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tteokdoroki · 7 months

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ೀ⋆OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES ━━ satoru gojo + breeding !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. satoru gojo + breeding. thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown… (5.2K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, royalty!au, enemies to lovers (?), forbidden romance, infidelity and cheating, spit kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breast play, agoraphilia, baby trapping, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, princess + fem!reader, lord!satoru gojo.

୨୧ — director’s note. woo happy spooky season my loves. welcome back to another tteokdoroki kinktober! im excited for you to see whats in store this year, hope you enjoy this fic to start off mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

you have thirty days to get married.

being from a small town, somewhere that’s not even on the map — you never expected your family name to carry much meaning aside from the one you carved out for yourself. let alone expect your name to come from royalty.

if you thought discovering how to be a teenager at sixteen was hard, then try discovering how to be a princess at sixteen on for size. everything you’ve ever done since finding out you were royalty has been for your family. you’ve kept your head down, out of the spotlight aside for the occasional appearance and charitable events. you’ve studied hard, double-majoring in international relations alongside political science and diplomacy.

you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly enough to feel ready to take the mantle of queen — especially with your grandmother planning to step down. all of your accomplishments have been leading up to this very moment — it’s so close that you can practically feel the weight of the crown on your head.

except there’s one itty, bitty, little problem.

you still have to get married in thirty days. otherwise, your family title will be poached from right beneath your nose.

satoru gojo (aka public enemy number one) is the nephew of a member of parliament who just so conveniently knows genovian law better than your grandmother does. since satoru came of age before you did, and he’s lived in genovia for longer than you have, and has some random distant relative in connection to the first king — the men of parliament have decided that he too is in line for the throne.

especially if you, the princess, do not marry before your coronation.

how ridiculous is that?

and not only is this satoru gojo an evil, conniving, crown-stealing bastard. but he’s charming, a silver tongue wrapped around each and every one of his words. charming, like a prince (blegh) he’s also stupidly attractive. with deep sapphire blue eyes that are gorgeous enough to make the crown jewellers weak in the knees and a smile so sweet it feels like a sugar rush whenever he looks at you. there’s something so unique about the frostiness to his soft white hair, matching his unfairly long lashes — the ones you know girls back home would kill for.

it angers you to know that you’d been dancing with your rival at your welcome ball, pains you to know that you’ll never forget his slender fingers splayed out against the small of your back to guide your every movement. if you had been back in college (and had a few litres of hard liquor in your system), perhaps gojo would have been the type of guy you’d have snuck into the dorms for a night of fun and an NDA in the morning — your secret signed away from the paparazzi’s keen eyes.

alas, these are very different circumstances and there’s a lot riding on you being sensible about the situation. yet, satoru proves himself to be a problem every chance that he gets — cornering you in closets with his breath hot against your ear, trapping you against the walls while the ghost of his touch feels like heaven against your skin… on the staircase too, insistent on reminding you of the passionate dance you once shared.

all while you’re set to marry the duke of another country so you can keep your fucking crown (pardon the language, your highness).

suguru geto would be the perfect king consort if you managed not to mess this up. he is warm, where satoru is a flip between disastrously hot and frustratingly cold. he balances you out, a mellowness to your clumsiness whilst understanding your need for a rushed proposal and wedding. raised a gentleman, suguru is mindful of you in every action he takes. he doesn’t stare too long but smiles when you think he’s not looking and he’s a wonder with your grandmother — the parents, too. his family gem (a serpentine, making you feel much like a snake) sits heavy on your ring finger, dazzling under camera flashes at your engagement dinner…. and he recognises duty and honour above anything else too.

if satoru is your enemy, then guilt is your friend. no matter what either of the men in your life do, you find yourself comparing their every move. when you’re with suguru your mind is away chasing the fairies, imagining the touch of another man who sets your heart alight in a cool blaze — like gasoline trickling through your veins waiting for its candle match. when you’re with satoru, all you can think about is how wrong this is. how geto doesn’t deserve this. but you’re an addict without a cure, and your drug is satoru gojo and you don’t see yourself ever quitting him.

you're in desperate need of a wake up call and a nicotine patch, the cocky yet lecherous air about him almost acting like a smog in your healthy and capable lungs. sometimes through the fog, you wonder if satoru knows how much he weighs heavy on your mind— though if he did, you’d never hear the end of it.

the current queen tells you not to worry about the white haired man that’s slowly freezing over the four chambers of your heart. you tell yourself that suguru geto is the only man that you need, one that could help you rule and create a beautiful and better kingdom for many years to come. geto tells you that he loves you, that he can’t wait to marry you in two or three weeks time and you respond with equal (yet, faux) excitement.

perhaps that’s why you find yourself sneaking away from this respectful, loving man to be with the one trying to ruin your life?

why are you following satoru gojo deep into the royal gardens, where the rose bushes are the only witness to your sick and twisted sins?

your back hits the jagged pattern of tree bark before your brain can catch up — causing a little wet whimper to bubble up on your pinky-peach tainted lips. the flutter of pain just beneath your skin only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by the sensation of satoru’s fingers traversing up the dips and curves of your body. he soothes you where it hurts the most, rough fingertips leaving bruising marks made with affection along your thighs and small of your back while he swallows your sweet gasps — licking into the wet cavern of your mouth to taste you.

“you’re not even…” his words spill into you, adding fuel to the spark of lust beginning to form a pit in your stomach. “you’re not even attracted to him,” he spews, surging forward like a storm knocking on your door to press his greedy spit slicked lips to yours. his tongue, syrupy and wet, intertwined with your own, filling you up and giving you something to suck on.

before you can even think of kissing your rival back, he retreats and takes his swollen lips with him — latching onto your neck and weaponizing his teeth against it. you gasp, your angel’s song tipping out into the rose garden while your fingers tangle in silver-moon locks and let him work against you, claiming you just below the neckline of your dress where no one will be able to see.

except for maybe your fiancé and only god knows how you’ll be able to explain the marks to him tonight. ‘oh you know me, suguru. i’m way too clumsy for my own good.’ you’ll say, all while thinking about how the man after your crown blew your back out at your engagement party.

you know why satoru’s acting such a fool — taking risks that he wouldn’t normally. the dress you’re wearing, the colour of his eyes, drives him fucking insane. you can’t say that you didn’t ask for this, like it wasn’t on purpose.

“can’t fucking stand you,” gojo groans against your skin, nose pressed to your collarbone as he inhales the candied notes of your perfume. “been giving me those angel eyes all day. knowing that i can’t take my fucking eyes off of you when you wear that colour, princess.”

he’s insufferable, but here you find yourself at the mercy of his touch — offering up your body to satoru gojo like a sacrificial lamb as your back arches away from the tree and presses your chest into his eager strawberry tongue. it leaves a slimy track over your neck and dips between the cleavage of your dress while gojo makes his descent down to hell — tasting the shimmering crystals of salt on your skin.

satoru gojo belongs on his knees.

kneeling before you with the royal blue tule of your dress between his shaking hands. you can tell he’s trying not to rip it off of you. born to worship you. mirth weighs down his lashes and desire dances between the navy blue flecks in his sapphire eyes — he needs you so bad it might kill him. from this position he can practically smell how turned on you are, he’d recognise the mouth-watering aroma of your drooling cunt anywhere, slick gathering in the crotch of your barely there panties.

there’s a depraved, royal treasure hidden between the string of fabric that runs between your juicy pussy lips — swollen and waiting to be devoured by your enemy. not that you’d ever admit that to him. “i think you should be referring to me as your queen.” you manage between ragged breaths, satoru eyeing the way your chest heaves from beneath the bust of your dress.

instead of responding, his head unceremoniously dips beneath your skirts and he drags a thigh over the width of his broad shoulders. “watch your mouth,” the lord purrs salaciously as he licks up your inner thigh, the vibrations shooting straight to your swollen clit. “let’s remind you of who’s really in charge.” the both of you feel it, the aching throb of your pussy against gojo’s lips as he wedges his face right between your thighs. you can’t help but grind against him in wanton, desperate to be filled up with fingers, tongue whatever your sworn enemy has to offer up to the crown.

but your warmth and wetness does nothing to coax satoru into tongue fucking his way past your clenching, creaming entrance. rather, he draws his head back just a touch and rubs at your cunt like he loves you, dips his fingers just into your quivering hole and then — smack !

juices run down satoru’s arms as if he’s taken a bite into the fruit that tempted eve while he laughs in awe of just how fucking sloppy you are between your thighs. the spank to your puffy folds makes you jolt in surprise, causing you to scratch your back against the jagged tree bark.

“gojo!” you squeak in warning as your thighs close around his veiny hand.

he sticks his tongue into his cheek, smirking in amusement before prying your shaky legs apart. “that’s not quite right, try again for me, princess...” gojo repeats the process, running between your slick folds and spanking you against them when you fail to respond. “you know my name, baby. c’mon it’s easy, i’ll even say it with you. d…d…”

you refuse to stoop so low, to let demeaning words escape from underneath your tongue but not having satoru’s mouth on you is like torture — just his breath against your cunt is akin to dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. you know what that pleasure is like, you crave it and you’re not above begging no matter how royal you may be.

“f-fuck, daddy!” you whinge defiantly, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against the tree. satoru wastes no more time then, slotting his hot mouth against the entire length of your silken slit. the first thing he does is moan, the vibrations shooting twinges of ecstasy from your clit through the rest of your body and even reaching your head — making the world around you spin.

the tip of his tongue teases its way past your entrance, squirming around to brush up against pleasure spots your little fingers can’t even reach. “that’s right princess, knew you could do it. you’re not just some stuck up little girl.” the white haired lord praises, drawing back from your quivering hole — connected to you by a string of your glistening slick.

“shut up, just… put your mouth to good use.” you grunt, your hips canterint down onto gojo’s face to keep him quiet. your fingers take root in his silvery moon locks, dragging the man and his pink tongue onto your sex once more. gojo takes the hint, making your cute little clit his next victim as he rolls it between perfect rows of pearly whites and sends your eyes into the dark depths of your skull.

the sinful and salacious sensation provides a welcomed distraction from your responsibilities as the crown princess. if your grandmother could see you now, you know that all she’d feel is disappointment— especially if she knew her granddaughter was fucking the biggest threat to the crown. and suguru, your poor fiancé — he was probably stuck mingling with guests he didn’t even know, looking for your eyes in the crowd like he always did.

shame should be burning through your veins, not the white hot trickle of desire that you’re filled with as satoru slurps your juices from between your fat pussy lips. the needy groans he lets out against you inch down your spine, drown you in stormy waves of lust and you find yourself addicted to the bob of gojo’s head from underneath your tule skirts. you’re just so wet, pouring the royal family’s riches, liquid gold straight into the man’s greedy mouth as he drinks you in.

your nectar glazes his cheeks and chin in a devilish shine, brighter than the crown set to sit atop your head — his mouth barely parts from your ravaged and swollen romping as if he’s married to eating you out, tongue licking you up and down before your juices even have a chance to drip to the ground. you can only imagine what would happen if the press found out, your life would be over and so would satoru’s. but you don’t care, because every second that gojo spends between your thighs dragging you to orgasm is worth it. every single time.

he grips at your ass, pulling you back onto his tongue as it flickers in and out of you. the whole ordeal is disgusting and delightful and you never want it to end. pleasure mounts high within you, evident in the shakiness of your gripes and grouses, lust laden in its tune.

“s-satoru…satoru. i’m gonna… g’na fuckin’ cum!” a high pitch squeal tears in your throat like music to gojo’s ears — now working relentlessly to get you off just like you need. he doesn’t care if he’s suffocating, at least he’ll die a happy man between the thighs of a princess.

he chuckles against your sex. “such a dirty mouth for such a proper lady.” the lord says as if he’s a scolding you.

but you can barely hear him, for static rings in your ears as your body loses the war to your orgasm. your release bubbles up on his tongue like the fresh pop of champagne, while your brain fizzles and clears itself of all logical thought. guilt is replaced by bouts of lust, making you realise that this cycle of avoiding and fucking gojo will never end. you’re too addicted to him and he’s too obsessed with you, as long as things remain that way — sex with him will always be on the agenda.

you can’t promise yourself, your grandmother or suguru that this will be the last time.

dopamine dances across gojo’s brain as he drinks in the tangy-honey flavour of your release, letting it splatter against his puffy lips as they encircle your clit to prolong your orgasm. you gush as if you’re a rushing erotic river, spilling into satoru’s earnest mouth while he licks you clean with wanton.

“look at that… oh look at you. cumming for me already.”

“f-fuck you.”

“fuck me?” he smirks, making your gut lurch with wanton. “fuck you. i’m the one that’s working on it, princess.” satoru slowly rises to his feet, licking a nasty spit-slicked trail from your hole to the cleavage peeking out from underneath your dress. he doesn’t even stand to his full height, his large frame towering over you as he yanks down the front of your dress to lick and suck and play with your breasts until you can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.

his perfect teeth graze a pert nipple which makes you gasp and cry, loosely looping your arms around satoru’s neck while his ravaging mouth works your sensitive breasts, even going as far to swipe his tongue over the spot where each one meets your ribcage. he doesn’t leave any marks, you’re not his to keep. large and rough hands replace the warmth of his mouth on you to toy with your mounds of flesh — pinching and pulling as satoru kisses you senseless. you groan at the taste of your slick on his tongue and salt of your skin as well, tugging him closer so that there’s no space between your heated bodies.

“don’t cry,” satoru comments softly against your swollen, cherry-bitten lips — cupping your face between his fingers. blinking slowly, you allow your frenzied brain the chance to catch up to reality and you don’t realise the tears that wet your cheeks until he points them out. why are you even crying? “you’re too pretty for that.” his compliments do nothing to clear the lustful, confused fog settling over your mind like a dark cloud so you follow your body’s instincts and reach for the metal clasp on his belt.

nimble fingers make their way down the front of gojo’s dress pants and he hisses at the quick pumps of his perfectly hard cock before you’re dragging up your skirts and guiding him towards your entrance. “baby, wait—“

you push his pants down enough to let his erection spring free, pulsing with need and standing at full mast against the cotton blouse covering his tummy. “i need you.” you sniff, dropping your panties to your ankles. “please.”

the thing about sex with satoru is that it never feels like just sex. he tenderly hikes the meat of your thigh over his slender hips, lets his dribbly, sticky cockhead twitch forward and ease past the salaciously slick barriers of your empty hole, and presses your bodies so close together that you think you might forget how to breathe. satoru makes love to you each and every time — and it’s terrible.

like eating too much sugar or indulging in a bad smoking habit. you’re not supposed to be in love with him and the way he fucks up into you, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis even with all of the fabric in the way. “don’t cry for him, f-fuck,” the both of you look down, your pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy swallowing his lengthy shaft whole — catching on the ridges of each blue vein spiralling around him. “cry for me, princess. i’m the one that’s ruining you.”

with his forehead pressed to yours, silver hair matted down by the line of perspiration against it — satoru braces a hand against the tree above your head and sets stream to his passionate thrusts, fluid like water under a bridge. it’s not fair, how wrong this is and how good it feels to have gojo lick over the parts of you he would bite down on if you were his. your pulse point, your neck, the spot just under your ear that’s way too sensitive for your own good. it should be suguru fucking you like this, your fiancé.

yet, there’s no room for self-loathing and despair between the rough tree and satoru gojo above you. nothing aside for the thick curtain of lust that protects you from prying eyes in the rose garden, floral scents twisting with the raw, aphrodisiac-like smell of sex and sweat while he pounds away at your swollen pussy, grinding his cock wetly against the sweet spots dotted along your ribbed walls.

“i should put a baby in you,” he says suddenly, just barely audible over the wet pap, pap, pap of your sexes working together. embarrassment burns bright under the surface of your cheeks because you’re that wet and it’s that loud, the remainders of your previous orgasm making it easier for satoru’s cock to glide in and out of you. “leave you with a little gift. a present — reminder of our time together, yeah?” he knows that he’s not making any sense, leaving his confession behind sex and sultry words. he would never admit to how much he loves you, he’s already ruined you enough. he’s already taken more than enough from you too. “i’ll get to the crown either fuckin’ way.”

satoru talks with his dick and you fucking like it, squeezing the damn daylights out of him. he can barely pull back with you locked down on like that, his seedy tip snug between your ruined folds — clinging into him by viscous ropes of your last orgasm and freshly formed globs of his white hot precum. “you like that, don’t you princess?” he coos down to you condescendingly, picking up the pace of his hips as he rams into you mercilessly. the tree shakes from the force, sprinkling pretty and innocent petals over you both. “you wanna make me a daddy? my queen? give me a little prince or princess.”

“fuck yes, satoru!” nodding your head with wanton, you press yourself into his neck and squeeze him close by the ass cheeks so the only place your lover can go is deeper. you want to be able to feel him in your guts, hot in your womb like an iron rod — anything to forget the trickle of betrayal filling you up like a glass of wine. “i want it, i want it…i want—“

you cut yourself of with an abrasive sob, as you moan your agreements. i want you. you feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drowned out by the slippery sounds of sex and creaking tree trunk. you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you’ve wanted satoru gojo.

but he’s the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“i know you do, i know,” you can feel gojo move to slobber over your chest, pacifying his whistle tone whimpers with your nipples bouncing in his mouth. he looks up at you with vacant cerulean eyes that shimmer like the skies above, the crude mix of your arousals slinging at the point at which your bodies join. “tell me how much you love daddy’s cock, princess.”

he goads because he craves your attention. satoru can feel you slipping from between his fingers, the guilt that rolls off of you in waves as he languidly rams into your cunt. he’s asking a lot of someone who’s too stimulated, too fucked out to speak — your tongue barely staying in your mouth.

“sato—!”

“c’mon… answer me, fuck, there we go.”

that’s when he hikes you up in his arms, lifting you a little to feverishly thrust up into you — dragging you closer to another high. your nails dig deep into his taut ass, nudging his dick against your g-spot. suguru would never be this rough with you, would never want to fuck you so good that the pleasure hurts.

shaking your head, your eyes glisten but the denial doesn’t stop small streams of arousal from squirting out and webbing against gojo’s soft pubes. “i-i can’t! i don’t—“ satoru bites down on your nipple, hard, cutting through your train of blurry thought. “i love…h-him!”

you love your fiancé, but you both know that’s a lie.

“yeah, sure you do. that’s why your pussy’s huggin’ my cock so tight. you don’t wanna let me go, baby.” even while he’s a mess for you, your rival still finds it in him to be such an egotistical prick. you can’t even tell him that he’s wrong, because you never ever want to be without satoru, without this immensely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy fluttering through your entire body. it’s all too much, he’s too much, stretching you wide and filling you with the love (and cum) you should be getting from suguru.

thunder cracks above your head, lightning flashes through the trees as if the higher power up above is bearing witness — growing distraught at your sins. it’s not long before the heavens open up on you both and your sweaty, sex slicked bodies are doused in rain. but it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop satoru from dragging down your bottom lip to lovingly spit into your mouth.

he kisses you as if it’s not enough, rocking his hips into you so he can bully your insides and mark them with his pre. “bet he’s lookin’ for you right now, hm? his precious wife to be…drenched in my cum ‘n drenched in the rain.” satoru heaves, letting the patter of the rain drown out the sound of his tightening balls slapping against your ass. “bet he wishes he could fuck you like i do.”

you can’t tell if it’s the tears of guilt and longing or the rain that blurs your vision. “h-he doesn’t get to!” you cry like a dirty porn-star, hardly becoming of a soon to be queen. “o-only you!”

“only me, hm? i’m flattered.” he seems elated, hiding his flushed face and happy smile in the junction between your neck and shoulder. his wet hair tickles your skin. “too bad he doesn’t know his princess comes used and abused between her pretty legs, huh?”

the rain is cold against your skin, seeping through your clothes, ruining your makeup — but the way satoru licks up your hot streaky tears and the droplets of water against your skin as if to sooth you… the way he does it fills you with warmth.

your limbs become heavy from your water-logged clothes and exhaustion, your whole body slumped against satoru’s strength but you still manage to rake your nails down his back as if you can’t be any closer. gojo doesn’t let your hips run from his either. his mind races, stuck on the idea of asking you to run away with him because he can’t just let you go back to geto. not again.

he can’t let you marry someone you’re not in love with.

it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay, even when you wrap your legs around him and have him plug up your tiny little hole with sticky white. he sees it in your eyes how much you care for him, even through the rain. he’s ruining you, from the inside out, knocking the crown from your head and he hates it.

“daddy loves this pussy,” he wishes for the moment to last forever, but you’re already so close — crying from every hole, suffocating his throbbing cock. neither of you can hold back. “he loves you. i love you.”

the confession nearly tears your world in two — but it’s all you need to hear before everything comes crashing down on you. “i-i love you!” you tell him, wailing the words loud and proud as you release on him for a second time, gushing obscene amounts against gojo’s tummy smooshed up on your clit. “sato—! satoru! cum with me, cum inside me!” scratching down his back and screwing your eyes shut, you tilt your head up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss.

the taste of salt on your cupid’s bow throws gojo over the edge too — his cockhead pours viscous white directly into your womb. “fuuuck, you’re so good princess…” and even though you know you should tell him to pull out, you don’t want him too. you want his baby, want his cum, want him always. even if that’s greedy of you.“fuckin’ take it…take all of me. all of that cum’s for you.” he slurs, beyond brainless.

lewd clapping noises echo between your bodies like the thunder up above as satoru fucks you through the rest of your highs, nose nudging your cheeks tenderly to soothe your tears. moaning, and crying against one another’s swollen lip. when his slow grinds come to a stop and your breathing recovers, the white haired lord gently sets you back in the ground — tenderly helping you to fix your drenched clothes back into place.

your thighs are completely bruised and his back is completely torn up. the last marks you’ll ever leave with each other.

“so about—“

“we… we can’t do this anymore, satoru.” you say almost immediately, shaky as if you’re in the verge of panic.

for the first time since you started doing this, sneaking off with one another, gojo notices the glint on your ring finger. and you feel the very same weight of that ring.

he shrugs you off, pulling up his pants and smirking. “that’s what you said last time—

“no satoru, i mean it now. we can’t.” it’s like you’ve come to your senses, realised the gravity of it all and what’s at stake. thirty days to get married, thirty days to become queen. “i’m going to become queen, your queen, in a matter of weeks and to do that i need to be married to him. i can’t mess this up. we have to stop.”

