teeth while slump back against the stairs. You lay against your rifle that had been abandoned from the clutch of your hands, your chest abnormally heavier; as if you were lungs were filled with a burdensome matter. Through the veil of your fogged vision and the diminishing sheet of smoke, the lieutenant held more strength than you, holding himself up against the wall of the room and held the handle of his knife up into one of the perpetrators.

His strength in the moment was impressive, nearing admirable, but it wasn't enough to overturn the situation with more than one perpetrator present. About two circle him while another three take notice of your debilitated figure haunted with the beginning side effects seeping into the fissures of your body, your head.

The last few recollections were of slow footsteps approaching your comatose-like body, your breaths heavier and more echoed against the shells of your ear. That sensation in your chest sourced from the smoke was growing into more crucial, dangerous areas; the smoke's aroma intense and all that you could really smell. They're crouched and talk over your body through muffled hoods, gas-masks.

It's difficult to make out what they're saying, (In this state everything was difficult, from vision to solely breathing.) A palm rests at your forehead, frigid to the touch before it burns down to a more scorching feeling once left more on contact to your skin.

You use your last bit of brawn to grasp at an attempt to get away downwards but there's an additional grab to your legs from below. A grunt flows from your throat in a strained manner, the ramifications of the unknown dust outdoing your own control.

A palm to your forehead, acidity stench, and the rear of a shotgun to strike you to a vacant space of unconscious void.

Against your skin, there's heavy breathing, and motions of flexing arms under your lifted thighs. You find your hands balled in fists at the fabric of his tactical jacket, his jacket, Ghost. To your surprise, he had proved your accusations of his strength giving out back at the warehouse wrong — overthrowing the opponents and beating them to pulps like his usual violent self, his bloodthirsty persona which slaughters the targets he chooses. Undeniably, he was rabid. No morals, no mercy for his rivals like the truculent brute he was.

His hand supports your back, the other to your legs which had explained the flexes that continue under you. He stumbles over to a tree which provides a temporary shelter as he slants at the bark.

He isn't vulnerable, he almost never was. It was either a violent, bellicose identity or one of great endurance. Ghost was an inexplicable man. On the battlefield, he's nothing more than a weapon — a masculine personification of warfare that taunts and douses his victim in a bloodbath of gore. (Who knew if he had developed some sick satisfaction from it, years of countless executions bound to his hands.)

But now he an absolute contrasting mortal to that, possessing you in his big arms right to his chest. You almost feel safe, sort-of sheltered more than you've ever felt in your entire presence of being restricted to the Earth's grounds. You take notice of how he checks over his shoulder then sloping his head down to your laid physique. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, lifting you slightly.

"Come on, c'mon," he whispers and buries his fingers deeper in your hair, "Stay with me, kid."

In response, your half-lidded eyes widen up a little more, hands ghosting over his forearm and leaving your fingers to brush over the sleeve. You think you hear a sound of relief, but it was complicated to say with his smothering mask dying down a mass of his words.

The collected scenery around had been ingested fully with the effects of dusk, nearing complicated to make out where you the both of you resided for the time being. All you could comprehend was that he accomplished to elude from the main origin of the danger, and had hid out nearby in this perspective of trees.

"How'd... how'd you get get away?" you ask, sitting up with his supportive hand still at your back.

"That's what years of military training does to you," he replied, panting, "Reinforced stamina, mask helped drag out some of the grenade too."

You blink slowly, bringing your middle and index finger to your face which gathers some of that bitter residue. "What is this shit, anyways?"

"Not sure, has to be some conjured batch of contraband. Never been out to be transported, personal use — that's what I say."

"Some strong stuff." you mutter.

His strength which is used to hold you up heightens when he stands from his crouched position, a grunt choked in his throat. You link your arms around his neck for more support, doe-like eyes staring right into the pit of skull and cloth.

He doesn't mind, you think.

"Saw a safe-house up there, we'll spend the night there." he states.

"What about the rest of the operation?"

"I'll get in touch with Price," he said, "Possible case scenario is the whole thing being postponed."

You can only bring yourself to nod your head; at the same time, those secondary effects of the substance flowing back into yourself, stronger. Ghost starts back up forward to where the safe-house was situated, and his motions produce perceptions of vertigo. A whimper is hushed from behind your closed lips, head pressed to his shoulder and submerging into his jacket. His own scent gives distraction from the sustained bitterness and swirling sweetness that made your head pulsate in equivalent palpitations to your rapid heartbeat.