“but you don’t even want him,” he growls like a petulant child, roaring above the rain that cascades down on you both. “you want me. i want you. who gives a fuck about anything else?”

“duty gives a fuck! i have to marry him!”

throwing his hands up in defeat, satoru steps towards you, loud and intimidating, and you step back towards the tree. “you can’t even say his fucking name.”

“his name is suguru geto and i will marry him because you forced me to.” you spit, going toe to toe with him — chest heaving but tight from your heart break. “if you and your stupid higher ups had just stayed out my way. maybe there could have been a chance for us. but they didn’t and here we are and duty freaking calls, gojo.”

you storm off shortly after, be before he can see you cry again (for real this time). from his place hidden in the royal gardens, gojo watches sullenly as you approach your grandmother and fiancé — the elder queen disappointed in your current state and suguru clearly worried that the rain might make you catch a cold.

the perfect alibi to cover up the fact that you’d just fucked satoru gojo.

but the entire time, you never look back.

you don’t even look at gojo — and that’s how he knows you meant it. you always look back, always look for him in the crowd.

the knowledge hits him like a strike of lightning. he’s royally fucked up — you’re marrying for the crown, all because of him. and there’s no room for loving when you’ve got the weight of the nation on your shoulders.

#୨୧ KINKTOBER 23’#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #gojo thirst #jjk thirsts #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

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messylustt · 7 months

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LITTLE RED ( nsfw ) — miguel o’hara + reader: an innocent walk in the woods to your grandmother’s, with your red hood and basket turns a little different than expected.

marks intended age gap. non con/dub con. dark!miggy. red riding hood au. kinda monster kink. primal kink. size kink wc 2.5k.

the whole town had heard the stories. a monster who lived in the woods. woods that parents used to let their kids frolic in, now turned into a desolate area everyone steered clear of. there were the occasional hunters who brought back food for their families, but they never travelled too far past the less denser trees. a horror story. that’s what it was. one kids told others to freak them out in the dark. the beast with claws, fangs, and blood red eyes. he ate anyone who dared venture too far. at least that’s the story the townspeople were going with.

“oh please, there’s no such thing as that beast.” your mother says as she tucks your hair into your hood. your hands clutch a basket, filled with breads and pastries that you insisted on baking yourself. “now, head straight to grandmothers cottage. no dawdling.” she speaks sternly, knowing how easy your attention can sway. you nod, adjusting the red hood around yourself. your grandmother was sick. ill to the point of staying bedridden. she hadn’t wanted to die in this dirty town, as she had put it. she wanted to die peacefully, alone in the woods. your mother was against it, but ever since you were young every argument had always been won by your grandmother.

you make your way out the door, as your mother calls behind you ‘to be back before the sun sets’. you raise your hand to acknowledge her words as you continue on to the edge of the woods. you could hear the distant birds chirping, the woods looking far less scary than normally portrayed. the way the sun gleamed through the gaps between the trees was actually rather beautiful. with a growing smile you skipped over a small running lake, the wood’s animals darting away from your feet.

you made it through the first section of woods with ease, your lips pressed together in a hum. but the moment you edged into the shadier parts of the bush and shrub the singing birds had fallen silent. your own soft tune slowed too, as you gazed around. most hunters stopped here, where the denser trees casted heavier shadows. grandmothers cottage shouldn’t be far. she had chosen a spot in the midst of the forest, as far in as she could make it, without being too close to the fast rushing lake.

you switched hands, holding the basket as your feet softly slipped past large twigs, the grass now a dark shade as the sun became blocked by the heavy leaves. you spared a look up, seeing less animals scurrying about in the trees, and even less on the forest floor. and that’s when you hear it. the faint snap of a branch that has you spinning on your heels. but the moment you turn you’re pleasantly surprised to see a small patch of sunlight, almost acting like a spotlight on bundles of flowers.

the gorgeous colours made your feet move, crouching down as you brushed your hand over the different petals, the worry from the snap gone entirely. “she’d love some…” you speak to yourself, thinking of your grandmother. along with the bread, some flowers would do nicely. a pretty touch. don’t dawdle. you could hear your mothers voice. “it won’t take long.” you say softly, as you fully kneel and begin to pick some of the flowers. “what brings you here, little girl?” a low voice has you pausing, hand midway from picking a tulip. you swiftly turn on your knees and gaze up.

there, standing before you is a man. no…your eyes dart down to his flexing hands. claws. you shift your gaze back up to his slightly shadowed face. and as he takes a step closer to you your breathing gets caught. fangs and red eyes. you stare at him, your body seemingly frozen. “well?” he asks, his tongue moving to run along his lower lip as he stares down at you. you rush to a stance, quickly looking around for your basket. “you make these yourself?” he speaks again, and you shift your gaze back to him to see him holding up your basket.

you’re hesitant to grab it off him, hesitant to even speak. “you’re a quiet thing, aren’t you?” his tone has shifted a fraction. his view of you originally being ‘intruder’, now instead…something else. something…small. something that smells so so sweet. “can you…can you give that back please?” your voice is so soft. almost like a caress to him. this only makes him tighten his hold on your basket. he keeps his eyes on you as he grabs out one of your pastries. he takes a bite as you hold back your protest. “mm.” he hums, still keeping those red eyes on you. “so…sweet…delicious.” he licks the small crumbs off his lower lip, giving you another view of his fangs. his eyes haven’t strayed from you. and the way he stated those words of praise. you had an uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t praising the food. you carefully reach over, stepping closer to take the basket off him. “those aren’t for you.”

he watches as you near, letting you take the basket. he then leans down to your height, making your body stiffen. “what a shame.” his hand moves up to brush away a strand of hair, before his claw flips your hood down. he drags that same claw over you cheek, just feeling your skin. “maybe i’ll just have to try something else.” at first you don’t catch the look of hunger in his eyes, before his hand is drawing you closer by your neck. with wide eyes, you try and struggle away from him. “no, please, you don’t have to eat me. i’m…i won’t taste very good.” you try and persuade him, thinking him licking his fangs is a sign that he wants to kill you.

but he just chuckles, slipping that hand at the back of your neck, down your spine, making you straighten. his claws slip past your dress and coat, softly scratching at your back as he draws you closer to his large frame. “eat you?” he practically coos. “why would i eat you?” he’s still stroking the skin of your cheek, before he tilts your chin further up. “because…because you’re a…monster.” you tilt your head further back to get away from his grip, but he’s then picking you up, hiking your skirt along your thighs as you gasp and instinctively grab onto his shoulders.

“now that’s a little rude. you don’t even know me.” he says, claws nearly sinking into your legs, keeping you straddled around him as you do your best to try and struggle free. “i know of you. the beast in the woods. the one who eats those who trespass.” you breath out, gripping the material of his shirt tighter as you wriggle. his grip on you only harshens at your movements, as he manhandles you over his shoulder. you screech, your hits on his back doing nothing. with the fast flip, and the state that your dress was already in, your panties are now on display. cute, innocent panties that have easily captured the attention of the monster.

he tilts his head as he stares at your covered pussy, his mouth already salivating. “maybe i do eat those who venture too far into the woods.” he plays along with your fear, as his hand pushes your dress even farther over your ass. “no—“ but your words cut short when you feel two claws run right down the middle of your panties. your hips shift as you bite your lower lip harshly. “please…” your anger has dissipated, leaving you with only your fear. “begging already?” he coos, sticking his two claws right against where your entrance is. he can see the stain beginning to form. you’re soaked, and the sight makes his grip on you tighten.

he suddenly flips you back around, manhandling you onto the ground, where the shadows create a little nook. his hands are fast as he rips the cotton of your panties. “what are you—“ you try but choke on your words the minute the monster slips two of his fingers inside you. your legs shake as you push up on your elbows. the sound of his fingers going in and out of you is embarrassing. you grab at his wrist, your legs already shaking as you try not to succumb to the immediate pleasure you had begun to feel.

“n-no.” you breathe. “yes.” he breathes back, curling his fingers inside you. any further words are choked, as your lips part in a pathetic whimper. “aw.” he coos, now holding you down with his other hand on your stomach. “stop…no—god.” your pleas fall on deaf ears. “yeah…you’ll do nicely.” he hums, continuing to fuck you with his long fingers. too long, in your opinion. his claws scrap against your already sensitive insides, as you squirm on the ground.

your cheeks and nose are flushed, your mismatched breath almost egging him on. “stop squirming or maybe i will have to eat you.” those words have you pausing, fists clenching around the grass. “please…” you gulp out, stomach contracting. but all the beast does is finger you harder, pushing at your thighs so he can get a good look at what a mess he’s already made of you. and just as you’re about to cum, your legs shaking, he pulls away. this fact seems to make you squirm again, as he pushes you completely onto the ground, before fully hiking your dress up and over your breasts.

“i’m only inspecting you, sweetheart. not to give you pleasure. so, stay. still.” he speaks as his hands grab at your breasts, beginning to squeeze and fondle them as he pleases. he bounces them, while pinching your nipples, as you try to gulp down any arousal you still feel. “you’re a very pretty girl, aren’t you little red?” he hums, glancing at the red hood surrounding you on the ground. “tell me, why aren’t you some hunter looking to kill tiny animals?” he hums out as he keeps playing with your breasts, pushing them together, before circling your nipples.

through hard breathes you manage “i’m going to see my…my grandmother.” the monster grins. “with these breads? how sweet of you.” he coos, as he nudged your legs apart again, flicking at your clit experimentally, as he keeps playing with your tits. “i don’t usually get little things wandering into my forest. and certainly not this far in.” he then catches your gaze as he leans towards you. “now be a good girl f’me, and flip over.” he whispers, so close to your lips. after your pause he continues. “eating you is still an option. i haven’t had something delicious in a whi—“

but he’s cut off as you quickly turn around on the ground, his grip on your hips keeping them raised, as he grins. “that’s it…” you’re now pressed up against the grass, your ass stuck out for him as he taps at your pussy, making you jolt a fraction. “you’re rather tiny…” his tone gives away that he likes this fact, his fingers spreading your pussy lips as you then feel something hard pressed against your clit. you can’t see him, but can instantly tell what he’s about to do. you grip the grass again, looking for stability in this unstable situation.

from the taps of his cock against your pussy you can feel how weighted it is. the hint at his size making your fear accelerate. he then begins to push the head of his cock into your entrance making a small cry leave you. and once he begins to rut into you relentlessly, your body moving along the ground at his harsh thrusts, your mind turns dizzy. your lips parting as you claw at the grass, ripping out strands. “are you drooling, sweetheart?” he hums. “open your mouth wider, let me see.” he gazes at your face, pushed up against the ground, as he fucks you from behind.

you slowly open your mouth, as his fingers slip down and drag at the flesh of your inside bottom lip. “just as soaked as your cunt is, huh?” he then begins to play with your tongue, coating your spit over his claws and fingers. “making such a mess.” he coos, as his balls slap against your clit making a small whimper fall past his fingers. his free hand grips your hair, pulling your head slightly back as his cock goes deeper, making you cry out, drooling even more over his fingers. “how bout this…” he says, a little breathless from how well your hole is taking him. “your grandma can have your breads and pastries.” he glances at the basket, haphazardly thrown to the side. “and i can have you.”

he sticks his fingers further into your mouth until you’re practically gagging, your tits bouncing as he thrusts his hips into you. “that sounds fair doesn’t it?” he’s nodding, licking at his lower lip as he murmurs “dios…” you can hear his breathing change, showing he’s getting close. as his cock twitches inside you, he pulls out, bringing you around to kneeling by the grip of his fingers in your mouth. he holds your mouth wide open as he rests his cock on your tongue. “give it a lick, little red.” he’s so close. with drool coating your lower lip in a shimmer, and his fingers hooked inside, you drag your tongue over the tip of his cock, as his hips shudder, finally spilling down your throat.

he makes a mess of your mouth, your only solution being to swallow. you gulp down as much as you can, though some spill out due to the unwavering grip of his fingers in your mouth. he stares down at you, a new emotion behind his eyes, that says more than a passing hunger. he grabs your chin and leans down to lick the remaining mix of cum and drool off your lips. your mind is reeling, this whole situation feeling like a fever dream.

“i’m sure your grandmother is worried about you.” he hums, running his thumb over your chin and swollen lips. “you should get going. and don’t forget the pretty flowers.” his words are far too sinister to make you stand with a skip in your step. as he soothes your dirty dress down and fixes your hood, his cock away as if nothing had happened. he hands you back your basket, your shaky hands gripping it. “now run along, little girl. and please do remember to visit your poor, sick grandmother more often.”

it was a demand. not a suggestion.

4K notes · View notes

agnesafterhours · 8 months

Text

trophy | lee know. smut.

As team captain, your boyfriend has his priorities straight. Minho doesn't take neither his training nor role lightly, and, sometimes, you like to tap into this inflexible side of his. (3.7k words)

CONTENT: smut, dom!minho but he's more persuasive than physically controlling, brat!reader, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, slight degradation kink. minors and empty blogs do not interact.

You shouldn't get under Minho's skin when he's training, you know that. The hurried whispers of his teammates leaving the field after matches told you this much. But still, it feels a bit unfair of him to make you sit here, after a whole game, having to watch as he leads his team through a “just, like, thirty minutes?” practice. Although annoyed, you understand why he's so hung up on practicing as much as possible—winning this game meant going to the finals, after all. You knew how much this meant to Minho, so you tried your best to be patient whilst sitting on the bleachers.

Even though you're in a bit of a hurry to get him home, watching Minho play earlier makes it hard to deny that the field is his element, leading the team is his calling. You were completely stunned as you watched your boyfriend play—this being the first game of his you saw which you were actually rooting for his team. It was a bit of a rascal when the team captain introduced the cheerleader of their rivalling team as his girlfriend, but his mates eventually got over it.

Your relationship with Minho was fun. You were together for a couple months and the freshness and excitement of it all never failed to make your skin tingle each time he looked at you in a certain way. Like the look he's giving you right now—chin up, eyes down, head slightly tilted.

“I told you to wait.” His uniform's shoulder pads make him look even more intimidating, the bright spotlights behind him turning the white material almost blinding—his shadow casting on you.

“I have been waiting! It's been like an hour, Min! And you said you'd take thirty minutes…” You hope a slight pout would help your case and soften his heart, but he simply turns his focus to the field for a moment, before looking back at you. Minho takes a few steps closer.

“What’re you so eager to go home for?” He asks, voice a bit quieter. There's no need to speak this lowly when he's so close, especially when his teammates are so far away and everyone else has gone home by now—but you'll take advantage of whatever you can get from him. Even if it's just the feeling of his eyes on you.

You look away, arms crossing under your chest as he smirks.

“What? Cat got your tongue so early on, baby? Speak up.”

“I'll tell you when we get in the car.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I don't wanna wait ‘til we get in the car.”

“Well, then maybe you should hurry.” You turn around, eyes lingering on him for a moment before you make your way to the parking lot.

Your nerves make you jump a little when you hear Minho shout to his team they're wrapping up the practice—the parking lot getting darker and darker with the distance you put between yourself and the field's spotlights, a cool breeze awakening shivers up your arms as the night hugged you tighter and tighter. You (and the butterflies on your stomach) wouldn't settle until you felt Minho's presence. But you don't wait for him to catch up to you. You don't look back.

The few minutes you sit in the car feel like hours, your phone's screen lighting up with a notification from your boyfriend finally seizing the constant checkups of your hair and gloss.

min🖤: locker room

You: why im waiting for u in the car

min🖤: locker room:) im waiting

You: ive been waiting for longer what if i just dont go

You slam the car door shut, making a bee line to his location.

min🖤: if you dont come you wont get what you want when we get home

You: whatever

The building's back door shuts loudly behind you.

min🖤: if you dont come ur gonna have made me end practice for nothing

You: idc ur already mad anyway

You reach the locker room and as soon as your hand turns the door handle, you feel two hands on your hips pressing your back to the cold metal.

Minho's tongue is in your mouth before you can even notice he kissed you, the cold air seeping through the open windows contrasting his warm palms on your skin. You're covered in shivers as he controls the kiss—one palm running up your chest to your neck until he reaches the back of your head, tilting it as he pleases.

“Not mad enough to use numbing cream on you.” The bottle sits menacingly on the wooden bench. He spreads your legs with his thigh, pressing against your core. “So don't push me.”

You're completely helpless, hands grabbing fistfuls of his uniform as he lightly pulls the hair on your nape every now and again—his mouth latching desperately onto yours. The room is dark, the campus so empty it almost feels like you're in a different dimension, completely by yourselves. Air fills your lungs for the first time in a while—you didn't realize you were that breathless until gasps fill the room as he kisses your neck.

“I didn't even do anything.” He leaves a harsh bite at your words, sucking on the bruise a moment after. “Ah- I just wanted to congratulate you for winning-”

“If you wanted to congratulate me”, his voice drips with sarcasm, “you would've sat there and wait for me to finish practice.” Minho hastily pulls the front of your tank top above your chest, not bothering to fully strip you out of it before his hand reaches under your bra, massaging your breast. “You would've been patient until I had the time to bring my pretty little trophy home, hm?”

Air hitches in your throat when he rips your bra open, the cloth falling to the floor. You struggle through heavy breathing to talk back as he licks his thumb and brings it to your nipple. “I'm not just some trophy.”

“You're not? What are you, then?” His lips leave your neck so he can look you in the eye, finally allowing to rest for a bit. You don't like the distance.

You lean your head forward, chasing his smirking lips as he pushes you back against the lockers—the shuffling metal sounds strident in the dead quiet. Minho tilts his head back a bit, rejecting your kiss. “You didn't answer me.”

“Because I wanna fucking kiss you!” You whine through gritted teeth, leaning towards him one more time.

The grip he has on your hair stops you once again, but this time, he gets so close his lips touch yours when he whispers. “Tell me what you are, baby. ‘Cause sometimes you act like you're just a desperate little hole for me to fill."

Minho's dilated pupils stare right into your soul. Your eyes shake but you don't look away. “I'm your fucking girlfriend. It's not my fault you're not good enough of a fuck that I'm never satisfied.”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth.

You see, Minho wasn't the type to growl his demands and manhandle you into whatever position he wants—he always tries reasoning with you. He lets you know what it is he would like to do, and if you don't comply, he'd show you why that was the best option for you in the first place. Minho gets off on proving he knows better, showing how he knows what's best for you.

He takes a small step back, a click of his tongue letting you know his disappointment. “So I don't fuck you right? Okay.”

“I just- I didn't mean-”

“No, you're right, you're right. That's why I never make you come, right?” His sarcastic voice coming out a little bit breathless as he shoves your shorts and underwear down your legs, eyes fix on yours. You kick the clothes to the side with trembling legs, bambi eyes looking up at him.

You didn't exactly know what the outcome of your stubbornness would be, but you did not expect Minho's knees to buckle—his gaze dead set on yours as he reached the ground.

Suddenly, your boyfriend grabs your hand and latches it to the hair on the back of his head.

“Why don't you fucking teach me then?” He speaks through gritted teeth, throwing your right leg over his shoulder pad—the unusual angle giving him all the access he needed and leaving you much more exposed.

Unhappy with how limp your hand stayed in his hair, Minho grabs it once more, pushing himself against your core.

“Come on, baby.” He mumbles, leaving wet kisses over your outer labia. When he looks up, resting his chin on the skin under your bellybutton, the dim light coming from the window makes his profile glow blue—pearly white grin hypnotizing you. Minho looked like an incubus—eager to suck the life out of you. “Where's your attitude, hmm? Show me what you like.”

You can see your bare chest heaving with each breath as you look down at him. “Fin... Fingers?”

He tilts his head to the side, big eyes full of mischief. “Fingers? You're asking?”

“I… I don't-”

“You don't know? Of course you do. You're just not thinking straight. Maybe it's stress, right? ‘Cause I'm not good enough?” Without a warning, the tip of his tongue lightly zigzags up and down your pussy. Up, and down again—avoiding your clit each time.

“You see,” he says, letting his saliva mix with your arousal, “if I use my fingers now, you'll come too fast.” Minho leaves a long peck on your core. “I know that's what you want, but what about dragging it out a little bit? I think you'd like it better.” He flattens his tongue and your body squirms as he licks up. “But I mean, I wouldn't know.”

Minho's being painfully annoying, but you deserve it. He takes his time dragging his tongue through your core, lapping your arousal and smearing it on your cunt—making your legs shake every now and again. His right hand keeps your squirming hips still as the left one slowly caresses it's way up your body, until he reaches your chest.

He's looking up at you the entire time, watching every single twitch and reaction to the flow of his tongue on you. When he finally latches onto your clit, you swear you lose your mind a little. Your hips stutter and he follows you promptly, big brown eyes burning through you. The sight of Minho on his knees being illuminated by the moonlight is so ethereal it's almost haunting, and at that moment, you know you'll never really forget this view—you'll never forget how he's making you feel. He really is like a incubus in a way, imprinting his mark on the back of your mind forever.

Impulsiveness takes over and you force your hips forward, the hand in the back of your boyfriend's head thrusting him against your cunt. Minho's eyes turn impossibly darker, his smirk much more noticeable than before. When he closes his eyes and his eyebrows furrow, you already know you're gone—instincts making you hold onto his locks harsher than ever.

The soft sucking turns progressively rougher, your eyes squeeze shut as his tongue draws figure-eights on your clit very softly in contrast to how quickly his lips are working the same nerve.

When your eyes start to water from how overwhelmed you feel, the telltale begins. As soon as your body starts shaking and your hips squirm away from his hold, you open your eyes to look at him just in time to watch as he completely removes himself off of you.

Your heart drops, hot tears running down your shamed cheeks as you wobble a bit, trying to find balance without his hands on your hips.

“Fuck, can you even feel anything, baby?” You feel the ghost of gentle fingertips on your labia, following up and down the slit.