Your limbs are brought to weakness, frail and shaky against the perimeters of your pants. Sweat sticks to you — your forehead, your skin, your clothes. The strap of your bra feels more mauled into your flesh, branding into your sultry skin. There's an unanticipated rush of heat that throbs out from between your thighs, another whimper muted from your secured lips. Right in the moment, like a natural instinct, you could't help but trail your eyes over to Ghost.

How his biceps flexed and bent underneath you, his distinctive scent stalling at your nose of gunpowder and pine. It was intoxicating, holding you in a trance complete of him; all your focus on your lieutenant. You were known to hold an admiration for him ever since recruitment, his particular set of skills and proficient demeanor that was worthy of your commendation. But now it had shrunk into nothing but merely a hidden, perverted desire that had been brought out in the faults of the anesthetizing matter. Pressing your head deeper into the cloth of his jacket, you force your legs to squeeze together — an aim to rid of the shameful sensations that were coming down at you at the same.

As you doubted it was never going to transpire, Ghost had successfully brought the two of you into the safe-house. No longer in use, abandoned and dead, the short-term sanctuary reserved for you and him only. One story, decently-sized, and ideal for hiding out from potential nearby threats.

You're supported up in his arms for an interval while he inspects the building until reaching the upstairs, in the single bedroom which had been the only one throughout the investigation. He leans downwards to allow you to stable yourself on two unsteady legs from his hold. You stagger over to the solitary mattress and sit on the edge of it, two hands resting on the edge, fingers compressing into the foam. By now, the effects the substance took on your body had evolved into a level of unbearable.

Sweat drapes over your body in a fitted sheet, that vertigo subsiding into a lower degree but adjoining to the intense pulsing of your cunt that you've managed to handle for a while now. You slap a palm to your forehead, down your face, examining the extreme sweat that stains the skin there. Ghost sits at the foot of the bed, close to you, and begins to strip of his vest and his jacket.

"Get some rest, you'll need it in the morning." he advises towards you, proceeding to strip of the rest of his heavy gear.

"Was there not another bedroom?" you ask.

"Just this one," he said, "Why? You ashamed of sleeping with a superior or somethin'?"

Sleeping. To your current perverted head, you take it a more immoral way, heat rushing to your face at the thought.

"No, no, I just... thought you needed more privacy. Wanted to have some alone time, you know?"

He glances to you. "If you're uncomfortable, I can just sleep on the floor, kid — nothin' personal."

"It's fine, Ghost, seriously." you said.

His stare drifts on you for a little while longer before shifting away, bending his upper half into the pocket of his tactical jacket for a lighter version of his balaclava; one that wasn't supported with the hard shell of a skull at the front, but printed with a the design of the skull instead. His eyes were more visible this way, tar-like paint on pale skin around the browned irises. You shyly strip of your own vest and jacket, leaving you in a black tank top and tactical pants. The only light that had really illuminated the room was the tranquilizing beam of the moonlight through the pane of the window, white and glowy.

You slump fully onto the bed and sink into the soften material of a pillow. Your resting position distributes some heaven from the tormenting sensitivity that throbs like hell through your pants. The space on the mattress from behind you droops with his weight, a breathy sigh leaving his lips as he settles close to you; the closest you've ever been with him, almost intimate.

After a slight period of time, he's knocked out in a slumber — but you're left awake, a hand now between your legs as the pulsing is at its height; panties drenched and your heartbeat thumping out of the cage of your chest. You gaze over your shoulder at him where he lays closer facing you, his eyes visibly slit shut with the gleam of the moonlight. He adjusts himself and moves in closer to you in his sleep, towering figure nearly pressed up at you. The adjustment leaves you flustered, shock.

Without hesitations, you remove your hand that nestled from the space of your thighs and slipped through the waistband of your pants; stripping of your pants, gliding into your panties and fingertips feeling the soaked fabric of it before trailing further, rubbing slightly against your cunt. Your back arches and you muffle a whine into your pillow, heartbeat sounding at your ears in impossible volumes. Shame was no longer present, libido taking authority over your body and leading you to do such perverted things while thinking of your superior — who was sleeping away right next to you.

In this sort of mindset you can barely grab control of yourself anymore and find yourself stumbling backwards into Ghost, your free hand over your mouth as you feel the area of his crotch press up against the curve of your ass. One of your eyes twitch, hand in your panties rubbing at your puffy lips while your hips begin circular motions at his clothed crotch. The hand at your mouth fails to stay together, fingers parting from each other and granting the noises from your mouth to spill out. His arm then wraps at your waist, unconscious or not, seemingly pulling you closer to him; a bulge in his pants felt at your panties.

"Lieutenant..." you whisper breathily, looking back at him only to see his eyes were no longer shut — but half-lidded and open.