You can tell through your watery eyesight and the poor-lit room that he's now paying attention to the way his fingers play with your cunt, smirk wiped clean off his voice as he watches your arousal coat his fingers. “If I try something like this-” He gently pushes his ring and middle fingers inside you, slowly curling the tip of his fingers in come-hither motion, low voice filling up the emptiness, “does it feel good?”

Does it feel good? You're long, long gone. Minho's voice sounds like it's coming from inside your head, the stimulation feels like it reflects in white orbits in your vision. You can no longer force yourself to open your eyes—it's for the better, anyway. You'd probably pass out if you caught a glimpse of his pretty brown eyes by now.

Does it feel good? You don't remember how you got yourself in this situation—you don't even have the brain power to form a phrase involving anything but religious chants of his name. You've become nothing but a warm body for Minho to touch and use as he pleases, you'd be satisfied with the smallest of touch he'd be kind enough to reach for.

His pouty lips find your clit again and suddenly, fireworks start setting off in your insides way too fast. Your stomach muscles contract in a way that's entirely new for you and you feel like you'll fall to the floor if he doesn't support all your weight. Your start to feel your throat straining, the constant whining suddenly getting higher. Your eyes are shut so tightly you can see blobs of colour behind your pitch-black eyelids. You think you're out of it for a little bit, but you can still hear his voice.

“Yeah, I don't think I'm doing it right.” The raspiness of his tone almost puts you to sleep—his fingers are still inside you, now pumping back and forth, very slowly. You can hear the embarrassingly loud gushing sound of his fingers moving inside you, and you open your eyes to find your boyfriend's face and chest covered in your arousal.

“I, I-” You don't know exactly what you have to say, but his loving eyes and the kiss he pressed to your thigh were not helping you find it out.

“You ruined my fucking jersey.” His lopsided smile makes your breath hitch.

“Need you.”

He tilts his head again. “Do you? Really?”

Your head is heavy as you nod, and you try your best to not lose focus. You know what he needs to hear to finally drop the act, and you know you should give in before your body gives out completely, but there's a little twisted voice inside your head asking how far you can take this—your body seems to be addicted to the thrill, moans immediately spilling out your lips when his fingers pick up pace.

“You're not satisfied?” He asks, voice sugary sweet. His pouty lips pepper quick pecks on your inner thigh, expectant eyes looking up at you. “I’m not sure I can help you, though. I mean, if it doesn’t feel good it’ll just get painful at some point.”

You stutter your words through a strained voice. “I’ll let you know if it does.” It takes your entire being to attempt to sound demanding. “We can keep going for now.”

An amused countenance takes over his sharp features. “Oh, we can? Alright, ma’am. Thank you so much for letting me know.” He stands up, and the sudden shift in atmosphere rising goosebumps on your skin as he now looks down on you.

Minho stands tall before you, the lighting no longer illuminating his doll-like eyes—shadows now cover most of his face, long hair hiding his gaze. As if he can hear your heartbeat picking up pace, he gets close to whisper against your lips, eyes hazy as he looks down at you. “I think we gotta stretch you out a bit more, hmm? If it didn't feel good, you're probably still tight.”

Good God, you hate this man. You know what he’s trying to get out of you—you’re just not sure if you want to give him the satisfaction yet.

So, you look up at him with the sweetest eyes you can possibly muster. “Don’t worry, bunny. You’re not that big.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, the smile on his lips doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Bench. On your back.”

Although it seems you’ve worn his patience thin, you stare back. The cogs in your brain working their full capacity trying to figure out a way to make his life a bit harder. A disappointed sigh leaves his lips as he walks towards his locker, looking for his stuff to leave.

As always, his action is effective. Minho really doesn’t need much to convince you to give in, after all, you know what you’ll get when you do.

Silence fills the room as you discard your shirt all the way and lay on the bench, legs bent at the knees, heels resting on the cool surface. Anxiety bubbles under your sensitive skin when you hear Minho taking off his clothes. You rest you weight on your elbows to watch—his jersey was gone when you got to look at him, shoulder pads following suit.

“What made you change your mind?” He opted to leave his white tank top on as he unbuckles his belt, one knee—supported by the bench—between your legs. The moonlight now shining entirely on him.

“Don't like the emptiness…” Your voice trails off, and you don't mind staring shamelessly as he puts on a little show for you—one hand on your knee and running down your thigh, the other stroking his cock.

He scoffs, “You say shit like this but doesn't like it when I say you act like a hole.” He taps his tip on your clit, earning a loud whine from you. “Make up your mind, bunny.”

Minho stays kneeled before you, the cloth of his tank top so thin you could make out the lines of his chest and abs—the muscles on his pale arms shining iridescent in the lighting.

Your boyfriend moved his hips, slowly grinding over your slit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head without much resistance, mouth watering with each nudge of his tip to your clit. “Whatever you said about me not being too big…” He leans down to leave a quick peck on your lips. “Keep that in mind.”

With absolutely no warning and much faster than your brain would've been able to process, Minho buries himself as deep as he possibly can inside of you. He lifts your hips off the bench with ease, sitting on his heels—his hold on you so tight you bounced back against him with each thrust of his.

The stamina of the man above you is unfaltering. You can't do much besides watch him: his biceps flex to support the weight of your hips every time he slams you back on his cock, veins prominent on his arms. Minho's face and neck are covered in the prettiest shade of pink—his wide chest, blushed with the same colour, is struggling with each breath he takes. The moonlight highlights the droplets of sweat sliding down his neck, and he can't seem to decide whether he wants to throw his head back or look down at where your hips align.

Keeping himself together is the hardest when Minho looks down at you. He got his pretty girl all splayed out for him; her eyebrows furrowed in utter pleasure as the whiniest sounds constantly pour out of her pouty lips. The way your body reacts to him is hypnotic—it's so fun for him, how every little thing he does makes your eyes roll back. The power trip he gets when he watches your skin shiver wherever his hands touch is better than anything he's ever experienced. All because it's you. Because he gets you to feel like this. The fact you're so drunk on Minho gets him even more addicted to the feeling of your body shaking under him. So when your hips suddenly spring back to life rolling desperately against his and Minho's name seems to be the only coherent thought your brain can formulate, his desire increases tenfold.

You have no control over how loud your moans or the smack of Minho's hips against yours are. He lowers you back on the bench and is fully above you in the blink of an eye—holding your face as he kisses you so deeply you struggle to keep up. His thrust become less timed but continue as deep as they were. Minho throws his head back, moaning loudly, but quickly brings his gaze back to your lips. His eyebrows are furrowed, lips touching yours as he whispers.

“Come on, baby. You know how much I love to feel you coming around me. Be good.”

Be good, be good. Of course you want to be good. When his lips touch yours again, euphoria explodes inside of you. Your eyes being squeezed shut seem to enhance your other senses a bit—you feel every inch of Minho's cock grinding inside you, his hands burning hot where they touch, his loud moans and the wetness spattering between your legs being the only things crystal clear in your cloudy mind.

“Holy shit, fuck. I'm close, I'm so close.” He pants, face buried in your neck.

Your weak hands gently soothe his back, you mindlessly mumble your words, “Wanna feel you coming inside me, love. Want it so bad.”

His strong arms wrap around your waist when he comes, cock buried deep inside of you. Minho shudders with each movement of your hands against his skin, as you now gently scratch his back under his tank top. It feels like a long time has passed until he breaks the silence.

“We're taking the numbing cream home, by the way.” He gets his face off your neck and rests his weight on his elbows. His right hand cups your jaw, thumb playing with your drooled lips. “You're not done paying for that attitude.”

#can u tell minhos outfit at kcon also inspired this #can u tell #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee minho smut #skz x reader #lee minho x y/n #stray kids x y/n #skz x you #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #lee minho x you #lee minho x reader

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fyodorloveclub · 7 months

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MY TURN!

✩ pairing: dazai x afab reader x chuuya

✩ cw: threesome, rough sex, spanking, creampies, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), fem pet names, dubcon-ish, UNGODLY amounts of cum

✩ notes: breedtober fic 1 !! this concept has been brewing in my head for a WHILE. enjoy!

✩ wc: 1.6k

want more of breedtober?

it all started with an argument, that led to a dare - one you didn’t have the pleasure of being present for or aware of.

who can get her pregnant first?

or rather,

if we both fuck her, whose sperm will take?

you had messed around with both dazai and chuuya more than once - both under the incredibly persuasive influence of chuuya’s finely aged wine, and under no influence at all. unless you count the insatiable and unbearable lust for the two men who made no effort to conceal their desires for you. but you’d never fucked them both at the same time

and this plan - it was a disgusting, vile, deplorable plan, especially under the guise of just a good, fun night. ‘let’s just pass around a bottle of chardonnay and see where the night goes,’ they had said, despite knowing exactly where the night was going to go. but fuck did it feel good.

“ch-chuuya,” you moaned, stuttering as he fucked you mercilessly from the back. one hand dug deep into the plush of your hip to pull your ass back against him, meeting every one of his thrusts, while the other slapped your ass so hard you shivered each time.

the sound of skin-on-skin filled the bedroom as he bottomed out with every thrust, burying his entire cock in you until the ginger puff of hair at the base tickled against your skin.

“yeah, darlin’? that feel good?” he smirked, picking up the pace and rewarding you with yet another harsh spank.

and you wanted to scream, wanted to cry out a yes, yes! chuuya, harder! but, you couldn’t, and dazai made sure of that by pushing your head down rather hard as you sucked him off.

having been so distracted with the way chuuya fucked you good and deep, you truthfully weren’t paying attention to dazai’s cock, and it drove him to a level of anger and possessiveness, almost jealousy, he can’t remember the last time he felt. and he normally wasn’t a head pusher - he really wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to lose to chuuya.

you had only been indulging in occasional kitten licks and sucking on dazai’s angry red tip, as every time you tried to venture farther, chuuya seemed to angle his hips differently or spank you hard to pull your attention back to him, and dazai could not and would not have that.

saliva and precum poured off your bottom lip as dazai fucked your throat in time with chuuya’s thrusts. you choked and gagged as he gripped your hair and thrust up into your mouth, grunting wildly as your throat tightened and spasmed around his aching length.

“you have no fucking clue how sexy you look right now, doll, swallowing my cock, taking it so fucking good,” dazai smirked, tightening his grip on your hair. chuuya rolled his eyes.

dark streaks of mascara stained your cheeks from your tears, a sight that only drove dazai even madder, and one chuuya was getting more and more jealous of. but he knows there was no reason to - not yet, at least. he had the center stage, the spotlight on him as a hand snaked down underneath you to massage your throbbing, neglected clit as he fucked you hard and deep. and his cum was what was going to fill your cunt first, allowing him to succeed in their fucked up little dare - he was more than sure of it. just the thought of it, alongside the way you clenched deliciously around his length, was pushing him over the edge.

“shit, baby, gonna cum,” chuuya muttered right into your ear as he draped his chest over your back, kissing up your neck. “want me to fill up your pussy? breed you like a bitch in heat?” he was going to regardless of your answer. dazai scoffed, but chuuya ignored him easily.

you likely would’ve protested, and indeed had the thought to instruct chuuya to pull out, but your mouth was too busy for you to do anything but gasp as thick ropes painted the walls of your cunt a milky white. he made sure to press his cock in all the way inside you and tilt your hips down, the tip brushing against your cervix, to ensure his cum seeped right into your ready and waiting womb. and you couldn’t be mad about it - not when he continued to whisper dirty, filthy words into your ear as he played with your clit.

“my turn,” dazai smirks, tugging at your hair to prompt you to pull off his still aching hard-on. you finish up with a long lick on the underside of his cock along the pulsing vein, smiling up at him as you breathe heavily.

truthfully, your pussy already felt too used and abused from chuuya, but you were starting to ache for dazai too. luckily, the man was happy to oblige.

chuuya begrudgingly pulled out to allow dazai to take his turn, regretting not just beating his ass and taking you for himself, filling you with his cum and his cum only.

repositioning you to lay you down on your back, dazai smiled at you, playing up his irresistible charm before leaning in to press a long kiss to your lips. “gonna make you all fucking mine, pretty girl,” he smirks, voice low and gravely. “make you beg for my cum this time, yeah?”

you could only whine in response, yearning for him - at this point you had no fucking clue who you wanted more, but it had stopped mattering. when they both were treating you like this.

“hurry it up, dumbass,” chuuya muttered, arms crossed as he sat on the edge of the bed. he had an idea for what he wanted to do with you as dazai took his turn, but he couldn’t get to it with dazai yammering in your ear like that.

“don’t worry, doll,” dazai sighed, caressing your cheek. “he’s just jealous.”

“the fuck i am,” chuuya gripes, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“just fuck me, dazai, please,” you whined, gripping his bandaged arms. and there’s no way he could say no to that.

spreading your legs wide, he lined up his cock before sinking into you easily, already stretched and prepped from your previous round. it was a conscious choice not to acknowledge how he was using chuuya’s cum as lube.

having already been picturing this moment since they dragged you into bed, dazai built up a pace fast, and you curled your legs around his waist to ground yourself as he jostled you around.

“so fucking tight, baby,” he gasped, gripping your waist. “i know you wanna take my cum so fucking bad, fill your pussy ‘til it can’t hold any more.” he was nearly babbling to himself at that point, mind reeling with how good you felt.

“shut it, shithead,” chuuya hissed, deciding it was his time to join in. he’d never, ever admit it, but he was getting impossibly turned on watching dazai fuck you senseless, and his dick was already chubbing up at the sight. and the way you moaned and screwed your face tight, shit.

climbing over you, chuuya placed his knees on either side of your head to hover over you, his heavy cock right in front of your face.

“y’re gonna take it just like this, darlin’,” he smirked gripping his length and prodding at your lips with the tip. it was a bit like trying to hit a moving target with how hard dazai was fucking you, but chuuya didn’t give a shit. he just needed to feel your mouth.

despite your poor throat already feeling bruised and sore, you opened up willingly, digging your fingers into his toned thighs in a feeble attempt to stabilize yourself. dazai only glared as chuuya lowered himself further to allow you to suck in his cock, wishing he had chosen that position himself. he chose not to let chuuya get to him though, just pushed your thighs further apart to allow better access.

“that’s right, baby, take it all in,” chuuya coaxed as you choked on his girth but persevered anyway. his thighs burned a bit due to the unnatural squatting position, but he couldn’t care less - he was already embarrassingly close to cumming down your throat.

dazai loathed the fact that you weren’t paying much attention to him at all, deciding to spit on his fingers and rub quick circles around your clit, making you gasp and moan around chuuya’s cock.

“feel good?” he smirked, massaging it in time with his thrusts.

you desperately wanted to respond, encourage the man touching your sweet spot, but chuuya commanded all your attention as he started to fuck your throat.

and in the same way chuuya couldn’t help but be turned on by dazai’s cock driving you mad, dazai was nearing his high hearing how you gagged and gurgled on chuuya’s length. the warning of his oncoming orgasm just barely left his lips before he was groaning and stuffing you with his seed this time. the tight clamp of your thighs around his waist tightened and your toes curled as you felt the hot cum leak out of you while his fingers pulled you closer to your own high.

you had never felt so full in your life - dazai’s cock still buried in your cunt alongside two heavy loads of cum, and chuuya’s cock stuffing your mouth, alongside his hot cum sliding down your throat.

the two men eyed each other knowingly as they wiped your spent body clean, washing away all the splattered cum minus the loads that seeped out of you - and maybe dazai even used two fingers to push it in a little deeper.

both incredibly cocky men, they were both certain it would be their seed that took - but they’d have to wait nine months and see.

#dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai smut #chuuya smut #soukoku x reader #soukoku smut #bsd smut #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #breedtober 2023

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ghostarii · 9 months

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GLASS TABLE GIRL ! ～ BLADE . ❛ i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  SHOW NOTES fem!reader ❱ guitarist!blade ❱ groping ❱ reader is a groupie ❱ PWP!!! ❱ (reader is intoxicated so technically) dubcon ❱ spanking ❱ degradation ❱ clit n nipple slapping ❱ ig ooc!blade but who cares ❱ choking/asphyxiation ❱ size kink ❱ dacryphilia ❱ outdoor/public sex ❱ exhibitionism ❱ spit ❱ face-fucking ❱ dirty talk ❱ reader has 0 self respect ❱ name calling ❱ overstimulation ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (stay safe) ❱ clit pinching ❱ hair pulling ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ cumplay(?) ❱ no aftercare ❱ minors & dc antis do not interact.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  CREDITS i have not written a fic in so effing long nd i was high writing this so excuse my rustiness :c but i have risen from my grave so let’s rejoice nonetheless ! !blade is on my mind 24/7 n i just want to be used n abused by him omfg turn me OWT! i listened to one of the girls by the weeknd literally the entire time i wrote this sooo feel free to listen while reading ^_^ i was js writing as i went so ts is very pwp sorryyy . . i’m gonna try to be more active on here i js need time to write so in the meantime pls show that my works would be appreciated here =( likes & reblogs are so GREATLY APPRECIATED ! ! ! if u don’t like, pls scroll cs comm guidelines r so mean to creators T_T

˖ ⁺ ⫾  RUN TIME 7.5k+ words . (of pure filth)

IF SOMEBODY ASKED you who your favorite artist was, you would say Ren—known by his moniker: BLADE. There was nothing you didn't like about this man; everything about him fundamentally and ultimately was the object of a girlish obsession. You knew all of his songs front to back, followed his social media on every single platform, and never missed a single piece of media uploaded about him. Your life was built around his style: dark and mysterious and enigmatic. He was your number one, unmatched and unchanged.

He was a hard man to come by. He frequently held small shows, with no more than twenty-thousand people on the high end. It was impossible to go, and every time you tried, your chance miserably passed you up. But this time, June twenty-third, twenty-twenty-three, you were right there, in the middle of the pit, only mere feet away from Blade. It was your first time seeing him in person by the grace of your best friend who surprisingly snagged tickets, and you’d never been more grateful in your life.

Blade was ethereal. The concert videos you’d seen over the years did not compare to the image in front of your face. It was dark, the main lights being spotlights shone on his pearly, perspiring, black, skin-tight silk-clothed skin, and dim red LED lights on the set behind him. His fingers ran effortlessly across his guitar, an inexplicably attractive riff and tone singing from the instrument. You felt like you were in Heaven, your eyes never leaving the show before your eyes. It was hot and uncomfortable in the pit but it was worth it. So worth it because he looked at you: taking you in with an unfaltering stare. His lip slipped between his teeth, and he shook his head, throwing stray locks to the back, and God, you felt as though you needed to be bolted to the ground with the way you wanted to jump on the stage. He walks up to the microphone, the most gut-wrenchingly hot vocals sliding off of his tongue. His eyes were closed, smudged eyeliner emphasizing his fluttering, long lashes, and his lips were spit-slicked, parting and pursing with each sultry lyric leaving. They were plump and rosy as if they were asking to be kissed—it was a sight to behold.

You sang your heart out, dragging your hand from waving in the air down a curvy path on your body, going from your shoulder to your chest to below where Blade’s sight would reach. You turned to your friend and recited the lyrics with a big smile and following giggle, all to turn your attention back to the stage and lock eyes with him. Your thighs clamped together just at the narrowed and burning gaze he delivered. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a man more than you do right now.

Your friend found a way closer to the stage and you wedged your way between the crowd, finding yourself so close that the speakers were banging on your eardrums. You could feel the music in your bones, and all you could think of to describe it was hot and heavy. Maybe it was all of the pregaming you and your friend did before the concert, or the condensed heat and gyrating bodies, but you were so hot. You wipe your sweaty skin as you sway to the beginning of the next song, taking out your phone to begin recording.

Blade leans into the mic, muttering lowly, “I want you all to sing.” He pulls the microphone out of the stand, letting his guitar hang off of his shoulder from the strap. And that’s when he makes his way to where you stand, muttering small “yeah”’s and “good job”’s into the mic as the crowd collectively sings. He kneels right before you, “Sing.” he says into the mic.

You go wide-eyed—cute, he thinks—but you start singing. You grab an open portion of the microphone, leaning in as close as possible and reciting the lyrics of the song just as you were told. All eyes and cameras were on you, and that included Blade, who held an intense gaze on you the entire verse. When you finish the crowd erupts in cheers and screams, and he pulls away, finishing the song. You turned to your friend and screamed about your main character moment, dancing and singing even happier into her recording phone. This was the best night of your life.

For the rest of the concert, you had the time of your life. Blade ends the show with a final guitar solo, the entire audience silent as he wrecks the strings and pours his heart into his vocals. He briefly spoke to his fans, thanking everyone for coming out and heading backstage as everyone began to clear out. And all he could think about was that girl who his eyes couldn't help but wander toward, and to whom his thoughts dedicated his innuendos. He remembers the sign you held at the beginning of the show: “BLADE ♡WNS M(Y)E (HEART) ♡”. Your eyes honed filth that your natural disposition didn’t and he longed for it. He held bated breath as he informed his security about you, requesting you be located and brought to him and they replied with “We’ll try our best, sir.”

It was an after-concert tradition for Blade to hit up a local club, especially in situations like this where it was his last stop. He hoped he’d find you there, but he knew you would, especially if you were as big of a fan as you looked.

“Yukong, just thirty minutes! Please!!” you pleaded, trying to pull your friend into your opinion. She shook her head no, “I can’t! I have to go home! I’m so tired and you know…” you stop your friend there, not wanting to hear about her boyfriend.

“Fine. I’m still going though, text me when you get home.” you didn’t want Yukong to go home. But arguing was pointless, and only time was being put to the test, not her stubbornness. You knew from your years as a Blade fan that he always went to the club after a concert to meet fans, and some rumors even suggested ulterior motives, so you wanted to go. Yukong frowned at your flat expression but still hugged you, waving at you as she got in her car to go home. You’d be flying solo, but you had faith in yourself.

So you make your way over to the nearest club via taxi, praying that this is the one that Blade would visit. You weren’t all too familiar with the place, its name, Starskiff Haven, only being one you’ve heard in passing. Regardless, your thoughts were assured by the abundance of fighting and pushing bodies to get in the door—and when your phone lit up, a Twitter notification from a Blade Updates page noting his location, Starskiff Haven, you smiled widely, making your way to the line.