His arm at your waist travels to your hips, trapping you in the enclosure of his hands while he pushes you down further onto his bulge; an audible whine leaving your mouth with additional pants.

"Look at you," he groans with a rasp in his tone, "Gettin' off on her superior like the needy whore she is."

"M' sorry, Ghost, fuck, needed you so bad..." you whine out as his hips grind against your ass harsher, almost in similarity to thrusting, yourself drunk on him and his cock.

"Yeah, love?" he questions, "Say it, how long have you've been like this for me? How many times have you touched that pretty little cunt of yours to the thought of me every night?"

Your eyes are shot vast, saliva pooled in your closed mouth and your panties moist — slick painting the inner sections of your thighs. Words struggle shape into coherent sentences through your mindless babbles and the disturbance of his erection prodding right at your clothed cunt, but you manage. "Ever since I joined the task force," you say through a half-whine, "Since I've first seen you."

A couple of months was your first appearance on working for the task force. Decently skilled and a couple of rank higher than your first impression of a rookie, barely given any training. That's how long you've yearned for him — how many times you've laid sole right at midnight, in your room of the barracks, a hand down your panties while breaths of weight exhale with personal noises of lust. You project his hand instead of yours in the fabric, veins and a bigger expanse of flesh that stretches your tight cunt out with lengthy fingers.

Now those momentary projections had manifested itself into the real life, the reality where your older superior had himself pressed up against you; hungering after you as much as you did for him.

He has his face in the crook of your neck. "Fucked my fist thinkin' of you," you said, "You and your heavenly body distractin' me on missions... drives me insane."

"Ghost, please." you whimpered.

"Tell me what you need, sweet thing, c'mon." he cooes against your neck, the arms around your waist locking you right to the area of his crotch when all you could do is whine and push yourself down for more of the relief. Your body burns and fits of sweat, the temples of your forehead pounding.

"Need you to fuck me," you pant, "Need you inside so bad."

Ghost places a masked kiss at your jaw at the confession and in an instant movement; you're underneath him, a caging shadow scarcely visible by the traces of moonlight through the glass panes. The loss of friction he once gave from behind you was no longer there, leaving you to press your thighs together once again in hopes to rekindle some of the loss. His palms are flat at each side of your head, the bulging muscles of his black shirt outlining through the material — and the thing you've longed for the most, the bulge that lines and becomes trapped in his fabric confines.

He uses his right arm and his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties, ragging the drenched item down past your knees and left to be discarded on the mattress. His eyes preserve in a mature desire; bleary and focused on the exposed region of wet flesh. You bite the skin of your bottom lip, sheepish to never having another person being so up-close to an area that was so confidential to you throughout a large portion of your life. Two of his fingers slide up your puffy lips, soaked of your collected arousal while he elicits a low gasp from you.

"Fuck, angel, never seen someone so wet all for me." he said.

You had wondered if you should tell him now — after you were the first one to make such a bold move on him, you had to confess the private matter of never having intercourse; the only closest sexual encounter you've had was with yourself. (Those nights in the barracks with your single hand.)

"Ghost, wait—" you stutter out, a palm spread-out at his chest in a way to interrupt him of his doings.

"Somethin' wrong?"

You breathe, your throat gone dry. "I- I haven't done this before." you admit.

"You're a virgin, honey, is that it?" he asked with his accent swarmed of concern, "Never had a man touch you like this?"

"No," you said, "I want you to be my first time..." the admission was brief to a point, sure, but it was what you were so desperate in need of. You reserved this occasion just for him, and it had finally gave life to itself.

"Oh, sweet girl," he caresses your face with both hands, large palms squishing your cheeks and rubbing soothing motions into the skin, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, please," you whisper, "God, I've waited and waited, only for you to be the first. Nobody else."

With that, his hands drag themselves down your face, your chest and stomach, and aligning at your thighs. He leans himself down onto the mattress, pinning his body onto the cushioned material. Your legs rest at each of his shoulders and his fingers create a restraint; powerless to thrashing or releasing from his hold. His thumb and index finger momentarily fix up the bottom of his balaclava to the brink of his nose, moving back to the flesh of your thigh. You squirm a little from the long, dragged-out desperation that spread through your body like a disease — a plague of lust solely meant for your lieutenant.

At long last his head descends to that throbbing territory right between your parted thighs, all bathed in your bloomed arousal and swollen clit. You feel his tongue kiss over your skin before running one long stripe up your cunt, lips fully puckering over you. To this new, overwhelming ease —out of the extended period of time with the substance's aches— you throw your head back to the headboard, a breathy gasp leaving you throat each time his tongue comes to work on your cunt. His nose adds to the ecstasy that he sends you right into, nuzzling and prodding right at your clit when his mouth works along your slit.