It was way too long and you weren’t interested in waiting all night—you had to meet Blade. A time like this is when Yukong comes into hand with her very stern persuasion, something that’s near impossible to deny. But she left, and you’d have to figure out a way in. And a thought immediately came to mind.

You walked to the front of the line, breathing in deeply and psyching yourself up for how incredibly you were about to embarrass yourself. When you exhale, you book it, beelining straight into the club, right past security. You immediately shift your demeanor, blending into the crowd seamlessly as security guards rush in, looking around for you. Hiding behind the most cluelessly drunk girl, you make your way to the bar, immediately ordering a sidecar. It packed a punch and the combination of how many shots you had earlier, it’d be just enough to get you through whatever you were about to do.

You turn around in the swivel stool, taking in the atmosphere and coasting the area for any sighting of Blade. The club was darker than the concert but heavily illuminated with hazy, colorful LEDS and much, much louder, filled to the brim with chatter and deafening bass-boosted music. Your drink was brought to you moments later, and with a big sip, you raked your eyes over the club once again. You could see bodies grinding on the main floor, the DJ bopping his head as his hands moved diligently across his DJ controller, couples making out and slipping into cornered areas, and friend groups recording and taking pictures. It was a lively environment, sure, and from the strength that beat on your tongue, established by incredibly skilled bartenders—but you weren’t looking for a new clubbing spot, you were looking for Blade.

And Blade was looking for you. Swimming through the unforgivingly hot crowd for you. He wasn’t itching to have you, he was itching to take you. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to his time on stage and how you danced in the audience. How your lips pushed out his lyrics and how your hands couldn’t stop waving in the air and running on your skin. How you swiped off sweat from your forehead and fanned yourself with your sign. And how you couldn’t keep your star-filled eyes off of him. Every light reflection off of your eyes showed desperation and neediness. You were begging to be picked without ever uttering a word, and he was not one to ignore indulgence. You needed him and he wanted you—so where are you?

Perched on that blue-velvet cushioned swivel stool. Sipping whatever remaining contents of your sidecar. And when he saw you, you saw him. You locked eyes and each plastered ill-intended smirks across your faces. And while you had his attention, you brought the glass to your lips, smacking them open and running your tongue along the sugar rim, collecting the sweetness on your tongue. You sucked on your tongue, rolling your eyes and he swears the “Ahh” leaving your lips is audible from his distance. He stayed still even as you slapped down your money on the counter, hopping down and disappearing into the crowd.

You make your way to him quickly, holding onto your rapidly rising chest and laughing at yourself. You were on a roll of unbelievable behavior, but it seemed to be a clean stroke because you were yet to meet a roadblock. And in a very blurry couple of minutes, the goal you’d been working toward was in the palm of your hand—literally.

You danced your way to Blade when you were finally close to him, sliding up against his body sweetly. He was tall and so sturdy against you, but he was smooth like butter as he synced to your movements and danced behind you. His hands were on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pushed up against you. Your exchange was wordless but it spoke volumes. It felt like a dream, entirely too good to be true but you indulged anyway, grinding against him. A gasp escapes your mouth as his left hand unabashedly grapes your tit, squeezing roughly and experimentally. His other hand trails dangerously on the band of your shorts and you let your head fall back on his shoulder, “I'm your biggest fan…”

He laughs at your declaration, leaning to press his lips feather-lightly at the shell of your ear, “Are you now?” you nod immediately, pressing into him. “‘Blade owns me’.” he mocks your sign, and laughs when he feels you slightly tense under his touch.

“I picked you,” and again, he leans down to your ear, “Are you happy, slut?” The word is so mean but it sounds so good from him. You nearly moan, nodding eagerly, as if complying with his word came with a medal. You were a slut, so willing to give it up as soon as he laid eyes on you. And you weren’t afraid to go low to get his attention, doing just about anything to be his for the night.

Fangirls like you are nothing new to Blade and as a man who looks like he does, it comes with the territory. He can read you like a damn book, cover to cover with ease because despite how enigmatic and indifferent to the norm you may try to appear, you wear your whole being on your sleeve. You do everything in your power to be somebody you're not. Your life revolves around who you think you should be and not who you are. A lot of girls are born with “it”: an innate ability to be the one wanted and desired, but you? Your “it” is manufactured, the blueprint drawn out by girls who are it. You're stuck in a limbo created by your age: too old to not be settling down, but too young to not live your life, and you try to make a box for yourself, being the exception to a path laid out for you. You're lost in the life you lead, and with the way you're dancing so shamelessly and needily on him, Blade knows you. You’re the type of girl who sees getting used as a flex, and despite signing an NDA or promising to never say anything, you’ll tell this person and that person that you got to sleep with the Blade; that the Blade picked you. Women like you are a cancer in the industry. Pests that are incessant and damn near impossible to get rid of. He knows you won't be any different than those before you, but there’s a desire to take you that he cannot ignore.

It’s his natural instinct as a man—or he’s just a shitty person. Perhaps a combination of both, because all he can think about is putting you to use. You’re making it so easy, moaning into the air under the thick remixed song the DJ is spinning, grinding against him, and holding his hand on your tit—you want him, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. You have a clear lack of respect for yourself, but luckily for you, that’s Blade’s type in women.

The atmosphere seems to be getting heavier, and it feels like time is getting slow and choppy. Now your arms are around Blade’s neck and his large hands are holding onto your ass, and you’re so close, you can feel your chests brushing with each breath you take. The world around you is nothing but background. It doesn’t exist to you, it doesn't matter to you. Not when you have Blade, the literal man of your dreams, right in your palm, and all he's looking at is you.

You feel so special. So wanted and so desired. You feel all eyes on you like you're the main attraction and everybody can’t help but watch and weep, wishing to be you. Your ego is skyrocketed and every embarrassing thing you’ve done tonight doesn't matter to you anymore because it paid off. Your eyes locked and the space between you closed. Your heart synced with the booming beat of the current song playing. You lean in, pressing your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him in. And you kiss him. You kiss Blade.

Blade kisses you back. He tightens the grip on your ass and you moan into his mouth, letting him infiltrate your mouth. He sucks on your tongue, smiling against you when he feels you push up on your tippy toes and hears you whimper into his mouth. He kisses you back. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, pecking your lips once more before moving to your cheek, then to your jaw, then to your neck. His hands are groping at you, roughly grabbing your ass, then your waist, then your breasts. “Are you wet?”

He says it so only you can hear it. You nod. “How wet?” He moves back up to your jaw, placing another kiss. You flutter your lashes, meeting his gaze, “So wet. All for you.”

At your response, he groans, pulling off of you. He chuckles when you pout at him. You’re just what he needs for this night. He grabs your chin, holding your face and leaning down, your lips brushing against his own. “I'm going to go smoke.” and he tells you this for a reason.

You watch with the biggest smile on your face as he sifts through the crowd, heading out of a side door. It was now or never.

Quickly, you rush to the bathroom to freshen up. You fix your hair, digging into your pocket and fishing out your lipgloss, reapplying, and you fan yourself, cooling down to not look a flustered mess. And just as quick as you ran in, you ran out toward the side door, immediately looking both ways for Blade. You smell smoke distantly and turn right, and a few paces down he stood, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring restaurant. He's next to stacks of old wood and crates and you smile, thinking about whatever was about to go down between you.

You step in front of him and he smiles, taking you in once again. He blows his smoke in your face, tapping the ash off the cigarette before smashing the butt into the wall behind him. “Hi,” you say. He says nothing back, just slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. The kiss you share this time is messy and he now asserts control, nipping your bottom lip when he feels you go weak and pulls back.

He rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand for him. This is the first time all night he’s seen you properly, in moderately okay lighting. Your jean mini-skirt is tight to you, accentuating the curve and fullness of your ass, and teases what’s beneath with your plump thighs poking out and how it rides up slightly. Your skin-tight baby tank is seemingly one with your figure, bringing out the best in you and making him smile with the “I ♡ BLADE” print across your chest. Your thigh-high boots did nothing when you were near him—he was looming and caging. He was intimidating and arousing, and with the lustful gaze you shared, the climax of your day was steadily approaching.

“Take it off.” He looks down at your chest and you get the memo; immediately grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head. “Slow. Take your time…” And you listen, letting your body swivel as you remove the shirt. You unhook the clasp of your bra, and before your boobs could spill out of the confines, he grabs you and wedged you between him and the wall he previously leaned on.

The front of your body is slapped on the cold brick, but you’re swallowed in warmth as he presses against you, grinding his hard-on against your ass. One hand grabs your wrists, and the other turns you around. You look at him innocently, shivering at the breeze that blows down the alley. You can smell him: woody, smokey, and expensive. Yet here he was, pressing you up against a brick wall in a random alley. “You’re such an easy slut, y’know.”

“Bet you been thinking about this; daydreaming about your favorite artist pinning you and trashing you like the fucking whore you are.” he presses against your front, nipping at your jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You whimper, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“Tell me.” He growls - your answer not sufficing. “Want you to break me,”

“Always fantasized…wanting you to shove your dick down my throat and use it mindlessly and mercilessly.” He begins to kiss down your throat again, licking the tender skin. He smirks when you stop talking, your breath hitching and your head craning backward to open the expanse of your neck. He starts biting on your newfound sweet spot when you begin again, “Spit in my mouth and force me to swallow it with your cum,”

He gets to your chest, immediately taking a nipple between his teeth. He listens to you wince and whine as he does, pushing your chest into his face. “And make me beg you to fuck me. Teasing me…fuck—pinching me, pulling my hair until I'm teary-eyed and begging…”

“...And then you fuck me like you hate me; choking me, slapping me, degrading me all while I thank you stupidly.”

“You’re just fucking disgusting,” he mumbles around your nipple. He lets your hands go, palming your free tit immediately. His eyes are narrow as you whine when he twinges the bud roughly. “Put so much thought into this…you’re a weirdo slut.”

You shake your head, breathing out heavily to refute his claim, “Nuh-uh—your biggest fan.” you correct.

He laughs at you. You’re much more fun than he thought, and a lot less shameless, too. You're throwing all of your big cards out; this is your go-big or go-home moment, and while you have him here, you’ll bare yourself wholly because if not now, then not ever. Blade has to commend your patience though. You're letting him toy around, graze around your unknown territory and feel you out. You’re needy but obedient. Tired of waiting but understanding. Absolutely fucking shameful and proud, but eager to be good—so maybe he was wrong about you. You do have an “it”: an innate ability to be the perfect fucktoy.

When he lets you go, he immediately instructs you to get on your knees. And you listen immediately. The cold gravel digs into your bare knees and it's incredibly uncomfortable, yet you don’t utter a word. Your nipples are hard and pebbled and are probably so sensitive, yet you say nothing. You only sit before him, fingers dancing on the exposed thigh as you look up at him, waiting to be put to use.

So he slaps you. As you told him to—he slaps you, and his hand is heavy coming against your skin. It sounds off for what felt like possibly hundreds of miles, and your face doesn’t sting, but it hurts. The skin is heating up from the impact and your head turns to the side, hair falling against your face, yet you don’t utter a word. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and dangerously smiling when your teary eyes look up at him wide and thankfully. “Pull my cock out,” he instructs, letting you go and standing up straight.

You get to work on his belt, undoing it swiftly, and then you unbutton his pants. You tease yourself: slowly pulling the zipper down, and when pulling his pants down to his ankles, you palm him softly, gently patting his throbbing cock and staring at the growing wet spot in his underwear. You kiss the wet spot, and then you kiss it again, and again until you suck lightly on it while making eye contact with him. You moan at the very faint taste, fluttering your eyes shut, and finally sliding your hand under the band of his underwear, holding his dick.

Blade hisses at your touch, bucking slightly into your hold at the initial contact. Usually, he’d curse you out at this point for going so slow, but he’s letting it slide this time; allowing you to take control and show him how worth it and nasty you really are.

He’s big. He’s thick—your hand can just barely wrap around the entire shaft, and as you lift him to unsheath him from his boxers, you feel how heavy he is. And hard. So fucking hard.

You gawk at his cock like a kid in a candy store, staring at his leaking slit intensely—almost as if you're waiting. “Go ahead; show me how big of a fan you are.”

You kiss his tip, the bead of precum smearing on your lips. Smacking your lips apart suggestively, you wrap your right hand around the base, applying tightness and pressure as you find the right grip, and when you do, you finally lick a clean stripe across the head. Your tongue sweeps up the new milky droplet spilling out, and you contently hum at the taste, making him groan in response. You lick from the angry tip all the way to his trimmed base, then back up again until you’ve teased every side of him and located his sensitive vein.

If anybody would have told you that all you dreamed about would be coming to fruition—all by mere luck and chance—you wouldn’t believe it. And you still don't; even as you spit a thick bead of your saliva on his cock and then massage it in with your tongue, swirling all around the sensitive head. But it’s real because he moans out for you as you finally take him in, the throb getting heavier as he sits on your tongue and your lips hug him tight.

You begin your ministrations: toying with his balls lightly as you bob up and down, going as far as you could. You tried your best to take him all in. You stretched your mouth wide around him until it felt like your mouth was going to rip at the corners and until it felt like all you could do was sputter and leak drool around him. Tears brimmed in your eyes and each time you blinked them back, keeping a pretty smile on your face every time you came up for air. Your lipgloss was mixed in with spit, and clear tear streaks had already begun to run their course with your base makeup, but you didn't stop. You were moaning incessantly, suffocating his dick in your intense vibrations that had him moaning and grunting.

When you come up from your nth deepthroat attempt, it's not for air, but to breathlessly huff out “Fuck my face…please,” And since you asked so nicely…

“Blink twice if it gets to be too much.” You open your mouth as wide as you could, sticking your tongue out. He pulls your hair back for you, yanking your head back and spitting on your tongue. His eyes tell you not to move, so you don’t, keeping eye contact with him as he wraps his other hand around your own, guiding your smaller hands up and down his shaft. He shudders, “F-fuck…’m so fuckin’ hard…”

And then he slides onto your tongue, not wasting any time before bottoming out in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your unprepared gags speak volumes to your shock. But that doesn't deter you from wrapping your lips around him. And from there, he pulls out, pulling your head back and then pushing you back down as he thrusts his hips forward. He curses under his breath before picking up his pace, thrusting so hard that his grip tightens on your hair to hold you properly in place, fucking roughly into your face. You can only choke and sputter, having already taken your hands from around his dick and digging crescent nail shapes into his thighs. The sounds eliciting from the two of you are so nasty and filthy. His balls slap at your chin, your voice rings out from around his girth, and his moans echo around the world. You can’t take it but you’re doing a great job of trying. He slaps your face again, pulling out and hitting his tip on your tongue. “Keep your fucking eyes on me,”

“If you can do that, I'll cum all down your throat and all over your pretty fucking face, okay?” You nod eagerly, and as an incredibly degrading action of praise and acceptance, he slaps his spit-slicked dick against your cheek a few times. “Good girl.” Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his praise.

When Blade slides in, he smacks against your face. He goes to the very hilt, pushing his way to the depths of your throat roughly. Your nose is pressed up against his pelvis, and your cheeks are catching stray tears. But this is consistent as he begins thrusting, using you per your request. He grunts out each time his tip hits the back of your throat, thrusting so roughly and meanly into you. Again, you feel like all you can do is choke and gag, spilling slobber and precum mix back down his length. It’s fucking filthy and the loud squelching and impact noises hit your ears nastily, yet you can’t help but squirm and attempt to grind for friction to subdue the need throbbing in your clit.

Above you, the man is falling apart. His hips stutter every now and then and his voice is fucking endless. His long hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and sides of his neck, and it looks damn near intentionally placed from how beautiful he looks. The outdoor lights are like distant illuminators; glowing behind him softly—almost angelically. His eyebrows are knitted together and he struggles to keep his eyes every time he reaches the back of your throat and you start gagging. It’s beyond pleasurable. Blade isn't sure if it’s because of all the tension the two of you have built up, or if it's because he hasn't had any action in the last 3 weeks because of his neverending schedule, or if it’s because your mouth is fucking amazing, but he can't keep himself together. His chest starts heaving faster as he comes close to his high, his knees beginning to buckle, and his stomach caving.

You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock as much as you can and glue your eyes to his, seeing his release breaking him down inch by inch. “Fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!” He announces, throwing his head back.

He stills in your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck harshly on his tip, swirling your tongue around it like it’s the sweetest lolly you’ve ever tasted. He pulls out of your mouth, and you vigorously stroke his cock, so focused and determined to milk him dry. He leans forward, slapping his palm against the wall behind you for stability as he cums. He moans so prettily as he paints your face, the warm ropes making you hum contently. You give him no break, sucking his tip one last time to make sure you get the most out of what he’s given you.

Blade catches his breath, standing up straight soon after and condescendingly cooing at the mess made on your face. He picks up a glob as he sweeps his thumb over your cheek, sliding the digit in your mouth. He presses on your tongue, finding pleasure in how you swallow your sounds under a layer of gagging, but how you never tear your eyes off of him. He does this until you’ve cleaned off your face—but he's not done with you.

You're finally allowed off of your aching knees. You're sure the gravel will leave an indent from how long you were down there. He pinches your pebbled nipples, smirking as you yelp. “What was it that was next? Making you beg..making you earn my cock in you?” you nod rapidly, backing into the wall for stability as he toys with your very sensitive tits. “Show me how you beg then.”

You put your hands on his shoulders to help you stand up, feeling so weak all of a sudden. Your voice cracks as you try to speak, meek little whimpers flowing out as he works your body expertly—like he knows what gets you going. “Please…fuck–Please fuck me, I need you so bad…!”

A shrill yelp is chased out of your throat when his palm cracks against one of your boobs, “Is that all you got? Try again.”

So you do. “Need you to fuck me, Blade. I wanna be used by you, broken–please, I'll do anything!”

“Not good enough. Again.”

“Please fuck me like the slut I am! I need to be full of you, need to have you fuck me ragged and dumb so all I think of is you!” you pitch up your voice, breathing it all out in one breath.

Pitiful. Another smack. “Again.”

“I'm so needy for you, please! It hurts–I need you so much, it hurts! Please…”

And he's heard enough. His right hand slides up to your neck, forcing you against the wall. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the sides and you have to fight for your eyes to not roll to the back of your head. “You must not want me as bad as you acted like you did…”

“I do! I do!” You interject, but your voice is weak and small—nothing in comparison to his deep and lust-saturated tone. “Then act like you do. Beg.”

He runs his other hand up your thigh, cupping your cunt. Your panties are soaked, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. He pushes the fabric to the side, running two fingers through your folds and you swear you almost fell out then and there. You'd gone teased and untouched all night—you were beyond ready.

“Pussy is fucking soaked…” he mumbles, letting his index and middle finger twirl through your folds, getting closer and closer to your clit. “You want me here? To fuck your sloppy pussy until you're cumming your brains out?”

Your eyes start to roll and he can feel the pulse intensify in your cunt. That's exactly what you wanted. “Say it. Say ‘I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade’. Say it,”

You part your lips, and he slightly loosens the grip on your throat, “Wan–want…I want my sloppy pussy…” You get shy with your words, and he delivers a slap to your clit. The stimulation has you buckling over. You feel like his hands on you are going to be the death of you. “Say it.”

With the courage finally built up, “I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade! Please, I need it s’bad…feel like I'm gonna fucking die!” leaves your lips easily like spreading butter on toast. His lips that you never got enough of tasting quirk up into his signature smirk. He lets you go, pushing you against the wooden crates and flipping up your jean skirt.

“There you go; atta-fucking-girl.” he practically rips your panties off of you, slapping your pussy just for the hell of it. He cringes at the sound it makes and laughs cruelly at your whimpering. He presses up against you, his semi-hard dick pressed against your ass, and he wraps his arm around you and shows you the coat of your arousal that paints his fingers. “Spit.”

With your spit and abundance of slick collected on his fingers, Blade strokes his cock, going until he’s near painfully hard. The sounds he elicits make your pussy clench around nothing, needing to be satiated so desperately. “Are you ready? There’s no going back.”

This is somehow the sweetest moment for you. Your heart swells and you can only sheepishly nod, wiggling your hips eagerly. “Never been more sure about anything in my life. Ruin me.”

Ask once more, and you shall receive once more. His cock is swiped through your folds and collects a considerable amount of your arousal. He lines up at your entrance, watching you brace yourself with a smile ingrained into his face. He pushes in with a sharp inhale, biting his tongue at the feel of your tightness. Your pussy sucks him right in and—fuck. Warm and soft and tight, he could cum right now.

Your face crinkles up and you grip tightly onto the wooden crates in front of you. You’ve dreamt of this for so long—touched yourself at night to the thought and it's finally happening. He's inside of you, stretching you out, sinking in and in and in, inch by inch until he buries himself deep in your guts, until his tight and heavy balls are touching your folds. You're so sensitive you feel like you're ready to cream already, and you need it, need him, and need more. You grind your hips back on him, exhaling thickly as you rest your head against your forearm. “So fucking ready for me…”

His hand cracks down on your ass. It hurts so well and you wince, arching your back further. He sighs, kneading your skin softly. Then he pulls out, inching out until only the tip sits idly in you. You turn around to look at him, and doing that ignites his fire.

Your face is pathetic and fucked out already. Eyebrows knitted together and your eyes heavy, hardly staying open. Your lips are parted yet folded into a small frown, and perspiration rests at your hairline. You egg him on to slam into you, and he watches your frown drop into a wide ‘o’ shape, your eyes fluttering. So he does it again. And your lip now slips between your teeth. And again. And you drop your head back onto your arms.

And so Blade keeps up this pace, gradually going faster as the pit in his stomach urges him to do so. Your sounds are now uncontrollable—they fly out of you like a skipping record, incoherent babbles, and sinful moans. Each collision of your bodies elicits a visceral, wet slap that echoes off the walls of the alleyway. People around the world could probably hear what you're doing, and you're not sure if that bothers you…if the thought of a curious passerby walking down this alley naïvely would be an issue. If anything, it makes you get louder, your throat not getting to rest.