You stifle a moan, but ultimately fails when his tongue fucks itself right into your cunt, nearly felt at your walls. Whines echo off the boundaries of the room, the double simulation causing your eyes to flutter and your walls to clench around his tongue. Your thighs squeeze at his head while trembling, leaving your fingers to claw at the sheets, each and every assembly of your exclusive noises the nearest experience he would ever capture to hearing heaven — an angel, his very own angel.

"Fuckin' heaven right between your thighs, princess," he praised, running his tongue at the spots he was quick to learn that were sensitive to you, "Needy thing, you are."

"Y- Yes, yes... fuck." you whine.

"M' going to ruin you, bunny," he said amid his pleasuring, "Be the first man to ruin you, and this sweet pussy of yours."

Your thighs tremble, thrown-back head releasing noises of pants and disgraceful moans. His tongue works more diligently now, in the habit of working at your cunt. The ministrations are more faster and insistent. "Oh, Ghost..." you whimpered, bucking your hips onto his face and essentially riding his entire facial structure. He lifts his irises to your fucked-out face, staring in admiration, a raw visual of beauty — open-mouth, tilted head, sheet of sweat over skin, and all because of his own doing.

Rather than alternating between lapping at the exterior of your cunt and pushing his tongue right into you, he makes his mind up of only plunging his tongue in-and-out of you. The more rabid motions of his tongue driving up into you is a whole new degree of euphoria, a knot in your abdomen tying itself at the muscle fucking at your delicate walls. But it's not soon when that knot is unbinding itself, your body writhing under him as your hips roll and ripples of pleasure drive out from the undoing knot.

When Ghost arises from his spot between your now-fully soaked thighs, his mouth and nose are saturated with the liquids of your orgasm; the first orgasm you've had provoked by another person. You spasm, at some state of relief — but not enough to fully satisfy the explicit emotions that fomented right to him. Heavy breaths leave your mouth and his, trembling fingers of yours coming to pull off your tank-top and bra; fully nude and stripped beneath him now. You take notice of his eyes widening for a brief second behind the warpaint — astonished, or whatever he had going on at that unpredictable mind of his.

"Such a doll, baby." he said, inclining down to press a kiss to your lips, straightening his stance above you — towering you. He strips of his own shirt, a broad chest of muscles and pale skin, then lingering a hand down to his tactical pants where he shrugs the cloth down to his ankles; thoroughly peeling away from any fabric, except for his boxers with that prominent bulge at the forefront.

You patiently look up at him through your lashes while he slowly tugs at the waistband of the remaining article of clothing, a sensation at your gut anxious for the release of it. He wastes no time pulling the boxers down, cock smacking at his lower abs. Undeniably, he was as large as you've fantasized him to be — but with more length added, more veins that adorned him and a blunt head that oozed of pre-cum. Your breath hitched at the sight, a slow blink of your eyes while he clamped a fist over himself.

He pumped himself a few times in the fist, never once leaving the perspective of your near-goddess body all spread out for him. The stare in his eyes were darker, more obscured with shadows and a deep, perverted passion that you once obtained; only for it to die down at his domination on you, reduced to your usual timidity. Observing his cock in his fist, you bite your lip, that throbbing sense at your cunt returning in a more intense wave.

In a more bent position over your anatomy, you feel the head of his cock prod right at your entrance and you gasped when it starts in circular movements — gathering some of the remnants of your arousal on the head.

His fingers grasp at your jaw, gently forcing you to make direct eye contact. "Hey, hey, look at me," he whispers, "Relax, honey, it's going to hurt a little since it's your first time, yeah?"

You give him a nod, lip bitten at your teeth.

"If it hurts, we stop, no big deal — got it?"

You give him another nod of reassurance. It was a huge thing to give up, to put trust into the hands of another man — but it was him, your lieutenant, the man you've admired and personally worshipped like your own god. You trusted him with your life, that's how far it was taken, and now you could trust him with taking your virginity; ruining yourself for him.

With the given permission, he slowly fills you up, the head of his cock slipped into your cunt. He groans at the tight sensation, a whimper of your end at his lengthy size inside of you. You already feel so filled, and it was only the blunt head that had been in you. Ghost immerses in how you feel clenched around him, tight and leaving him almost unable to fully thrust himself in; the intimate way your legs bracket at his waist, how your arms wrap his torso like a bandage and your fingers jab at his back muscles.

"Ghost—" you whine out, feeling yourself clench around the head of his cock that left you almost brain-dead — unable to speak, or form a coherent thought at that, "Oh, fuck..."

His large hands keep you confined at your waist, lips pressing at your face while one hand frees itself and cradles you in it. "Still doing okay, sweetheart?" he asks with a genuine concern, and you nod, allowing him to thrust the remaining inches of his cock right into your cunt. Your back arches off the mattress at the sudden movement and the short sting that accompanies it. "Doing so good, love."

He starts out in slow, steady thrusts and you whine with the flow of his hips against yours. Gradually, he speeds up once coming to the realization that you were already adapted to how he moved up inside of you. Your fingers at his back begin to dig deeper, breaking the skin and leaving red marks in the wake. His stamina is a whole stage of extremity than your own, which is why he's able to pound into your cunt without pause.

"You love this don't you, sweet girl?" he pants, "You love having your sweet little pussy filled up by your superior's big cock, huh?"

You rapidly nod with pants between your lips, saliva down the corners of your widened mouth, "Love it s'much, Ghost, oh—"

"My real name, say it, honey."

You whimper, the bottoms of your eyes twitching. "Love how you fuck me, Simon — be rough with me, please, I don't care anymore."

At the your request, his particular set of thrusts afterwards of his are hard and nearing animalistic, right up at your cervix — nearly at your womb. He reduced you to nothing but a writhing, moaning mess where you laid under him; legs fixated at his waist and your arms at his torso forcing him down closer to you.

"Always wanted to fuck you like this, y'know?" he rasps between grunts, "Every-time one of those lowlife rookies eyed you, wanted to bend you over and show them who you belong to," he said, "Fuck in front of everyone like a bunch of animals.

An audible, echoing whine slips from your mouth at his own perverted confession. Who knew he shared the same fucked-up fantasies as you did? (Truly a match made in heaven.)

In the way he fucked into your cunt at a rapid pace, it could be considered animalistic — just like his fantasy. His veined hands caress your waist while every thrust of his hardened cock brushing past your walls and pounding into your cervix extracts an angelic sound from your mouth.

"More, please, please—" you whine out, head thrown back and nails into his skin, "I'll be your girl, 'mmm my god — your only girl, I promise..."

He grunts. "That's right, bunny. I'm the only man who can fuck you like this," he said, "I'll make you remember this night, the first man to ever ruin you like this."

Ghost throws his head back, his posture aligning itself out while his jaw clenches. Sounds of skin-on-skin and a chorus of high-pitched whines along with raspy, masculine grunts leave the safe-house no longer deserted; conducted of sexual nature in its walls. You squeal as he never fails to reach your cervix while he continues to pound into you, addicted to the way your cunt clenches on him like a vice and how your body reacts to his cock impaling it like a natural instinct — clamping on, soaked of arousal just at the mere thought of it settled in you.

The space between your two thighs are messier than the first time, when you found yourself being carried like a bride in his arms, when you ground yourself right to the bulge of his pants. It's sloppy, with a combination of your arousal and his pre-cum painting your inner-thighs like a piece of artwork; the whole scene a scenario of a sexual, brutal renaissance painting.

"M' so close, Simon!" you squeal, "Need you to cum inside, mmph — please..."

"You want that, sweet girl?" he asks, "Want me to cum all inside of your pretty pussy?"

"Yes!"

He chuckles. "You lil' fuckin' whore, all needy like this for her first time."

And with that, Ghost smacks his lips to yours. His tongue laps at each crevice of your mind, a hand coming to grab at your jaw and keep you in position. The results from him eating you out still linger on his tongue, causing you to moan right into his mouth and allow him to eat you all up. Your insides feel raw at this point in the way his cock leaves squishes noises each time he meets with your puffy, sticky folds — cervix bruised and kissed with his overwhelming contact.

"C'mon, princess, show your lieutenant who you belong to," he breathes between kisses, "That's it, I know you can, bunny."

Ghost feels the abrupt stop of your clawing at his back when your cunt spasms around his cock, clenching as tightly when a burst of liquid seeps out and decorates the head of his cock, drooling down the veiny sides. The pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen clit during your orgasm, a loud whine earned at the contact. His cock twitches inside of you at your noise, and at the discernment of your pretty cunt squeezing down on him; in some way telling him to stay, never let you go, claim and haunt you down to never leave your side, never.

With your orgasm already wrapped and concluded, he undergoes one of his own; not long after yours. A gush of fluid plants at your walls and floods past your cervix, felt at the inners of your womb. Sensitivity still contemporary, you find yourself mewling at the impact when it spills to the parts deepest inside of you — coddled in the warmth of his seed, filled to the brim. He's quite the artist himself, painting your insides one of the prettiest tints of white. You capture him in a hug, pressing your face into the open slant of his neck while he sinks in the position for a little while longer. He returns the embrace and massages at your breasts before wrapping you in a full hug, collapsing to your body.