He hits you again, groaning when your pussy clenches around him. “You’re so fucking loud– you want somebody to find us?” Yes, that is what you want to say. But you moan out louder, shaking your head no. He hits you again. “Don’t lie to me,”

“You’re a fucking painslut,” he spits at you. He wraps his arm to reach your clit, immediately finding the bud and pinching it. Your knees go weak and he stabilizes you against him by pushing you further into the crates in front of you. You sniffle and whimper, presumably spilling tears down your filthy fucking face but doing nothing but asking for more. You've gotten so wet, dripping everywhere messily and Blade only cringes his face up with each wet collision. You're so nasty, so filthy, letting a stranger who you parasocial bonded yourself to defile you in public. He's feeding into your crazed delusions, but he’d honestly rather be doing nothing else. When he pinches your clit again your body shakes. Your knees buckle again and from the waist up you're basically limp. He feels you tighten around him and he sucks his teeth, parting your ass to peer at the milky ring forming around the base of his cock. “Did you just fucking cum?” Yes, you did. And you felt like Heaven doing it.

“You came ‘cause I pinched your clit…” he does it again and you jolt up, whining for him to stop. “So if I slap it…” he slaps it, eyeing you for your reaction. “Or rub on it like I love you…” his fingers run circles on your bud, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him. “So fucking easy.”

He resumes his thrusts like he never stopped—slamming into you unapologetically and now additionally, rubbing on your cute, abused clit. He's not going to last long at this rate. Your pussy gushes around him like a running river and the noises have gotten even nastier. Squelching and the occasional puffs of air escaping…you’re a mess.

“Love this fucking cunt,” he praises while pinching your clit. His free hand that rested on the small of your back is now holding onto your neck, forcing you to stand upright against him. Blade is lean but muscular. His arms flex and you feel his abs every time your bodies get close enough. His strong thighs touch yours and it's like you feel his entire body weight every time he pushes into you. “So good, ‘s so fucking good, Blade!”

The man laughs at your outburst. He angles his hips differently, trying so hard to find your sweet spot to get you creaming again. “Yeah?” he asks, tightening his grip on your throat. “Mhm-!” you concur.

“Where?” He’s sure he's found it, and he drives his hips up, groaning happily once he feels your gummy walls contract around him. “Here?”

Your head nods rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes–fuck! Right there, oh my fucking God!”

Neither of you are going to last. Blade’s balls are so tight and the way your pussy hugs him is even tighter. You suck him in like you never want him to leave, but your over-stimulated squeals and shaking thighs suggest otherwise. He’s found your sweet spot and is recklessly abusing it, going all or nothing. The way he toyed with your clit like a kitten pawing at a toy was too much—it started to hurt, to throb endlessly as your stomach knotted and your hole drooled. His grip on your neck was the icing on the cake. You felt like you could no longer breathe — like his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you and him choking you was keeping it out. Every little thing he did pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He was even more merciless than before. Blade fucked into you harder, rougher, and faster than before, and you chalked that up to his orgasm catching up to him. You listen to his songs on repeat all the time but never have you heard him sing more beautifully than now as he digs your pussy out. You were really blessed with this night, and now it is coming to a very eventful end.

“‘M gonna fucking cum–!” You announce, and Blade nods his head in agreement. He slaps your cunt one last time, his fingers covered in your juices now tweaking at one of your nipples. “Me…me too, fuck.”

He leans into your ear, “Make me cum in this fucking pussy,” a throaty moan breaks his sentence, and you moan back, feeling it coming. “So close, so close…!”

It's this contraction that has Blade falling apart. He thrusts into you one last time, his eyes shooting wide open as he cums deep in you. He moans gutturally and shakily, feeling you clench tighter as you orgasm as well. His hips stutter in you and your hips ride back onto him as you both come down from your highs. The alley is now deafeningly silent and you flush in embarrassment from how loud you must have been. He lets your neck and tit go, using one hand to now spread your ass and pull out his cock. Your pussy is puffy and shiny, and when he’s out, he watches with a burning gaze as your mixture of cum starts to slightly spill out.

He groans, slapping your ass one last time. You two finally separate, and you turn around to look at him. You're sure he doesn't look as fucked up as you do, but even so disheveled and fucked out and sweaty as he is, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter. He pulls up his boxers and pants, fixing his shirt before he looks over at your mostly naked frame. He comes over to you, pulling down your skirt, and his doing this makes you feel less like a one-night stand, and more like one of his girls.

Being so close to you, he breathes you in. You smell like sex, but beneath that is a layer of whatever fruity perfume you sprayed on you, and it's delectable; so he kisses you. It's something he doesn't usually do, and he wouldn't have done it for you, but you entrance him. Perhaps it's because you're what he likes— he's met his match.

But you kiss each other passionately like you were trying to reignite the flame you just spent God knows how long fucking out. Your tongues are well acquainted with one another, swirling and bumping and riding past one another knowingly. He pulls away from you, looking in your eyes as he lets spit fall onto your tongue once again. You smile happily as you swallow it—God, you could do this forever. “Come back with me,”

You didn't expect him to say that. You blink your eyes a few times in disbelief. This night can't be any more unreal. He notices your confusion and smiles, “Is that a no–”

“–No! I'll come with you!” you don't know where he’s taking you, or what it means to go with him. You do know that you’ll have a lot to tell Yukong, NDA or not, and that you’ll never forget this day.

Smiling again, this time devilishly, Blade pulls away from you, pinching your cheek. “Good girl.”

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai x reader #blade honkai #honkai smut #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr blade #blade smut #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x reader smut #minors & ageless blogs do not interact.#hsr blade smut #hsr ren

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pastelclovds · 8 months

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sub!buggy headcanons (amab!reader)

buggy is the type to brag about being a monster in the sheets to his freaks, but in reality, it's you he begs to rail him until he can't feel his ass anymore.

he definitely fantasizes about riding you in front of his crew, the spotlight just on the two of you as he goes to town on your cock.

he doesn't care if you wrap it or not, but if you decide to not use a condom, he's gonna want you to stuff his ass and make a creampie joke.

100% uses his devil fruit abilities in bed.

buggy's upper torso will he sitting on a chair, he's bitting his red colored lips to quiet his whiney moans as he watches his ass clap against your pelvis, bouncing on your cock while his severed hands hold your arms down.

would he cockwarm you while he's in a meeting with his minions, yes. would he bitch about not being able to walk even after he had begged you to go harder on him, yes.

praise kink all the way! if you ever compliment his body or face in a genuine, loving way, you will leave him blushing mess and rock hard.

also has a thing for hair pulling. while you were bathing with him, you accidentally tugged on his hair and he let out the most high pitched whimper. he made you swear to never tell anyone. but since then, when your getting freaky, you always make sure to give his blue locks a firm tug, and he is living for it.

buggy likes to pretend that he is in charge, when he's really not. when you take that control away from him and make him see colors behind his eyes, he's gonna spread his legs for you at every given moment.

this man is a brat, and with the sailer mouth he has, he makes it really hard to not want to teach him a lesson by holding him down by his neck while you pound into his ass.

aftercare with this man is marshmallow fluffy, all he wants is to be cuddled and cared for. even if he’s a pain in the ass sometimes, he does care about you. he will whisper “i love you” when he thinks you’re asleep and sleep in your arms, even if his ass is sore.

"f-fuck, you must be enjoying this a lot if your grabbing onto my ass like- oh!- oh, just l-like that."

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sytoran · 8 months

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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐓.𝟐

following your erotically fantastical encounter with the mother of the kids you babysit, the aftermath is more of a rollercoaster than you could have ever precedented.

🌸 pairing: milf!pregnant!wanda x dom!babysitter!reader

🌸 cont: smut (18+), mommy kink (wanda), lactation kink, body worship, praise kink, power bottom sex-deprived milf 🤝beefy college service top footballer

🌸 word count: 2042

🌸 note: THIS IS SO LONG-AWAITED im sorry..... also i know im supposed to be writing for kinktober but milf!pregnant!wanda was invading every corner of my mind so here ya go. not proof-read!

part one || main masterlist

“Come on, Y/N, you’re not going to the party tonight?” Natasha grumbles, grabbing the sleeve of your bomber jacket as you try your darndest to escape your friends.

It was the fated next day following your erotically fantastical encounter with Wanda, and you had just completed your classes. As you strolled out of campus grounds, the sun was already setting. It painted a picturesque view of the orange horizon, but truthfully, you only cared about getting back to Wanda for that promised ‘tomorrow’.

“I told you no, Nat,” you reply with a playful sternness that the others laugh at. It was no secret that Natasha had a crush on you, ever since you first sat next to her in the lecture hall and got a little flirty and perhaps a little too handsy.

It was also no secret that for every lecture after that, you would sit next to a different girl and activities of the same sort would ensue. Most of the time, those encounters would end up with a pretty girl trapped between the wall of a cramped supply closet and you.

“They’ve probably got a secret girlfriend,” Tony adds unhelpfully, with that classic smirk you want to punch off his face sometimes.

“Really?” Steve asks genuinely, ever the innocently clueless one. “Is she younger than us?”

“Oh, definitely,” Sam chimes in. “Have you seen the freshmen ‘round our beloved Y/N?”

“Feral,” Carol states in resolution. “They crowd at the field to watch Y/N during football practice.”

“And of course, Y/N doesn’t bother to hide the way she leads them all on!” Natasha adds in partial indignation, nudging you suggestively. “That’s totally your type, hm? Younger, pretty girls who chase after you with a puppy love? Is that why my forward advances have always ended in flames?”

You grin half-heartedly, awkward in the spotlight of your love life. For one, your friends couldn’t be more wrong about this ‘secret girlfriend’ you had. Younger, innocent girls? More like smoking hot single moms in their late thirties.

It was strange, even, how you would normally take these girls’ teasing in your stride, almost basking in the glory of being the most sought-after student on campus.

But with the looming thought of Wanda intercepting every brain wave of yours, months of pining surmounting to a heated make-out session with the hope for something more, all else was forsaken.

You try not to think about the implications of that too hard.

As your friends continue to bicker about the prospect of your secret girlfriend, you seize the well-earned distraction and weasel your way out.

Sooner than you’d care to admit, you’re standing outside Wanda’s home, skateboard in hand. You’re buzzing in anticipation with your flushed face and windswept hair.

Before you can doubt yourself and backtrack, you knock on the door sharply, twice. You can’t help but smirk at the muffled shriek that follows, then a muted shuffle, then silence. Your heart hammers in your ribcage. You really were about to do this.

“Come in, sweetheart,” the mother calls out with a sugary tone that feeds your ever-increasing libido.

You open the unlocked door, mentally preparing yourself to face Wanda once more.

But then you actually lay your eyes upon her ethereal figure, and your athlete-hardened knees nearly buckle.

Fuck.

Sprawled out on the sofa like something out of a classic Renaissance painting is Wanda, clad in nothing but a lacy set of dark red lingerie, the most sultry look on her face that draws all the air out of your lungs.

You’d never seen a more attractive woman, pregnant or not.

The way the lacy bra hugs her swollen breasts tighter, pushing the cleavage to be even more visible, the way her thick thighs are spread to reveal those beautiful stretch marks.

“Fuck,” you say, a lot higher pitched than you would care to admit. It seems to be the only word currently circulating in your mind, your studied vocabulary flying out of the window at the sight of Wanda presenting herself for you like a well-earned present.

“See something you like?” Wanda dares to tease, left hand trailing along the lace of her bra, dipping into the ample cleavage that leaves you salivating.

It takes approximately three seconds for you to kick the door shut, yank off your jacket and nearly dislocate your shoulder, then press against Wanda like it was always meant to be.

The kiss you pull her into is the opposite of gentle, your head slanting to deepen the kiss immediately, tongues meeting like planets bound to collide, bound to cross paths and cause an eclipse.

Wanda moans into the kiss, and you can barely hide your pleasure at that noise. You wanted to hear it a thousand times over, the breathless cry of your name, the begging tone of the older woman.

It was so wrong, but nothing had felt more right.

Wanda’s relinquishment of power doesn’t last too long, though, because before you can impatiently rip off the fabric of her lingerie, she threads her fingers into your hair and forcefully tugs you closer to her chest.

“My house, my rules,” Wanda states, and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a rush of arousal coursing through your veins at Wanda’s motherly sense of control.

“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, half-jokingly, but when your peripheral view catches Wanda visibly aroused by that, you know it isn’t going to be the last time you address her as that.

Your hand slides under Wanda’s body to unclasp the bra, letting out an affected noise at the sight of her full tits on display.

“Shit,” you grunt, pausing for a moment to admire the view.

Throughout the months of babysitting Billy and Tommy, you had only ever discreetly checked out Wanda’s cleavage, or perhaps stare a little too hard when she wore scanty dresses that showed off her side boobs.

Now, with those perfect, swollen mounds right before your face, you give into your urges to bury your face between them. You groan at the sensation of Wanda’s milk leaking out of her hardened nipples, your mouth moving to suckle at her breasts.

“Shit, baby,” Wanda cries, throwing her head back as you drink right out of her breasts, lapping fervently. It wasn’t entirely sexual per se, but the sheer relief of lightening that weight load in her breasts was a pleasure in itself.

You get slightly drunk off the feeling of Wanda’s breasts in your mouth, and it takes Wanda a surprising amount of strength to get your head away from her chest eventually.

“You’re a bit too obsessed with my tits,” Wanda teases, swiping her milk off your lips with her thumb, tilting your head down to lock eyes with her. The tension between the two of you is palpable, thick in the air, and you long to drown in that desire.

You only smirk back, hands resting on the hem of her thong. “May I undress you now, ma’am?” you emphasise, tilting your head to the side in faux innocence.

“So polite,” Wanda retorts right back, fingertips tracing the curve of your jawline as a smile plays on her lips. “How could I say no to such a gentleman?”

That’s all the confirmation you need before you snap the elastic of Wanda’s red thong, stuffing the flimsy material into the pocket of your pants. What you’d do with it later was for another day.

You kiss down Wanda’s breasts to her swollen belly, firm but gentle, then you flatten out your tongue when it reaches her wet heat.

“I couldn’t pay attention,” you growl, licking a long stripe up Wanda’s pussy. “In any of my fucking classes today,” you continue, tongue flicking at her puffy clit. “‘Cause I was thinking ‘bout all the ways I could fuck that pretty cunt.”

The filthy moan that leaves Wanda’s lips at your words rings around the confines of the four walls.

It had been so long since Wanda experienced such mindblowing sex; She had been sexually repressed because of Vision’s busy schedule, and it was torture because pregnancy pretty much solidified her daily sexual arousal.

But what with her split from him meaning no more mediocre sex, and the prospect of a hot babysitter entering her life, Wanda’s pregnancy hormones had skyrocketed to an all-time high.

Long gone were the nights she held a vibrator against her clit under the sheets, eyes screwed shut as thoughts of you swam in her head. Long gone were the times she helplessly fingered herself in the shower, wishing her fingers belonged to you instead.

Now, your head was buried between her thighs, your mouth like the devil on her cunt, fast-paced and unforgiving and everything Wanda had always longed for.

“You’re perfect,” you grunt into the older woman’s wet heat, the vibrations of your rough tone sending jolts of arousal up Wanda’s body. “You’re so fucking perfect, Wanda.”

“D-Don’t say that,” she answers breathlessly, fingernails digging into your scalp. “You’ve slept with plenty of other younger, prettier girls than me.”

The insecurity Wanda felt about her body had mainly stemmed from Vision, who was always going on about how she had become less attractive after pregnancy, with the stretch marks and the added fat and other blemishes on her skin.

“I don’t know about that,” you say, relentless in your worshipping of Wanda’s body. The way you were treating her like a temple was overriding the false beliefs Vision had planted into her head. “‘Cause now when I think about those other girls in bed they all end up looking like you.”

At that, Wanda feels tears prick in the back of her eyes, her gaze blurring as she stares at you. ‘

You, who had entered her life like a ray of hope, brightening up her every day with a blindingly charming smile and a selfless heart. You, who had treated her with more care and respect than any man she had ever been with before. You, who tied up all her loose ends and sewed it up to form the shape of a pretty little heart.

“I love you,” Wanda whispers, the words spilling from the tip of her tongue before she can control it. Her breath constricts afterwards when your mouth finally stops to register her words.

“I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize it,” Wanda continues, breathless, pushing aside your hair to properly look at you in the eyes. “But I do love you, Y/N L/N.”

Wanda feels something wet on her inner thigh, something that’s not her own slick. It takes a moment for her to realize that it’s your tears.

“I’ve loved you since I first laid my eyes on you,” you confess, eyes shining. “I think I was just scared to believe it until today, too.”

Heartstrings get tugged like a harp, crescendoing into a beautiful symphony that was finally requited love, finally coming to a high, finally reaching its summit.

The lust that encaptures the two of you dissipates into a warm glow of love, the tension easing into trials of romance.

When you dive back in between Wanda’s thighs, you’re determined and emotional and ultimately choked with new possibilities.

You could already imagine cooking dinners together with Wanda, reading the kids bedtime stories, chastising them to go and brush their teeth, stealing kisses when they fell asleep.

You could already map out a navigation of your future years, down millions of paths and possibilites that all brought you to Wanda Maximoff. She was your life, your truth, your unbreakable vow.

With that, her first orgasm comes in a tidal wave, like rushing water breaking free from a dam.

Wanda sobs, riding your face as she comes harder than she’s ever had in her life, squirting all over your face and the sofa, all else forgotten.

Your expert tongue and naturally-skilled fingers bring her to another plane of existence, where she was floating above the universe, where your name was chanted like a mantra.

The world around you faded as Wanda’s thighs wrapped around your head, as you dived down once more to worship, as you dived down once more to chase the love of your life.

This was the only happy ever after you needed.

hope yall liked it 😋 reblogs are much appreciated!!

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peachdues · 5 months

Text

BIRTHDAY SURPRISES — NSFW

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Reader

A/N: there is nothing redeemable about this. It’s just 7.9k words of pure filth in honor of my man’s birthday.

My husband got a boner reading this, so enjoy you whores.

CW: MDNI • Explicit sexual content • daddy!kink • elevator blowjobs • creampies • rough sex • kinky sex • brat-taming/mild dumbification • overstimulation • fluff at the end followed by more smut • not proof read lmao

Sanemi Shinazugawa has never liked the month of November.

For starters, the stupid month can’t decide what damn season it wants to be. It’s somehow too cold to really qualify as autumn and the leaves have usually fallen to the ground, brown and dead and useless, but it’s also still too warm to snow.

And November is such a tease — smack dab between two great holidays yet offering nothing but a restlessness that persists until the end of the year.

So no, Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t fond of this time of year. But the universe has never shied away from giving him the middle finger, so Sanemi supposes he shouldn’t be surprised his birthday falls during such a bullshit month like November.

He’d been content to spend the day of his birth like he did every other year — hunkered down in his apartment with some cheap takeout, alone, without anyone to make a big fuss about it. That was the plan — his goddamn plan.

So how the fuck did he end up here?

The “here” in question is a suite at one of the city’s most exclusive hotels. The room is stuffed full of faces, some familiar but most not, packed together like sardines. The music is loud and pulsing and it threatens to give him a nasty headache.

It was Tengen who convinced him to allow this — though, Sanemi doesn’t suppose he was given much of a choice in the matter. But his friend group learned of his impending birthday a few weeks earlier, and before Sanemi could level a few, well-backed threats against any party planning, Tengen had booked the massive suite in which he now found himself, and promised Sanemi that he wouldn’t have to buy a single drink.

Sanemi agreed only on the condition that he be allowed to book a separate hotel room — several floors below where this godforsaken party now raged.

At least Tengen had meant it when he promised Sanemi wouldn’t have to spend a dime on alcohol. He took care to run up his friend’s tab by ordering several shots of Grey Goose, throwing them back as easily as water.

Hey, it was his birthday, after all.

The hotel suite is a blur of lights and colors and bodies pressed together in dark corners. Truthfully, Sanemi really can’t find any one thing to pay attention to; it’s ironic that this party is supposedly for him, and yet he feels like the most invisible person in the room.

But then he spots you — beautiful, witty, and charming you — seated in the lounge area, surrounded by both shared friends and strangers, and it’s like a spotlight has been pointed directly at you. All else seems to fall away, recessing into the shadows of the room, and his attention is locked solely on you; the star of the show that is his birthday party.

The feelings swirling in Sanemi’s chest are dangerous; lethal. He knows he should look away and accept the fact that you, with your endless pick of eligible women and men, would never deign to chase after someone like him, someone with as many scars on his heart as are seared into his skin. He knows that. He knows he’s only setting himself up to get more pissed off — to hate his birthday more than he already does.

But he can’t stop watching you.

And even if he could, he doesn’t want to. He’s only been in love with you since the moment Shinobu tugged you into a booth at a bar they all frequented. There hadnt really been any room for you to sit — not with seven of them already packed tightly onto the bench — but you’d taken one look at him and grinned, something that could only be described as mischief lighting your eyes.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” You’d asked him sweetly as you plopped your ass right down on his lap. “You look like you’re the comfiest one here.”

Sanemi, who was known for having a quick temper and an even quicker mouth, had been stunned into silence by the presence of a beautiful woman, perched on his knee like it was the most natural thing to sit on a stranger’s lap. His friends had been hard-pressed to suppress their smirks at the way Sanemi gaped at the back of your head, and he was fairly certain it was because you’d been so ballsy that you’d secured a permanent spot in their weekly bar rotation.

That had been over a year ago, and Sanemi’s infatuation with you grew deeper by the day.

Not that he’d ever done anything about it — even though, at times, it felt like you were all but baiting him into acting on his feelings. He wanted to believe the way your eyes followed him wherever he went in a room meant something, that your lingering touches were an invitation for more, but he could never bring himself to find out.

That cowardice, he supposed bitterly, was exactly what led him here, sitting alone at the suite room bar, watching as countless others flirted with you and you, right back.

A few times your eyes had tracked him across the room; one time, you looked as though you were about to push through the throng of people shoved into Tengen’s suite to come talk to him, but a hand on your bicep caught you and diverted your attention.

It’s then that Sanemi snaps. The moment he watches as the asshole in question pulls you against him for a slow grind, that jealous, monstrous thing in his chest rears its ugly head, growling and gnawing to be let free.