He rearranges the stances of your bodies while in the embrace — him on the bottom, while you lay on his larger structure. Your head rests on his naked chest, tiny pants from your mouth while he is successful in catching after his own breaths; his hand in your hair, petting in comforting strokes while he presses repeated kisses to your scalp.

"How was that for you first time, love?" he asks once in breath again.

"Brutal," you said, "I liked it, though."

"Think that grenade powder had quite the effect on us," he said, "fuckin’ hell."

You nosed at his jaw, kissing at him, inhaling his scent of sweat and gunpowder — addictive. "Never knew my superior could be such a pervert just cause of a little powder."

"Not only the powder, doll," he said, "It's you."

[prncessrindou]

fast n’ furious // repost from wakashawty

♱ CONTENT WARNING . . fem!reader, street racer!wakasa, unprotected sex, jealousy, waka scares reader w his driving, car sex, marijuana use, creampie and use of pet names.

♱ WORD COUNT . . 2.5k

“You did the damn thing tonight, Waka.” A woman said as she grinned in Wakasa’s face.

The track was the place to be on Friday nights. It’s where every racer got to show off their rides and skills behind the wheel. The money was something to look forward to, but Wakasa didn’t thrive off that. What get his adrenaline pumping is knowing the dangers and consequences behind it.

“Hm, you think so?” Wakasa asked the grinning woman.

As usual, Wakasa stolen another victory with his superior driving skills, winning the money fair and square. The other challenger was mean muggin him from afar, though Wakasa was unaware of this or just didn’t give a shit.

“Is it just me or is he mean muggin you?” The woman asked. Wakasa shrugged, “he’ll be alright.” He responded nonchalantly as he leaned back against his car.

You suddenly and purposefully stormed out by Wakasa and the women. You knew that Wakasa was popular with the women before getting into a relationship with him, though you thought it would’ve stopped when you guys finally came out, but all it did was get one hundred times worse.

Wakasa grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asked into your ear, wrapping his arms around your waist and biting your earlobe softly. The other girls watched in disbelief and walked away. Finally, he thought.

“Home.” You muttered. “Oh? Well, how are you going to get there, hm?” He asked with a teasing grin on his face.

“I’m walking!” You pushed away from his chest and looked around, “where did your little girlfriend run off to? You should go after her!” You spat.

Wakasa chuckled, “she’s right in front of me.” He said, “seeing you get all jealous is so sexy, princess.” He grabs your waist and pulls you into his chest once more, “especially in this skirt.” He begins tugging on it, “you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

You rolled your eyes, “I ain’t jealous.” You wouldn’t consider yourself as a person with low self esteem, but you never thought someone like Wakasa Imaushi would be interested in you. When he first asked you out, you turned him down. Simply because you thought he was out of your league and Wakasa never had a woman to turn him down. Ever… He knew then and there that you were the one and he had to have you.

“But, you are totally jealous.” He responded, “and I think it’s hot.” He whispered into your ear, gripping on the plush of your ass. You hit his chest and he chuckled, “we’re in public, you perv!” You squealed.

“And? I’m just grabbing what’s mine.” Wakasa said as he placed a kiss on your nose.

You couldn’t help, but smile. Wakasa was good at making you smile, no matter the situation.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a kiss on his soft lips. “Hm, I think I deserve more than just one kiss, baby.” Wakasa grinned. You hummed, “you did win tonight so I guess you do deserve an reward.” You said, kissing his soft lips.

Suddenly a group of girls came out of nowhere, “Hey, Wakaaa!” They shouted loudly. “Are you coming to the kickback?” One girl out the group asked.

“When is it starting?” Wakasa asked, letting go of your waist and turning his attention to the girls.

“It’s going on now.” A girl responded, “we’re heading there now, you should come and… bring your lady friend.” The girl teased.

Oh, this fucking bitch.

“Sounds like it’ll be fun.. wanna swing by, baby?” Wakasa turns his attention towards you. You now have your arms folded, making your breast sit up high and his dick twitches upon seeing it.

He wants to put his face in them in front of these girls.

“Swing by your fucking self!” You walked off, bumping into him with as much force as you could and walking to the passenger side of his car, getting in and slamming the door as hard as you could.

The girls were speechless after seeing your behavior and honestly, you, yourself weren’t too happy with how you handled it. You wish you didn’t get so worked up because that’s what they want you to do so they can get a good laugh about how they got under your skin.

Wakasa waved his arms up in the air, “what gives, baby?” He mouthed. You flipped him off and he sighed deeply. Suddenly, he got in the car and started it; he pulled off on the girls, leaving them where they stood. The car ride was silent, you were looking out through the window as Wakasa drove down the dark highway. “Ya’ hungry?” He finally broke the silence.

You didn’t respond, you remained looking out the window. Wakasa leaned over and opened the glove department, taking out a already rolled up blunt. “So yer’ not gonna talk to me? Gonna give me the silent treatment?” He spoken up, putting the blunt to his mouth and lighting it up, inhaling it.

You remained silent, just shifting in your seat. Waka sighed, exhaling the smoke. He pressed his foot down on the gas, pushing eighty miles.

You noticed the car speed difference. You glanced over and saw that Wakasa was pushing eighty, but you still refused to say anything to him. You wasn’t about to give in and say anything to him about the speed, thinking he’d just slow down eventually, but that wasn’t the case at all.

The engine was roaring as Wakasa pushed the gas, one hand on the steering wheel while the other hand held onto the blunt, putting it up to his mouth here and there. Now he was pushing ninety, and you were getting a little nervous.

Wakasa didn’t say a word, eyes fixated on the road as the cars speed was getting higher. “Hey, Waka.. slow down a bit.” You finally spoke, looking at Wakasa.

He didn’t respond nor acknowledge you, he kept his eyes strictly on the road. Your heart was beating out of your chest as the speed reached ninety, getting closer and closer to one-hundred. “Damnit, Wakasa! Slow the fuck down now!” You screamed.

Wakasa abruptly pressed down on the breaks, the car screeching to a stop. Your hands went to the dashboard, breathing heavily as the car finally came to a stop. “The fuck is wrong with you?!” You yelled, voice wobbly from being scared half to death.

Wakasa starts to laugh, “my bad, baby.” He said, “jus’ wanted you to say some’ to me.”

“And you thought pulling some shit like that would do the trick? You’re really a jackass, Waka!” You spat, you were on the verge of tears because you really got frighten.

Don’t cry in front of him, don’t be a pussy!

Wakasa peeped your voice change, “hey, look at me..” he grabbed your attention by grabbing your chin, “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya’.” He said, “don’t cry.. you’re too pretty for that.” His thumb wiping away your tears.

“Whatever,” you sniffed, “just take me home, please.”

Wakasa doesn’t say anything else and just nods. He presses his foot on the gas gently and drives away. But, instead of taking you home like you wished, he takes you to a secluded spot. A spot you and him usually go to after his races.

“What are we doing here?” You questioned.

He backed the car in, placed it in park and turned off the engine. He adjusted his seat and leaned back in it, “you still mad at me?” He asked, his voice was low and deep.

“What do you think?” You questioned, with a bit of bite in your tone.

“C’mere.” Wakasa said. You gave it some thought and gave in, climbing over and sat in front of him on his lap.

His tatted hands were rubbing your exposed plush thighs. The way you were sitting, you could feel his cock underneath you. “Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t mean to scare you. Can you forgive me?” He asked, half lidded eyes staring at you.

You rolled your eyes and you shrugged. Wakasa chuckled lowly. “What’s funny?” You asked.

“Nothin’.. you’re just sexy as hell when you’re mad.” He replied, “and y’know what else?”

“I dunno.. what?”

He licked his lips, “I also get mad and jealous too.. like earlier before the race started, I saw you talking to a few dudes… and I saw how they were checking you out.” He squeezed your thighs, “it pissed me off.. I wanted to bend you over in front of those fuckers to let them know who you belong to.” Wakasa said.

“Why didn’t you if it pissed you off that much?” You questioned, using your finger to trace over his exposed tatted chest.

Wakasa chuckled, “You really would’ve let me fuck you in front of everybody?”

“Dunno, maybe.” You shrugged.

Wakasa lazily smiled, “don’t play with me, miss we’re in public.”

“Oh, shut up!” You chuckled. Wakasa chuckled lowly, continuing to rub your thighs. “But,” he begins to speak, “all jokes aside, I really am sorry.” He says.

You sigh deeply, “I guess I can forgive you.. you’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.” Wakasa grins. You lean down to place a kiss on his lips, not realizing what you were actually doing in the process.

“Mm, do that again.” Wakasa says lowly. Wakasa groaned as you leaned over again, but stops you midway and grabs your hips, moving you back and forth as you sat on his lap, grinding on his clothed cock.

You felt his cock harden as you grind on his lap, Waka groaned once more at the friction you were causing, “fuck.. if you keep that up, you might start something you can’t finish.” he says, squeezing your thighs with his hands.