He’d hoped, for one pathetic moment, that you would push the man away, shake your head, do something that indicated you weren’t the least bit interested in him, no matter how fascinating his multi-colored eyes were, or how charming his feral grin was, but you didn’t. And the moment he sees the douchebag pull your hips flush against his, Sanemi knows he needs to get some air.

So with less grace than he knows he probably should show, Sanemi shoves his way towards the door leading out the suite and into the hallway.

Fuck it, he decides. He would go back to his room, several floors below, take a shower and hit the fucking hay. His birthday was bullshit, anyways.

He storms towards the elevators, slightly tipsy and certainly angry. He stabs a finger against the down button, his leg bouncing as he waits for the elevator to come and save him from his own party.

“What’re you doing out here, birthday boy?”

His stomach sinks to his ass at the familiar cadence of the voice behind him. Reluctantly, he turns and sees you making your way down the hallway wall, a smirk on your pretty lips and looking downright sinful in that flimsy, silvery dress that barely reaches the middle of your thighs.

That damn elevator can’t come fast enough.

“Go back to the party,” he says tightly, though he still won’t look you directly in the eyes. “Don’t let me interrupt your good time.”

You draw up short. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sanemi only scoffs and jabs frustratingly at the elevator button, willing for the telltale ding that will allow him to step into the lift and get far the fuck away from this rager he didn’t want.

From you.

“What’s wrong with you? Did something happen?” You push, resuming your advance on him and shortening the space between your bodies. “Sanemi —“

“Save it,” Sanemi bites, and because he cannot help himself, he adds, “I just don’t particularly feel like watching you spread your legs for some lowlife asshole who can’t be bothered to remember your name.”

You blink, comprehension dawning on your face before melting to anger. “That’s what you’re so pissy about?”

Sanemi silently begs the elevator to hurry the fuck up, because now you’re only a few feet away from him and he doesn’t want you to see his fraying restraint.

You fold your arms across your chest, hip jutting out to the side. “You’re acting like a bitch because some jackass tried to grind on me? Why do you even care?”

Sanemi dodges your question with ease.

“You’re the one who fuckin’ followed me out here.”

The elevator dings and Sanemi is damn near falling to his knees in gratitude at its timing. The double sliding doors have barely finished opening before he’s already inside, jamming his finger into the button marked 26, praying it’ll move faster than it arrived.

The doors start to close but a pair of hands slam against both sides of the doorway, preventing them from joining in the middle.

You stand in the center of the threshold, eyes bright and nostrils flaring, the elevator doors half-closed around you.

“It wasn’t easy to throw this party together y’know,” you snap at him, and dully, Sanemi thinks the glare you give him is strong enough to wither plants. “Everyone went out of their way to try and make you feel special, but you’ve been nothing but an asshole about it.”

“I didn’t ask you all to do this — I begged you not to,” Sanemi retorts just as hotly, his arms folding across his chest. “I didn’t want a fuckin’ party.”

“Well, what do you want?”

the silence that stretches between you is more telling than any answer he could have given. By the way your lips part, you seem to realize it at the same moment he does, and that’s when Sanemi knows he’s fucked.

The two of you stare at one another for a moment, the weight of Sanemi’s unspoken admission hanging above your heads like the sword of Damocles.

But then, the blade drops, and it must impale you both, because suddenly your hands fall from the elevator doors and are tangling in his hair at the same moment Sanemi’s fingers latch onto your waist, and your mouths slam together in a fiery clash of lips and teeth.

The elevator doors slide shut behind you right as Sanemi presses you up against the paneled wall and slides his tongue into your mouth.

At the first stroke of his tongue against yours, you tense, and for one panicked moment, he fears he’s gone too far. But then you’re melting against him, and the way you tug on his hair and whimper his name against his lips makes Sanemi loses his goddamn mind.

Time stands still and there are no thoughts in Sanemi’s brain but the feel of your hands running down his arms, his chest, pushing under the open collar of his shirt to dance along his burning skin.

They can’t get to the 26th floor fast enough, no matter how fast the numbers tick past, bringing them closer and closer to privacy —

The elevator jolts to a stop, somewhere between the 29th and 28th floors, and does not move.

It’s just his fucking luck; the girl of his dreams is pressed flush against him, her lips at his ear as she begs for him, and the goddamn elevator has forgotten how to work. If his hands weren’t so busy pushing under the hem of that slip you call a dress to fondle the curve of your ass, he might’ve put a hole through the one of the doors.

He punches the button for the 26th floor again and again, his sanity fraying with each urgent jab of his fingers, yet the elevator still does not move.

If the idea that the pair of you are stranded in a metal box of death suspended over twenty stories high bothers you, Sanemi wouldn’t be able to tell — not when you’ve decided to turn your attention someplace else.

“What’re you —“ Sanemi’s voice is hardly more than a croak as your hands busy themselves with the buckle on his belt, fumbling and tugging until the leather fastened around his hips gives way.

“Shhh!” A press of your index finger to his lips silences him. “Birthday boys shouldn’t worry!”

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his pants and suddenly they’re following you down as you slide to your knees before him.

Sanemi’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the way your half-lidded gaze drifts from his face down his body, coming to rest on the tent of his briefs, jutting out from between his thighs.

Your voice is syrupy and warm as you whisper, “I guess I should let you have your first gift,”

Sanemi forgets how to breathe when you peer back up at him, your eyes suddenly round and wide; he nearly forgets how to stand when you lean forward and press your cheek against the side of his cock where it strains against his underwear.

Sanemi sucks in sharply through clenched teeth at the sudden rush of cold elevator air against the heated, sensitive skin of his bare cock, your fingers having tugged him free from the confines of his briefs.

“F-first?” He can’t stop the way the question stutters out, not when your lips, just barely gazing against him, drag from his base to his tip. The soft exhale of your warm breath up his length has his hands shooting behind him for something — anything — to grip.

You hum in confirmation, and Sanemi’s vision almost blacks out when your tongue peeks past your glossy, red-stained lips to trail over his leaking head.

“But you’ll have to wait ‘til we get to your room before you can unwrap the next one.”

Sanemi swears he’ll set the entire hotel building on fire if the elevator doesn’t start working in the next fucking minute. His vicious promise, however, fades to the back of his mind, along with every other coherent thought he’s ever had as your lips part around his head and you take him into your mouth.

“Holy fuck,” Sanemi hisses and his head falls back against the elevator wall with a dull thump.

You him pleasantly around his cock and Sanemi nearly cums right there, the vibrations from your mouth too sweet, adding gasoline to the already raging inferno of his desire.

At first, you keep your hands primly folded behind you, only allowing your mouth to work his shaft. Every time you slide up off him, you curl your tongue against the underside of his cock and every time, Sanemi has to draw upon every morsel of self-restraint he possesses to not buck further down your throat.

But soon, your hands pat their way to his, and you bring his hands against either side of your head. You hold them there for only a moment, just long enough for Sanemi’s stomach to flip as he realizes what you’re giving him permission to do.

You peer up at him with those big eyes, so wide and deceptively innocent, and he knows you’re trying to kill him.“Motherfucking — Y/N,” he moans, threading his fingers through your hair. “Fuck.”

With his grip in your hair secure, Sanemi begins to fuck your mouth. His cock slides in and out of your heat, every push shoving a little more of himself further into your mouth. You only relax your throat, your tongue still curling against the underside of his shaft in a way that makes Sanemi see white.

Sanemi’s hold on your hair tightens. “Fucking take it,” he pants, hips bucking against your face. “My little cock whore.” From his position over you, Sanemi can see the way his words make you squirm with need, your answering moan long, and deep.

Your hands flutter to the side of his thighs, and Sanemi almost winces at the prick of your nails against his skin. But despite the saliva steadily trailing down your chin and the guttural sounds choking in the back of your throat, you’re tugging him closer, your fingers inching around to grip his backside, pressing him closer and closer to you until your nose brushes his groin.

The elevator jolts with movement and resumes its descent, but neither of you notice. All Sanemi can focus on his the way his tip bumps against the back of your throat, and how your cheeks hollow against him as he ruts into your mouth.

Sanemi makes a strangled noise in the vague shape of your name. “I-I’m gonna —“

You only need to swallow around him once before Sanemi is filling your throat with his cum. With a deep groan, his head drops back, his hand splayed across the back of your skull, keeping your nose pressed against his base as he rocks his hips, his cock twitching violently in your mouth.

His eyes fly open when he feels the wetness from your tears against the sensitive skin of his groin, and he’s quick to pull out of your mouth. Your hands bracing against his thighs as you gulp down air in heavy, shuddering gasps.

“Fuck — I’m sorry,” his hands smooth worryingly over your hair. “That was too rough, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-“

Your head snaps up, and Sanemi feels a brief moment of panic at the sight of your mascara, streaked down your cheeks from an onslaught of tears. Bht then you’re smiling at him, a big, triumphant, radiant smile, and Sanemi feels almost as dumb in the head as he had when your mouth was around his cock.

The elevator slows and Sanemi hastily tucks himself back into his pants. The moment his belt is refastened, his hand is on your arm, gently guiding you up to stand right as a ding! sounds, and the doors slide open to reveal the 26th floor.

You step out first, turning back to him expectantly. “Well? What room?”

Sanemi’s heart falls to his ass as he beholds the assured confidence blazing in your eyes. “2602,” he manages to croak.

You tug him out of the elevator and for a few moments, he’s dumbstruck by his good fortune. It almost feels like a dream, that your here, leading him down the winding hallway of this oversized and overpriced hotel, eager to get back to his room and do whatever the hell it is that’s lit that fire in your eyes.

Sanemi’s awe is short-lived, replaced by a crashing wave of need and boiling desire, hot and furiously bubbling under his skin. His hand tightens around yours and he jerks you around, spinning you until you’re caged tightly between the hallway wall and his chest.

His mouth attacks your neck, biting and sucking his claim into your skin, no matter how temporary. Your leg hikes up to hook around his hips, your foot pressed against his calf, and it seems neither of you care that you’re very much still on an open hallway as opposed to the privacy of his hotel room.

“I’m not holding back with you,” he whispers against the hollow of your throat. His hands slide hotly down your sides, fingers toying under the absurdly short hem of your dress, kneading just beneath the curve of your ass. “You asked me what I wanted — I want this. You.”

Your sultry giggle in his ear chokes off as Sanemi’s finger dips under your ass from behind to run firmly over your clothed slit. A breathy fuck falls from his lips as he feels the wetness seeping through the fabric of your underwear.

“That’s your main gift,” you’re tugging on his hair again until you’ve pulled him away from your throat so that you can slant your mouth over his. “Me. However you want me.”

You take his bottom lip between your teeth and suck, and Sanemi swears he’s died and gone to heaven. “As many times as you want.”

“And in whatever positions you want.”

Sanemi has never been a particularly religious man, but he thinks he’s about one nanosecond from dropping to his knees in worship of you.

Sanemi wastes no time in hauling you over his shoulder, throwing any and all cares to the wind of being seen as he slaps your ass and books the remaining trek back to his hotel room. Youre lucky his room is only around the corner, given that you won’t stop groping his ass.

Somehow, Sanemi manages to fumble for his keycard and swipes it, and he has you inside his room and pushed up against the door before it even fully latches shut.

You’re moaning and panting just from his hands, and Sanemi can feel himself already growing hard once more. His lips are feverish as they roam from your lips, to your neck, and down to the hem of your dress concealing your soft breasts from sight. His hands are even greedier, bunching the tissue-paper-like fabric of you dress between his fingers as he explores the curves and dips of your body.

“God you feel so fucking good,” he mutters against your lips between kisses. “I can’t get enough of you.”

From the way your hands drag down his chest, fingers sliding between the undone buttons of his shirt to explore his chest, he knows you’re just as starved as he is.

With a slight whine, you push him back, breaking your kiss. Sanemi looks at you, but the question building on his tongue does as you kick your heels off, your fingers flying to the straps of your dress.

Sanemi feels locked in place by the heat of your gaze, and he swears he can feel his pulse tick in his neck. One by one, you push the straps of your dress from your shoulders, letting the satiny material fall down your waist and puddle around your feet.

If Sanemi thought he was losing his mind before, he knows for certain that he likely needs to be committed now.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sanemi’s stare is unabashed and gaping. For beneath that flimsy scrap of shiny fabric pretending to be a dress was not your bare skin, but dark green lace and mesh and corset paneling.

A teddy.

You twist slightly so you’re looking over your shoulder, fully exposing your ass and the thong-like back of your one-piece to the slack-jawed birthday boy.

“I figured you would like this one.”

Your words knock Sanemi right off his axis, his head spinning so fast, it’s a miracle it’s still attached to his shoulders.

You’d worn fucking lingerie for his party.

For him.

You’d gone out of your way to wear something you thought he would like on the mere chance you’d end up as you were now, here in his room. You’d planned for it.

You didn’t leave him any other choice; he was going to fucking ruin you.

His hand flies behind his neck to grip his shirt, ripping it over his head and throwing it unceremoniously to the side.

Sanemi doesn’t fail to notice the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your pupils blowing wide at the sight of the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen.

He kicks off his shoes and his hands shove his pants quickly down his legs, grateful that he hadn’t bothered to refasten his belt or button after the stunt you pulled in the elevator.

“C’mere,” he orders, roughly. Left in just his black briefs, he lunges forward to take you into his arms once more.

Your peal of laughter as Sanemi throws you onto his king-sized hotel bed is the prettiest thing he’s ever heard. He wastes no time pouncing on you, eager to reconnect your lips, to kiss you until you’re left as breathless and wanting as he is.

Between messy kisses, Sanemi’s hands make their way down your body, squeezing and marveling at the way your body seems made for his touch. And as if the feeling of your skin beneath his palms isn’t enough to drive him wild, you’re so responsive to his touch. Every stroke of his hands seems to bring you alive until you’re practically thrumming with want and begging him for more.

His fingers slide over your lace-covered cunt and he swears at the dampness he feels clean through the fabric of your teddy.

“Eager, are we?” He hums, his lips following down the path he traced with his hands. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Your hips buck impatiently against him as his face settles between your thighs. He grins at your desperation, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your inner thigh until he reaches your covered slit.

He lets his tongue peek out between his lips and drags it over until he reaches your other thigh, groaning at the faint taste of you dampening the lace.

Sanemi’s fingers push under the edge of the teddy, a breath blowing past his lips when he connects with your dripping cunt.

“Look how fucking soaked you are,” he says in awe, marveling the way your slick coats his fingers. “Is this all for me?”

You groan, pushing your hips down to grind harder against his hand.

“Just fuck me already,” you huff. “I’m ready now.”

Sanemi tsks softly at you. “You need to ask a lot nicer than that, sweet girl.”

Your impatient demands taper off into soft moans as Sanemi sinks a single finger into your entrance, his cock growing impossibly hard at the feeling of you clenching easily around him.

Sanemi practically trembles at the thought of sinking into your heat, of how you might feel clenching and pulsing around his length while he fucks you the way he’s been dreaming since he met you.

But while he might be pent up, Sanemi isn’t so much of an asshole that he wouldn’t make sure you were good and ready to take him.

So he simply tugs the crotch of your teddy aside and without any further teasing or torture, he latches his mouth to your cunt with a deep moan.

As his tongue darts between your folds, Sanemi realizes that all the cake in the world couldn’t compare to how fucking sweet your pussy tastes.

You cry out, his name stuttering out between a staccato of moans and cooes for more. Your hands twist in his hair, alternating between pulling his face closer to your core and pushing him away, the pleasure almost too much for you to bear.

Sanemi thinks he could get drunk on your taste. His eyes open to watch the way your face pinches, how your jaw goes slack to let his name drip from your tongue.

Your hands unwind from his hair to tug at the sinful draping of lace fitted against your body like a glove. “Off,” you whimper. “Off.”

It takes him a moment to realize what you want. But after another plea of “off,” Sanemi’s hands are already working to push the teddy down your lithe form.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he soothes, dragging the lingerie off your legs. Sanemi swears softly at the sight of you, bare and spread out on his mattress, your body pliant and ready for him to use however he chooses.

“S-Sanemi,” he can’t suppress his grin at the apparent whine in your tone. “I feel so — so empty —“

He doesn’t try to hold in the groan resounding deep from his chest. Youre asking — practically begging — for his cock, and Sanemi doesn’t have the willpower to deny you.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, and suddenly your body is caged under his, his hips slotting perfectly into the cradle of your thighs. “I need to be in you.”

His lips dance feverishly up the side of your neck until they reconnect with yours.

For a moment, your kiss slows to something more sensual and passionate, as opposed to the heated and frantic kisses you’d exchanged earlier. The sigh you exhale against his mouth is the sexiest thing Sanemi has ever heard, and the feeling of your fingers latching in his hair is a sensation he never wants to forget.

Your tongue swipes along his lower lip in a silent request for entry that he’s only too happy to grant. You moan against the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Sanemi knows he’s been head over heels for you for a long time, but the way your tongue dances languidly with his has him utterly undone.

If you wanted to, he’d let you swallow him whole.

Your kiss melts into something more needy and frantic, and Sanemi feels your wetness grind down against his thigh, a pleading whimper building on your lips. With an eagerness that makes his head spin, your legs shift to lock around his waist, and one of the hands you’d had latched in his hair drifts down his abdomen until it finds his cock, heavy and hot in your palm.

“I’ve got a condom —“ Sanemi manages between desperate kisses. “In my wallet —“

But your legs tighten around his hips and your hand pumps harder at his stiffened length. “Don’t need it,” you murmur against his lips. “On the pill.”

Sanemi thinks he might pass out. “Fuck — are you sure?”

You nod, eyes bright and alert even in spite of your sleepy, fucked-out smile. “Wanna feel you, baby.”

Don’t have to fucking tell him twice. Especially not when you’re calling him baby, even if it’s a pet name you’ll only use on him for the night.

With deft hands, Sanemi flips you so that your front is pressed against the mattress. You scramble beneath him to plant your knees, raising your ass high in the air, your cunt held out in an offering he could never refuse.

He gives one of your pert ass cheeks an appreciative smack before he shuffles forward on his knees. He rests one foot on the outside of your leg, parallel with your hip, and slots his other knee between your parted thighs. One hand grips the base of his cock while the other kneads at your hip, holding you steady while also keeping your limbs relaxed as he lines his tip up with your dripping entrance.

“Unless you say otherwise, ‘M goin’ hard,” he warns, his voice rougher than gravel. “Been waiting too long to do this.”

Ever the devilish little minx, you wiggle your hips back against him, and his breath chokes in his throat when your wet heat catches him at his tip.

You look back over your shoulder and Sanemi’s gaze darkens at the challenge in your eyes. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Sanemi decides to respond to your taunt not with his words, but with his body. In a single, fluid movement, he plunges his cock deep into your heated core, his fingers tightening around your hips with bruising force.

“Jesus fuck,” he pants once he’s fully embedded to the hilt inside your warmth.

It’s unreal; the feeling of your silken, pleasure-soaked walls moulding around his cock like you were made to take him sends a bolt lightning surging down his spine, making him shudder.

A cross between a cry and a scream tears from your throat, muffled only by the press of your mouth against the starchy blankets of his hotel bed. He’s about to ask if you’re okay, if you want him to go slow for a bit since he knows he’s a larger than average. but then you’re throwing your hips back against him, circling and grinding and mewling for more.

“Fuck me,” you moan. “Fuck me, Sanemi — please.”

“God fucking damn,” Sanemi hisses through clenched teeth. And he knows he can’t deny you, not when your whining so prettily for him; nor when your pussy feels this fucking good.

He draws back, his cock sliding out of you until only his tip remains. He lingers there, for just a hair’s breadth of a moment, teasing.

Your impatient whine doesn’t last long as Sanemi slams you back onto him, the sound choking off in your throat. He doesn’t give you time to recover; he digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips and drives his cock into you again and again, pounding a relentless rhythm into you that has you sobbing into the mattress.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You blubber, your fingers fisted into the blankets below for purchase as you push yourself back to meet his frenzied thrusts.

Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from where his cock, shiny with your wetness, disappears in and out of you. “You’re taking me so fuckin’ well,” he says in awe. Your pussy is gripping him like a vice, practically sucking him back into your heat. “You like letting me use you, huh?”

Sanemi shifts so that his weight is on the knee resting beside your leg, allowing him to push harder and deeper into your cunt. You try to lift your head, but Sanemi’s hand leaves its place on your hip to press down on the back of your neck, squeezing lightly.

“Oh f-fuck,” you groaned, voice slightly muffled from where your face was half-pressed into the mattress. “Oh god — just like that — D-daddy, yes —“

Sanemi’s hips stutter. Daddy. No one has ever called him that in the bedroom before, but fuck if it doesn’t somehow make him harder than a fucking diamond.

Especially because it seems like it slipped out of you without much thought, your eyes too busy staring at the back of your skull as every punishing thrust of Sanemi’s cock into your pliant cunt makes your body bounce against the mattress.

He likes it. A lot.

“Should’ve known you’d have a daddy kink, filthy little thing,” he groans, his hand reaching under you to toy with your swollen clit.

You only moan in response, and Sanemi can’t help but to swirl his fingers around that nub, savoring the way it makes your thighs quiver beneath you.

The hand still pressing against the back of your neck slides up to grip your hair, and Sanemi pulls your head up from the bed. “Do you call everyone ‘daddy,’ sweetness, or just those who fuck you the way you like it?”

“Not everyone” you gasp, voice strained against the tight arch of your neck. “Just you — ah! Only you.”

With a growl, Sanemi’s arm locks around your middle and hauls you up until your back is flush against his chest. One hand wraps around your jaw, his fingers squeezing your cheeks to keep your head back as he continues pounding into you.

“Look at you,” his exhales hotly against your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. “Daddy’s pretty little toy.”

Your thighs quake in their effort to keep you up. Your moans raise an octave, warbling out of your throat as you settle heavily against him, utterly helpless against the pleasure rolling through your body.

Sanemi’s hand drops from your jaw to drag teasingly down your torso. When he reaches your lower belly, he presses his palm flat, the pressure allowing the blunt head of his cock to rub against that sensitive spot that makes you sing his name.

“You feel that, baby?” And the whine that slips out of you is one he wishes he could bottle up. “That’s all me — that’s how deeply I’m fucking you.”

He’s practically holding you up, your limbs little more than jelly, but he doesn’t mind. He only increases the pressure of his hand, rubbing slightly over the softness of your stomach.

“And that’s where I’m gonna fill you up, ‘til you’re nice and full, hm?”

A stilted cry of his name is dragged from your lips, and Sanemi swears he’d marry you tomorrow, if you’d let him.

It’s not lost on him that this is likely a one-time thing; that you’ll likely leave his hotel room and the two of you won’t speak of it again, but he can’t find it within himself to give a shit.

It doesn’t matter if this is just a slightly drunken hook up — it doesn’t matter to him if it’s just sex. You’re letting him use your body for his pleasure, and that thought is enough to make his brain turn to liquid between his ears.

Sanemi falls back against the bed, bringing you with him, your back still pressed against his chest. He winds an arm around one of your thighs, holding it open to allow himself to continue fucking up into you with the speed of a racehorse.

“God you’re so fuckin’ tight — don’t want me to leave, do you, precious?”

He chuckles in your ear, catching your lobe between his teeth. His hand wedges between your thighs to play with your clit again, and the way your pussy flutters around him signals that you’re right on the precipice of your orgasm.

The first of the night, if he had anything to say about it.

“Maybe I should make you my own personal cocksleeve — would you like that, sweetheart?” You’re mewling, nodding frantically as you squirm and thrash atop him.

“Would you like to sit on Daddy’s cock all day, keep him nice and warm?”

“Yes!” You sob, and Sanemi’s fingers circle your clit even harder, determined to to make you cum. “Yes, ‘Nemi, please! I’ll be your good girl — I’ll be so good —“

Sanemi’s pace falters slightly at your words, a new idea — a wicked idea, forming fast in his mind. “You will, huh?”

He abruptly pulls out of you, though the anguished cry that rattles out of you at the loss of his warmth tugs at his heartstrings. After all, you’d been so close.

Sanemi wastes no time flipping you under him, hooking both your legs over his muscled shoulders until the underside of your thighs press flat against his chest.

“You’ll cum when I say so,” he shoves his painfully hard cock back into your pulsing warmth, his knuckles turning white under his grip against the rumpled blankets as he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back at the feeling of being sheathed back inside you once more.

“And you’re gonna fuckin’ look at me when i fill you up,” Sanemi snarls between ferocious snaps of his hips. “I wanna see that gorgeous face when I cum inside this pretty little pussy.”

“Yes! Yes s-sir.”

“Yeah? And who’s fucking you this good?”

“Y-you,”

He ducks his head down to nip sharply at your breast. “Try again.”

“You are — D-daddy,”

Sanemi’s pace only increases. “Still not what I’m looking for, princess,” he’s borderline cruel and he knows it, but he also knows what he wants. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

You don’t answer; you can’t, given how slack your jaw has gone, your mouth frozen in a perfect “o” as Sanemi pushes the head of his cock right at that spot deep within you that makes you seize down on him hard enough that he sees stars.

He growls your name and when you still don’t respond, he snaps his hips particularly hard against yours.

“Say it.”

His hand shoves between your bodies, and Sanemi pinches your clit harshly between this thumb and index finger.

“Sanemi!” You wail, writhing under him. His fingers rub soothing circles against your clit, though the relentless thrust of his cock does not ease.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, and the pressure of his fingers against your throbbing nub increases. “Now cum on this fucking cock.”

That does it.

Your back arcs sharply up off the mattress, thighs tightening around his hips as your cunt clenching around him with earth-shattering force. Sanemi feels a smug wave of pride as a surge of fluid springs forth and coats his abdomen and groin.

You fall back against the bed, limp and spent, but Sanemi isn’t done with you yet; you won’t be, not until Sanemi has left his mark.

He shifts over you, his full weight pressing you down into the mattress; his hands pushing your knees up until they’re level with your chest. You sigh and hum, still wading through the haze of your orgasm, but given the way you let your thighs spread a little wider, you’re aware enough to know that Sanemi is readying you to take his release.

It’s not enough; Sanemi doesn’t want you lost in the aftermath of your euphoria — he wants you crying out for his.

His hand grips your face, your cheeks squishing together beneath his fingers as he forces your head to tilt toward him. Your eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused before the clouds part and your attention is locked wholly on him.

“Beg for it,” he grits out, his hand smacking against your clit until you howled. “Beg for my cum.”

“Please!” Your cry is shrill and desperate, your hands tightening weakly around his shoulders. “Please f-fill me up — oh, Sanemi —“

He nearly loses it at the way you say his name, like it’s some damn prayer and he, your salvation, but he holds back. It’s not enough — he wants you as filthy and wanton as him.

“Use your words,” his words leave him in a single, inexorable command.

Your lower lip wobbles. “Your cum — please, please fill this pussy up. Fill me up, fuck it into me —“

Sanemi cuts off your babbling with a single, bruising kiss. He feels his balls tighten, and the prickle at the base of his spine grows hotter, signaling just how close he is to nirvana.

His hand finds one of yours where it clings to his shoulder, a fruitful attempt to anchor yourself, and he pulls it away. Sanemi presses your hand back against the mattress, interlacing his fingers with yours.

Your pussy flutters around him in time with your thumb stroking over his knuckle, and that’s all it takes.

“Oh fuck —“ Sanemi grunts before he feels himself explode. With a strangled yell, Sanemi’s hips slam into yours, pushing his cock as deep as it can possibly go, and his release crashes into him with mind-blowing force.

it’s the hardest and the most he’s ever come in his entire life. Nothing else has ever or will ever compare to this.

But even as his release spurts heavily inside your honeyed core, Sanemi doesn’t relent in his pace. His hips keep rolling steadily into you, prolonging his release to the point his toes curl, and he wonders whether his nose might start bleeding.

The corners of your mouth tilt up, a pleased groan vibrating loud and wanton in your throat as you feel him fuck his hot seed right into the Eden of your body.

Despite the mind-numbing pleasure of his orgasm, Sanemi won’t let himself look away. The face you make as he fills you up is the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

Sanemi stays buried in your heat for several more moments as he comes down from his high, his head dropping into the crook of your shoulder. With a grunt, he pulls out, dropping down next to you in a flurry of messy blankets and pillows.

You push yourself to your side, a hand coming to push the sweat-dampened ends of his bangs from his eyes. “Good birthday?” You tease, your cheeks flushed bright red, your eyes bright.

“The best,” Sanemi agrees, his eyes scanning your face, committing every detail of you and your post-sex glow to memory.

The two of you lay next to one another for a little while, talking and quietly laughing. Neither one of you seems eager to leave the bed, and Sanemi in particular finds himself hoping today never ends.

Eventually, nature calls and he excuses himself — reluctantly — to the bathroom. When he emerges, he’s greeted with the sight of your ass, bare and exposed as you nestle into the bed, one leg kicking lazily up into the air behind you.

Fuck, you’re too beautiful, and he is far too weak.

He approaches the side of the bed, stretching out one hand to drag teasingly down your spine, until he reaches your ass, knuckles kneading the soft flesh.

His eyes flit to the small clock perched on the hotel nightstand. Sanemi’s grin turns lupine as he reads time reflected by the green-tinted digits.

Sanemi’s fingers skirt down to your ankle, gripping it firmly in his hand. He tugs you over the side of the bed until your head dangles off the edge, your hair stretching towards the ground. “Looks like it’s still my birthday, darling. I ain’t finished enjoying my present yet,” he grips the base of his half-hard cock and taps it against your lips. “And I’ve been dying to cum all over this pretty face of yours.”

—-

True to his word, Sanemi takes him time ravishing his birthday gift. When the clock on the nightstand finally reads 12:01 AM, he flops down next to you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath.

You lay beside him, panting in tandem with him from the exertion of the night’s activities. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t sticky as a result of the heady mixture of your sweat and Sanemi’s cum.

You feel his eyes searing into you as you trail a finger through the milky white splattered across your chest — a favorite place of his to cum, as you’d learned, second only to spilling inside of you.

Sanemi hardly holds back a whimper at the way you bring it to your lips, letting your tongue lick your finger clean of his pleasure.

“You’re trying to drive me wild, woman,” he throws a tired arm over his face, shrouding his eyes. “You torture all your hookups like this?”

He’s surprised at how quickly you sit up in bed, your eyes flashing.

“Hookup?”

Sanemi props a fist under his cheek. “Well, yeah,” he winces slightly, searching for more careful words. “I don’t expect anything from you. I appreciate the birthday surprise, though.”

Your gaze is leveled, and your voice even. “I don’t buy lingerie for one-night stands, Sanemi. That shit is an investment.”

His eyes blow wide, and he feels the erratic thrum of his heart stuttering in his throat.

“I want you,” you say firmly. “And I had every intention when I followed you in here tonight for this —“ your hand waves back and forth between your chests. “— to continue.”

It’s a miracle Sanemi is able to speak at all. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

You grin. “Well, now that you’ve fucked me, I guess you should take me on a date.” You pause, trailing one delicate finger down his chest. “But I won’t make you wait until we’ve been on three before I let you fuck me again.”

Your hand dips below the edge of the blanket and glides teasingly over his cock, already beginning to stir once more. “You’re far too delicious.”

Sanemi snatches your hand and rolls you under him before you can blink, your answering giggle the sweetest music ever to grace his ears.

“Y’know, in other parts of the world, it’s still the 29th,” he murmurs huskily, grazing his lips against yours. “So by that logic…”

You nod, eyebrows drawn together in seriousness. “We’re obligated to keep celebrating.”

Sanemi’s lips are already trailing down your body, savoring the taste of himself on your skin. He settles back between your legs, marveling at the way your thighs fall to the side so easily to accommodate his mass.

He presses a sweet kiss against your clit. “You’re just the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you, darlin’?”

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut

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trulyhblue · 3 months

Note

write the niamh **** i dare you!!!!!!! never knew i was this down bad for her until she came out in the captains armband and i was like…there’s something about this, she is confident and she is hot and respectfully i shouldn’t say any more

Back To You

Niamh Charles x Aussie! Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, massive praise kink, degradation, vibrator, thigh-riding, edging, breeding kink, angst, a bit of Man U hate, semi-public themes, coarse language.

A/N — the demand for Niamhy is finally here…. I honestly don't know what came over me. Bit long, hope you enjoy!

__________________

Time after time, you had watched your girlfriend get angry on the pitch.

You had seen her push and shove, swear and tackle. Niamh wasn't an extremely violent person by any means. She could be kind, gentle, loving, and full of empathy, and in most cases, she was. She wasn't always an intolerance on the field, usually keeping the pace instead of arguing and slowing it down. She was determined, you were technical. All relationships aside, the two of you blended well on the field.

But, Niamh was many things that you weren't.

You had joined Chelsea after progressing through the United Academy. You were born in Manchester and grew up playing football. The move down to London was difficult, but you made your WSL debut in the Blues jersey, and have stayed loyal to them ever since. Unlike many of your teammates, you were very shy. You’d much rather carry the ball down the field than give a shot at goal. You liked weaving in between the midfield and opening up opportunities for your teammates rather than pursuing something for yourself. There was a joke among the Football community that you were allergic to the penalty area because you tried to avoid it at all costs.

You were on the younger side of the team as well, meaning you had less experience than some of your friends. The girls were always there to lift you up and support you, but you managed to stay under the radar, behind the inevitable spotlight.

“Ready for today, Y/L/N?” Sam asked, pulling you out of your daze as you laced your boots. The news of your skipper tearing her ACL was fresh in your mind, but her presence in the room still comforting before a game like this.

Millie was opposite you, patting your knee a few times as she chuckled. “Gonna show those reds a masterclass today, aren't ‘ya?”

You blushed at that, staring down at your boots to avoid the bashful compliments you were receiving. You didn't start often, being classed as a constant sub instead. Today, you were starting. It only made you more anxious that it was against your parent club, one that you used to stay loyal to. One that United fans still ridicule you for leaving. You were an anxious person anyway, but a sold-out stadium and a phone full of social media only fueled your apprehension more.

Your teammates knew of this stress you placed on yourself, and what others placed on you. They had told you thousands of times that Chelsea was lucky to have you, but you constantly lacked the confidence to agree with them. You wanted to prove to everyone that you were capable of exceeding expectations.

“Piss off, you two.” You heard a familiar voice snap. “Leave her alone.”

You looked up to find your girlfriend grabbing your hand, pulling you up so she could wrap her arms across your shoulders. You engulfed her usual scent and sighed in contentment, hugging her back with your arms around her waist, your head against her chest.

You heard Sam scoff, the two women giggling to each other like school girls.

“Captain Niamhy to the rescue.” Your usual skipper teased, poking your side. You yelped, and Niamh sent a glare towards Millie. Sam wobbled closer to the two of you, laughing at the blush that painted your cheeks.

“C’mon, Mils. Let's leave these two love birds by themselves.” She chuckled. “Niamhy wants to show off the armband.”

“I’ll take your crutches, Kerr.” Niamh retorted, ignoring the two women as they sauntered off, placing her attention back on you.

You had left her wandering hands, turned towards your cubby, searching your bag for a hair brush. The anticipation of the game was continuously creeping up on you, and Niamh noticed your apprehension from a mile away.

Your breath hitched when you felt your girlfriend’s hands grip your waist, her front pushing up against your arse. Her voice was softer, raspier. Your bent figure made her bend down so that her mouth was level with your ear.

“You're going make me so proud today, aren't you, Baby?”Her tone sent a shiver down your body, her hot breath fanning down your neck. “‘Gonna show everyone how good you are for me?”

You nodded, feeling your throat close at your flustered state. Your face flushed an embarrassing shade of crimson when Niamh pushed you further into your cubby, moving one of her hands down to the inside of your thigh.

“You’ve got to use your words, yeah?” She muttered, maneuvering your arse so it aligned with her front. “I want to hear you on the field today, okay? Even if I'm on the other side. Understood?”

“Yes.” You muttered.

Niamh tutted. “Yes…?”

You felt all your composure start to fizzle down to your core. “Yes, Niamh.”

“Good.”

You were about to groan before Niamh pulled you upright, tightening her grip on your waist once more before leaving a chaste kiss on your forehead. You threw your head back and sighed, trying desperately to compose yourself before anyone questioned you.

You followed the team out onto the pitch, not realising that Niamh’s little stunt was to take your mind off the game. You moved through shaking everyone’s hands with ease, taking your position without a second glance towards anyone.

The whistle blew, and you were off.

Chelsea were determined to prove themselves after the poor efforts of the West Ham game. People were doubting the Blues after Sam’s injury and the girls all wanted everyone to know that they were serious contestants.

You were never predictable in the midfield, despite never really moving in and out of the middle very often. You found yourself creating as many chances as possible, crossing the ball into United’s half to the best of your ability.

The constant booing from United and cheers from Chelsea were a healthy, even mix, heightening the odds of the game as it progressed. You made as many breaks as you could before you felt the air in your lungs deflate when your body hit the floor.

You were slightly winded from the tackle, needing a moment to gather yourself before making the effort to get back up. Katie Zelem was the one stalking away from you, holding in a smug grin when some of the Chelsea girls threw their hands up in contention — your girlfriend included.

You shook the exchange off, hoping Zelem thought you weren't fazed by the late challenge. The crowd spurred the game into a further frenzy, coercing both sides to exacerbate their emotions.

You strained your neck from side to side, picking up the ball that had rolled away and getting ready for your free kick. Fortunately, the penalty was within United’s half, so naturally, Chelsea banked up near the goal, waiting as you began to run. You watched as the ball was sent over the top of most of the players in the direction of Lauren near the goalpost. With a flick of her head, the girl sent the ball hurling past Mary Earps’ head, speeding over to you in celebration as the United fans were up in arms at the assist you just had.

The team surrounded the two of you, hugging each other before making the swift return back to your position. Millie and Guro made a show of patting your head. Lauren shook your shoulders while Erin jumped up and down. You searched the group for Niamh, but frowned when your girlfriend was on the other side of the field.

“What is she doing?” You asked to no one in particular, staring down Niamh as she spoke with the Ref and Zelem.

Erin shrugged, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Who cares? All you need to worry about is doing more of what you just did.”

You chuckled at the Scottish woman, using your hand to propel her away playfully. Both sides took their positions, ready to start over. United started with the ball, passing back to their defensive line before weaving it forward.

You weren't too pleased with the style of aggression that both teams were playing with, wishing that you’d walk away with a clean win and sheet. You knew from playing with most of the Manchester girls that they were taught to fight back with twice as much wrath if they were placed into a compromised position like this. Millie Turner was marking you non-stop, and Maya metres away from you at all times. You struggled to keep the ball by your feet without someone coming up behind you and snaking away quicker than it arrived. You were growing more and more irritated as the game progressed, causing you to make stupid mistakes and overthink.

Hayley Ladds sent a shot through Hannah’s hands leading into halftime. Lucia Garcia was holding onto your shirt, yanking it back in an effort to stop you from defending. You watched the Manchester girls crowd each other like your team had done at the start of the game.

You had half a mind to stomp over to the group and pull them apart, but as you looked around, you realised the rest of your team wanted to do the same. The continuous physicality of the Reds was not something you were used to. Chelsea had been dominating the league for the most part — this was not something you were expecting.

The halftime whistle blew, calling the game to a temporary halt as both teams made their way to the changing rooms.

You marched over to Hannah, patting her on the back before retrieving the ball. The girls watched you run back to the middle of the field, placing the ball in its starting position and running back. You could hear the fans screaming as your studs hit the concrete floor, yet you kept your head down to drown out your internal disappointment.

On the rare occasion that you did start, you tried your absolute hardest to keep the ball rolling. You were determined to show people that you weren't just a sub, that you were a valuable asset to the team that deserved to be a part of the starting eleven each week. Back home, you played almost every game during the World Cup with the Matildas. When Steph wasn’t Captain, it was either you or Caitlin. When Sam came back, people found out why Chelsea was lucky to have the two of you. You grew up playing alongside your Aussie teammates, so it was no wonder you moulded so well with them.

You just couldn't understand why you couldn't apply yourself here.

You were about to walk into the Changing Rooms when you heard someone call you out from behind. You turned, finding Katie Zelem walking towards you.

“Can't handle a tackle, can you?” She quipped, watching you remove your shin pads from under your socks. “Even Charles thinks so.”

“You're real cocky for fourth on the table.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. “See you in the second half.”

Zelem stepped forward, scoffing. “Thats if you're not subbed off.”

You shrugged, sliding behind the door and slamming it in response. You knew Katie was saying it in the heat of the moment, but it irked you all the same. Off the pitch, you would apologise and probably trade shirts or something. Now, all you were thinking about was staying on that pitch.

The break went by fast, and you hadn't talked to anyone except for Zelem during that short time.

Guro asked if you were alright, but you shook her off. Niamh had caught onto your mood and figured it best to let you internalise what you were feeling.

Walking back onto the pitch with this newfound persistence meant for a different game. You came on wanting this win more than anyone. Despite the contrary belief of fans, people on the internet, Zelem and anyone else, you wanted to prove this to yourself.

The whistle blew, and you sprinted across towards as an attacking mid. You held out your hand when Guro got hold of the ball, darting down the wing near the edge of the field. Soon enough, the ball fell to your feet. You were expecting the cross to be quick in your feat past Toone and Garcia, moving diligently through their backline for the first time that game.

It seemed that both teams were surprised at your spur of movement. No one was used to seeing you near the goals, now all of a sudden you were on your way to scoring one. You heard Lauren beside you in the penalty box, calling for a pass, but you felt your knees give out when unknown studs hit the back of your shin. The decision of a penalty sending everyone to their feet in either disarray or ecstasy. Everyone expected you to cry out in pain when the whistle blew for contact, but you sprawled back onto your feet in a heartbeat, shoving Katie’s shoulder with so much force it nearly sent her toppling backward.

“What's wrong?” Zelem asked, swiping her shirt in order to rid the mud that had tracked her jersey. “Why the grumpy face?”

“You’re an absolute ride-off, you know that?” You spoke, keeping your eyes focused on her.

“I'm not the one always falling—”

“Oh, fuck off, Zelem!” You snapped, loud enough for the Ref to hear, as you sent another potent push towards the United Captain. A yellow was shown to both of you, leaving Katie to storm off and you to contest the card as soon as it was given.

You were about to give the woman a mouthful when someone came up behind you, grabbing the fabric of your jersey and pulling it into their waist.

You looked up to find Niamh making sure you didn't gain a red, moving you away from the scene with a knot between her eyebrows.

“Did you see her knock her over?” Niamh asked the ref, who was shaking her head at you. “She's been on her the entire game. It's been contacted, late challenges the entire time.”

The ref gave your skipper a warning look, enough for both of you to step away. “You’ve been given the penalty.” She simply put it, motioning for the shot to be taken.

You managed to leave Niamh’s grasp, leaning your hands on your hips as you waited for Guro, who was standing not far from you, to take the shot.

“What are you waiting for?” She called out. “You take it.”

It wasn't much of a shock considering you were the signified penalty taker for your National Team, but Guro’s decision still surprised you nonetheless. You found Niamh beside you still, looking at you up and down with a concealed smirk. You were undoubtedly dirty from the amount of time you spent on the floor, your hair slightly chaotic with strands falling from your face. Your cheeks were tinged a stingy red from the demand of the game, and beads of sweat framed your face.

Your appearance reminded Niamh too much of something else, causing her mind to reel at the thoughts of you lying beneath her. There was someone about you today that sent her into a frenzy. Between the two of you, it was usually Niamh who got herself in trouble with the Refs. You weren't ever the one to contest a card — even when you only had a handful — and instead you’d be the one pulling Niamh away from doing just that.

The reversed roles spurred something within the Captain as she watched her girlfriend line herself up to take the Penalty. You were searching the box for somewhere to slot it into, knowing Earps was ready to defend like her life depended on it.

The stadium went into an eerie silence as you heard the whistle mark your turn. You felt the wind propel you forward, using all your might to kick the ball as hard as you could. Watching anxiously, teething in slow motion, you felt your legs carry you across the pitch, cheering when the ball crashed against the back of the net.

Teammates were on your back instantly, hurling you to the floor, screaming amongst the fans. They shook you, congratulating you, the feeling like you had just scored your first-ever goal resurfacing. You clambered up to face the crowd, smiling as a wave of blue rose to their feet.