“Who says I can’t finish it?” you questioned, smashing your lip against his for a passionate kiss, you could taste a bit of mint from the gum Wakasa had earlier. You pulled away from his lips, “I always finish what I start.”

Wakasa grinned and licked his lips, your confidence amusing to him, “then show me.” He said, “show daddy how you finish shit.”

“With pleasure.” You said, unzipping Wakasa pants and his hard cock sprung up from his jeans, the tip oozing out pre cum. You raised your hips up, lifting your skirt up as Wakasa helped pulled your panties to the side. “A thong, huh? Fuck..” he said, biting his lips at the sight of your bare cunt.

He rubbed his tip against your folds, gathering your slick. You moaned at the friction and allowed him to slip inside of your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, fuckkk—” you moaned, your walls burning at how his cock was stretching you out.

You didn’t move your hips at all, it was almost as if you were cockwarming him. “Wakaaa, you’re so— shit!” You sobbed, laying your head in the crook of his neck. The smell of his cologne hitting your nostrils; you placed wet kisses on his neck.

“Mm, is my pretty girl gonna ride me?” His hands on the globe of your ass, squeezing your plushy skin. You nodded your head profusely, rocking your hips back and forth on his dick. He was huge to say the less, his dick dragging against your walls with every movement you made.

Wakasa watched as you bounced on his length, feeling the buzz from the weed he smoked earlier. He’s digging his nails into your skin, trying so desperately to control himself from slamming you down on his dick and fucking you dumb. Your pussy is clenching and spasming around him, he’s getting dizzy from it.

“Fuck, princess.. yer’ pussy squeezing the shit outta me!” Wakasa murmured, throwing his head back against the seat as you rocked him. He looks so pretty like this, surrounded in bliss as pleasure took over him.

You lifted your hips up, his length shining with your slick and his tip remained the only thing in your wet folds as you began moving your hips in a different way.. a way that would drive him crazy.

W— A— K—, your hips spelled out the first three letters of his name and then the forth, A—.

“Fuckkkk—,” Wakasa realized what you were doing, “that’s so sexy, shit baby..” biting his bottom lip and letting you continue doing what you were doing. S— A—.. by the time you finished the last word, he slammed your hips down; his fat tip practically tasting your spongy core and his length pulsating against your warm walls. “Ohhh- my! Fuck, Wakaaa!” You squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifted your ass up and down his dick.

His fingers were digging into your skin, enough to leave marks on your skin for the next day. You felt yourself coming undone as he repeatedly pounded your core. “Shit, m’ cummin! M’ cumminnnn!” You sobbed, Wakasa then guided your hips to go back and forth, practically grinding your clit against him.

“Heh,” he chuckled, “make a mess then, baby.” He said as he smacked your ass.

That was all he needed to say for you to snap. You sobbed Wakasa’s name like it was a sacred prayer as your high came washing over you like it was a tidal wave.

You knew Waka was close from how his dick was twitching inside of you. He continued rocking your hips back and forth while squeezing his eyes shut, groaning in your ear as pleasure took over him, spraying your walls with his warm cum. “Mmh, fuckkk,” he growled, gripping and slapping your ass as he came down from his high.

You both were out of breath, completely spent. Wakasa chuckles, throwing his head back against the seat, “so when were you gonna tell me you could do that freaky shit?” He asked, his large hands rubbing your ass.

You giggled, snuggling your face into his chest, “it was the spur of the moment type thing.. I was just trying something.”

“Hm,” Wakasa hums, “spur of the moment, huh? Well, it was hot as fuck.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it so much.” You leaned up, placing a kiss on his soft lips. You felt Wakasa’s dick harden back up as it remained inside of you. You broke away from the kiss, “tell me you’re not serious..!?” you said, Wakasa was grinning from ear to ear, “well, what can I say? You still owe me my reward for winning tonight.”

You arched your brow, “what are you talking about?” You questioned, “we literally just fucked.”

“Yeahhh, I know we did,” Waka said, “but, you was just proving to me you can finish what you start… proving yourself and giving a reward are two different things, princess.”

You rolled your eyes and you couldn’t help, but smile. “What am I going to do with you, Wakasa Imaushi?”

Wakasa laughed, his laugh was warm and his smile had butterflies swarming around in your stomach. “I don’t know, baby.” He said, suddenly smashing his lips against yours. He began moving your hips again, squelching sounds filled the car as he did so. The friction causing you to squeal in his mouth.

He broke away from the kiss, grinning from how you reacted to him moving your hips, “but, I know what I’m going to do with you though.” He smiles before sealing your lips with a kiss.