The game ended with Chelsea fans swarming the tunnel, fans reaching their hands down so they’d meet yours. The short circuit around the pitch was full of euphoria. Everyone was reeling at the game, and compliments were showering at the sight of your Player Of the Match award.

“Yeah, the Aussie!” Sam shouted, meeting you in the Changing Rooms with a bone-crushing hug. You laughed at the woman’s energy, letting her sway you back and forth before lifting the trophy up into the air.

Following Sam’s mischief, Millie’s arms snaked around your waist, lifting you up on the spot. “Look at you go, Missy! Making us proud today, aren't ‘ya?”

“Wasn't all me.” You mumbled, cheeks fragmented with a prominent blush as your teammates scoffed and ridiculed your modesty from around the room. To say they were proud was an understatement. Half of them had already posted for social media, Sam letting everyone know that you were a Matilda with a of you with your national flag wrapped across your shoulders and the Player of The Match Trophy, with the caption ‘a smashing Tillie’ on her story.

“I remember your first goal for Australia,” Sam said, pretending to wipe tears from her eyes. You huffed, shoving her slightly.

“That was years ago, Kerr.”

Sam sighed, shaking her head. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Your shower was a nice treat for your teething muscles, your sweats and Niamh’s jumper keeping you warm as you packed your bag and waited for Niamh to finish her media duties.

Once you saw her leaving one of the reporter’s sides, you noticed the dark tinge behind her eyes when she met yours. The smirk that aligned her face on the pitch carried itself to now, making its way across her face as she trampled over to where you stood.

Wrapping her arms around your shoulders, shovelling your head into her chest, she groaned, breathing in the scent of your freshly washed as dried hair.

“Ready to go?” you asked, hoping your girlfriend was just as eager to get back to your shared apartment as you were.

“You did so well today, baby.”

You watched Niamh break away from your shared contact, looking at her jumper hugging the curves of your figure, making it known that she’d much rather see you without it instead.

“Want to show you how proud I am.”

She threaded her fingers across the hem of your jumper, tucking her hand underneath the waistband of your trackpants, and toying with the elastic. Your breath hitched at the cold that pricked your skin, hoping Niamh was too preoccupied with her antics to notice the ache between your thighs.

“Niamhy.” You whispered, looking down at the pavement, waiting for your girlfriend to unhook her lingering hands.

“What do you want me to do, Baby? Want me to show everyone here how good you are?”

“Niamh, I—”

“Good girls get rewards, y’know?” Niamh pulled you closer, her hand moving out of your pants and over your arse, giving it a small squeeze before using her arms to lead you towards the car. “Bet you’d enjoy me fucking you for everyone to see. Show everyone who’s slut you are.”

You couldn't reply. If you did, it wouldn't be coherent. You were silent the whole way home, save for the sacred whimper that fell from your lips when Niamh’s hand squeezed your thigh, the distance of her fingers growing closer to where you needed her in each growing second. You could feel the radiation of desire emitting through the car all the way home. You were itching to feel some kind of relief, especially after the stunt your girlfriend had pulled before the game.

You forgot all about Niamh’s actions throughout the game, only remembering it when the waves of arousal moved down to your core. All you could think about was the way Niamh’s fingers ghosted your clit, teasing you with soft patterns across your legs.

When you arrived home, both of you pretty much bolted inside, dropping your bags onto the floor, only just making it to the bed when your lips met hers in an endeavoured embrace.

You let a moan leave your lips when Niamh pushed you onto the bed, crawling on top of you to swallow your unseemly noises with her tongue. The air in the room was thick as you lifted your hips, attempting to grind against her hips for some well-needed friction.

“So desperate, aren't we?” Niamh tutted, holding herself up with her arms to watch your neediness from afar. She licked her lips at the sight of you writhing beneath her. Your thighs clenched together, rubbing together in despairing need. Much to your dismay, Niamh pulled your knees apart, holding them to the bed with her own legs and a potent smile.

“Niamhy, please.” You whined, the lack of touch sending you into a new dimension of misery. Niamh crained her lips to meet your neck, finding solace in your moans when her lips found your sweet spot. She sucked and licked, rolling her tongue around the growing hickey. She held your legs open, leaving no room for friction. Your head faced the ceiling, your eyes clasped shut as you sighed at the hot marks left all over your neck. With your arms, you threaded Niamh’s hair through your hands, pushing her head deeper into your neck, bringing it down near your breasts.

“Good girls use their words, don't they?” Your girlfriend asked, peeling away from your body, leaving a cold absence behind.

You audibly moaned at the loss of contact. “I've already been a good girl. Been so good, and you said I’d get a reward.”

“Been so good for me, haven't you Babygirl?” Niamh smirked, her lips shadowing your ear, teeth nibbling the skin. “Such a good girl for scoring, aren't you? But maybe I should've bent you over during the game. Show everyone what you deserve. To have you bent over and wet for me.”

“Yes, so wet for you.” You replied, squirming as you felt your core drip with arousal. “Just want you so bad, Niamh.”

“Bet you do.” You felt one of her fingers inch up your jumper, letting the cool air nip your skin. You arched your back, feeling a wave of pleasure overcome you when Niamh’s hand met your breast. “Always wanting me to fuck you senseless like you're mine.”

She fondled it slowly, flicking your nipple in between her fingers, watching your eyes roll back when she pushed down on your cleavage. “Such a good slut for me though. So ready for me always. Are you ready for me now?”

Your head seeped into the pillow, the feeling of your breasts being attended to sending you into ecstasy. “Oh— yes, Niamh. Please, so ready for you. Want you inside me so bad.”

“Let me take this off first,” Niamh muttered, stripping off your jumper hastily, groaning at the sight of your chest on full display. You moaned and wiggled at the air hitting your nipples, making them harden for Niamh’s sole exhibition. Without hesitation, she took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking harshly, nibbling slightly, leaving dark, heavy marks across both your breasts. Her hands groped both of them, moving them to her liking and rubbing them back and forth at varying paces. You writhed beneath her, your cheeks aflame at the sight of the marks littering your chest.

“Marking me up so good, baby.” You sighed, hoping the praise would speed up the process. “Wanna be your good girl so bad, Niamh.”

“So perfect for me.” She mumbled, her speech impaired as she was too busy marking you to lean up. “Taking me so well, aren't you? Is that what you want? You want me to fill you up? Make you so full of cum?”

Your instant agreeance made the girl chuckle. “Want you to fill me up. Wanna make my captain proud, Niamhy. Want you so bad.”

When hearing those words fall from your mouth, Niamh couldn't help but moan. She didn't know you had been turned on by her captaincy. If she had known prior, she would've brought the fucking armband home with her. She wouldn't fucked you multiple times with the band stuffed in your mouth, around her arm, or anywhere that remotely turned you on. She would've been lying if she hadn't found your unknown kink arousing, for the thriving want of tasting you grew as your sweet nothings filled the air.

Niamh pulled her head down, kissing down your abdomen and torso, looking back once more at the mess she had made over your chest before kneading your hips for some sense of relief.

“You've made me so proud, Baby.” She found the waistband of your pants once more, this time, taking her time to find the strength to pull them down. “But rewards can vary, remember? Sometimes, good girls get to choose what they want when they've made their captain proud.”

“Just want you, Niamh.” You whined, crying out when you lifted your hips for what felt like the hundredth time, only to meet nothing.

Your girlfriend hummed, inching down your pants, hoping you’d make your decision more sufficiently than that. “I'm afraid you're gonna have to be more specific than that, my love. Good girls who get to choose their rewards have to use their words.”

When you didn't immediately reply, Niamh shook her head, looking towards the draw that sat by your bedside table. “I thought you said you were my good girl?”

“I am! Just want you, though.”

Niamh knew when you got like this, you just wanted to be told what to do. You were always the quieter one in every situation, introverted and kept to your own. In many ways, Niamh liked that about you. Your outgoing person today against United was something she could get used to. But she wanted to make you feel more comfortable in speaking your truth. She wanted you to know that your decision was valued among discussions. She was not sure how to implement this into everyday life just yet, but she found that during sex, even if Niamh was dominating the exchange — which nine times out of ten she was — she wanted you to have autonomy over what you did.

This was just one example among many, and when you didn't comply, she’d have different methods to get you speaking.

She waited an extra moment just in case you changed your mind before leaning towards the table and searching for something in particular.

You were so subbed out that you didn't even notice the noise until you felt Niamh pull you upright, pulling you up to stand in front of the bed while she peeled off her top, leaving her in a sports bra and training shorts.

When you noticed what she held in her hands, you groaned. “Niamhy—”

“Shut up and listen.” She ordered, her firmness overpowering the contrasted softness she once held before. You straightened up, rubbing your legs together and moaning at the basic sense of relief that flooded down to your clit.

“Take off your pants. Keep your underwear on.”

You made no argument in that, taking no time in chucking your pants in the opposite direction, leaving your tarnished, drenched underwear on show.

“Come here.” Niamh stretched her legs out and beckoned you over. “Don't sit but hover.”

You did as you were told, not entirely wanting to act like a brat after you've just been promised a reward. Your legs ached from the game and from waiting for some kind of relief, shaking ever so slightly as you waited over Niamh’s leg for further instruction.

“Here’s what's going to happen,” You felt your cheeks darken at your girlfriend's firm tone, biting your lips and watching the woman play with the vibrator in her hand.“Since you expect me to do all the work and make all the decisions, you've landed yourself here.” You nodded intently, not exactly sure where this was heading. “You've got to realise that you need to tell me what you want to do sometimes, okay? It's not always about what I want to do. You've got to want it to. Do you understand?”

Even with the sternness of her tone, her underlying motives were precious. You nodded again, your legs growing even more sore as your thighs flexed at the stretch over Niamh.

“Yes, Niamh. I promise I do.”

Your girlfriend inevitably noticed your ache but chose to continue on her rant, knowing that you knew you weren't going to go to sleep tonight unsatisfied.

“You’ll get your reward after this,” With a flick of a switch, you heard the vibrator sound from beneath where you hovered. “You're going to get off on my thigh and the vibrator without my help. All I'm going to do is watch you.”

You let out a guttural moan when Niamh placed the toy against your thigh, looking at her with the utmost displeasure when she chose to put it there instead of your clit.

“You get to come,” Niamh grabbed both of your hips, squeezing them and making sure they were up and away from any friction. “But only when you to tell me two ways you want me to fuck you tonight.”

Your jaw slightly dropped at that. You were never the one to say anything incredibly vulgar, always alluding to what you wanted through noises and actions. Niamh always got slightly annoyed when you weren't confident in what you wanted, especially after your climax when she’d cuddle up beside you and rid of all the juices that leaked from your core. Niamh knew how to please you better than anyone else could, and she knew that you knew that. In fact, she took great pride in knowing that you trusted her to get you off without needing to tell her. But it was a long time coming. You knew that Niamh wanted you to speak your truth, not just in the bedroom but everywhere. You didn't want to stand out or say something not worthwhile. You were quite content with staying under the radar.

But despite this, Niamh waited for your approval of the idea, only turning up the vibrator and placing her hands behind her head when you spoke audible clearance.

You lowered yourself onto Niamh’s thigh as soon as possible, reeling your head backwards when the vibrations made their way into your core. Your girlfriend groaned st the sight of you rubbing your heat against her, finding it difficult not to grab you and fuck you right then and there. She watched you roll your hips back and forth, letting you use the headboard for you to balance yourself with extra support. It took you a while to find a rhythm, only consistent in your movements when some of the fabric of your underwear rubbed up against your clit, making you moan out at the contact of your swollen nub. Niamh saw the vibrator appear in and out of your humps, finding herself staring at the gleaming patch of arousal coating her thigh. The toy buzzes against your thigh, aiding you in your endeavours to get off.

The flustered state and external shyness in what you were meant to say daunted you as you felt your climax approaching.

You refused to look at Niamh in hopes that she would forget about her orders and watch you cum all over her instead.

The fabric against your clit rubbed itself back and forth diligently to the extent that the combination of the vibrator, and the slick made your breathing uneven and the coil in your stomach build to higher distances. You felt your tits move as you kneaded one and pitched the other nipple, closing your eyes and imagining Niamh.

You let out a pornographic moan, euphoria almost washing over you when your core clenched around nothing and started to release. You were about to finally feel a sense of relief when hands found your hips, lifting you away from any friction whatsoever as the vibrator was switched off.

“I can do this all night, y’know.” You heard her say, scoffing when you pouted. “I know how to get off on my own. I've got the videos of you cumming all over my face to prove it.”

“I was so close.”

“You could be so close every single time,” Niamh took the vibrator away, wiping the creamy liquid that coated the toy. “But if you do it again, I’ll edge you all night until you're overstimulated and forget everything except my name. You’ll be begging to cum and you won't even think about cumming for the next month.”

“Niamh, that’s—”

She cut you off with a sudden buzz directly on your clit. Your eyes widened at the vibrator next to your nub, moaning and crying out at the instant pleasure that fell over you. Your core was already sensitive to the teasing and edging, so your senses were heightened at the feeling. You knew Niamh wasn't bluffing, and you knew you wouldn't be able to get away with this.

She slipped off your underwear, letting the air reach your swollen clit.

“You're going to hump my thigh with this vibrator inside of you and tell me how you want me to fuck you.” She started. “Or, every night, I tie you up and make you watch me fuck myself to videos of you for the next month.”

She lowered you back onto her thigh, smirking when you whined at the vibrator pushing its tip inside of you. The toy wasn't able to fit wholly inside of you, only having to latch onto your clit and slightly inside your hole for it to work its magic. It made you crave for Niamh’s finger to fill you up and push your prior orgasms into you. You wanted her to fill you up with her strap and fuck you into ecstasy while you screamed out her name over and over again. You remembered many nights when Niamh would coat her strap with her own cum and fuck it into you. Her phone would be propped up somewhere, showcasing the juices forced up your hole. Niamh has a photo of you doing absolutely anything.

“Niamhy, want you— want you to—”

“Tell me, sweetheart, what do you want?”

When she was away for National Camps, and you couldn't Facetime due to the time difference, you sent her a video of you fingering yourself while whining about how much you missed her fingers.

“Want you to fill me— with your fingers-”

“Gonna make sure you're full of me, baby.”

She had a video of you getting yourself off with her watching. She had photos of you in all types of positions. She had an album of you screaming her name, calling her everything under the sun, cause she told you to and you always complied.

“Your mouth— your strap, Niamhy, want your dick inside me so bad.”

“Pound into until you're subbed out, am I?”

You remember watching a video of you riding her strap with her England Jersey on, bouncing up and down on the toy with your tits bobbing in front of the camera.

“Want to ride you like now. Eat me— eat me out, Niamhy, baby.”

“Fuck, baby, say my name.”

You knew that if you didn't comply, Niamh had plenty of things to keep her occupied.

The vibrator rolled inside of you, sending your back arching and heat throbbing. “Niamh, baby, I’m— fuck! I'm so close!”

Niamh was flushed, encaptured by the visual show of your tits and the way you bounced on her thigh so that the vibrator would dig its way into your core.

“Come for me, baby.” She spoke, jolting her knee so that the pressure in between your thighs would double.

You screamed, letting out the loudest of moans, as you felt your come coat the vibrator entirely, leaking all over Niamh’s thigh and yours.

“Such a good girl for me, aren't you gorgeous.” Niamh’s voice was raspy and hoarse. “Ride it out for me, baby. Yeah— just like that.” Her grip on your hips sent your orgasm out as she moved your hips back and forth until it was too much.

You moved to the side, collapsing so that your back was against the bed.

Niamh climbed on top of you, a devilish, content smirk lining her lips.

“We’re not done yet, love.”

You whined, but internally, you were excited for the night you were about to have.

_______________________

A/N — oh my god.

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writingoddess1125 · 6 months

Text

'Unique' Kinks

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk X GNReader

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️ Sex- All types. Yeah-

MUST 18+ TO READ! 🚫

Support me on Ko-Fi! ;3

Luffy-

Biting {aka Odaxelagnia}/Food Play

• Everyone knows Luffy loves to eat, It's one of the pillars of his personality afterall

• However the extent of this is also in the bedroom. He loves to bite his significant other

- You couldn't help but blush as Luffy looked over your naked form. His eyes gleaming in a primal joy youd never seen in his gaze before. Smiling brightly and grabbing the chocolate sauce he had snagged from the kitchen he began to pour it over you.

"C-Cold!" You whimper out, But Luffy giggled at this. Leaning down were he had placed the syrup, aka your thighs and began to livk the gentle skin. Earning a embarrassed moan from you as the man continued to livk the chocolate syrup from your skin- His eyes gleamed at this as he smirked.

Giving a surprised yelp and jump suddently as Luffy bit down on the tender flesh slowly but deeply, pulling away to give a delicate kiss over the bruised skin.

"Delicious~"

• You leave every morning with new bites and bruises on your body- Especially on your thighs and throat.

• Don't dare cover then either! He wants everyone to see them and if you do will put them in places were you can't cover them.

Sanji-

Orgasm control/Begging

• This man- While he seems like a gentleman is a bastard in bed.

• He loves to tease you and make you a sobbing mess for him- Getting off by simply watching you and hearing your cries.

- It had been hours already- His fingers carefully between your legs as he forced another near orgasm from you. Tears rolling down your cheeks as you gasp in total desperation.

"P-Please Sanji!" You all but sob out, your hips bucking up to his as your legs shake from the rising build of your orgasm. Shallow gasp leaving you as you were seconds away from cumming- Before the evil man pulled his fingers away.

"Please! No no!!" You beg loudly in need.

"Aww~" He purred out, earning a desperate whimper from you as he licked his fingers clean.

"Not Yet~"

• Will let you cum- Sometimes. Depending on his mood that day.. or week

• Sometimes will make sure you don't cum for days before randomly giving you the biggest orgasm you can imagine- Savoring every moment of your blissed out state

Zoro-

Impact play/DomSub

• Zoro had a fascination when it came to you- mainly the way your skin would bounce and move when his hands slapped it.

• Your thighs being his favorite part about you.

- You grip onto the edge of the bed tightly, panting hard as the toy deep inside of you kept you from thinking straight.

"What number was that (Y/N)?" You heard Zoros voice, the feeling of his hand rubbing against the sore skin of your thighs as he inspected the reddness- His fingers working to nestle the toy back aa deeply into as possible.

"I-I lost count" You admit, your voice shaking as you hear Zoros sigh in disappointment- the thin leather of the belt rubbing across your skin.

"Guess we will have to start over" He hummed, before a quick snap of the leather across your skin drew a yelp from you- The sting paired with the arousal making you burn, a whimpering 'o-one' leaving your voice making Zoro chuckle.

"Count them out Clearly Pet~"

• Will soothe you afterwards with soft words and gentle rubs- His massive hands massaging away at the red skin

• You have to play off why it hurts to much to sit the next morning- Zoro just smirking into his drink

Buggy-

Exhibitionism/Humiliation

• This shouldn't be a surprise- Buggy loves the spotlight afterall.

• As his favorite toy he brings you everywhere with him naked as the day you were born.

- "I want the prop more to the left-" Buggy called out, Waving his hand at some crew members as they moved the massive painted prop. You however holding onto the Captian for dear life-

He'd had you seated on his cock for well over an hour now on his lap and facing him, your face delicately tucked into his shoulder- he was hitting every bundle of nerves inside you and just not moving. His fingers rubbing invisible patterns on your naked back.

You rock your hips for a second, but feel him grab your hips suddently.

"Don't be a total slut, did I tell you to move?" He growled in your ear, clearly amused by your attempt as you whimper into his shoulder.

"So Dirty~"

• Will of course fuck your brains out once you've cum a few times from just sitting on his lap or his fingers working their way between your legs lazily.

Shanks-

Wax play/Sensory Dep

• Most would expect Shanks to use something with his Haki- But no. He loves the warmth and Intimacy of wax play, for himself or his partners.

• Having a warm light basking over the both of your forms as gentle wax washes over his form

- Darkness and warmth- That's all you felt. You had been blindfolded by your partner earlier in the night. Deprived of sight and laying on your stomach in bed, feeling his hand rub oil on your skin as he said he had a special surprise. You waited in anticipation as you heard him shuffle around you-

'Drip'

A surprised gasp left you as the first few drops fell onto your skin, Warmth beading on your sensitive skin as more drops fell over your body and eventually hardening on the tender flesh.

Wax-

Feeling Shanks paint your skin in a erotic artwork of wax, how each splash and drop lit you up like fireworks. Especially since you couldn't feel were they were coming from-

"F-Fuck~"

You moan out as you feel the hot wax run down your back, pooling at the base of your back as the sensation of warmth coated your skin. Shanks chuckling at this as you felt him kiss your shoulder softly-

"A Masterpiece~"

• The best however is afterwards- He loves the sweet Intimacy of working his oiled hand over your body and taking off the wax which often tickles-

• Raveshes you in sweet embraces as you giggled from the cooled wax leaving your body.

Mihawk-

Shibari

• Mihawk likes careful control- That applies with sex as well.

• He will buy the most expensive rope he can to decorate your skin, maybe some toys also to add to his design.

- "Don't Move Little One" Mihawk purred out in your ear, His hands running over your body with firmness and confidence. The soft purple rope he had purchased in his hands as he carefully tightened it over your wrist- Warmth flooding your face as you can give only a pathetic noise.

Clearly pleased with this he tightened it further. Securing your wrist behind your head with your elbows pointed at the ceiling leaving you open and vulnerable.

"That's it~ Very good" He praised, Securing the rope around your torso and decorating it with a series of knots that made you unable to move or fuss- Long fingers working over your ass as he knotted tour legs in a bent state, forcing you to remain spread open for him to enjoy and watch.

"Last step" He hummed, His fingers brushing teasingly at your arousal- chuckling at hearing you wimper. With ease he hooked the excess rope up to the pull above and began to pull you up suspending you perfectly in the air as he walked around you- admiring your form.

"Beautiful"

• Will admire his work and take a sip of wine as he stares at your suspended form, Walking around you like you're a fine peice of art work for his gaze only.

• Will tease your body as you're left at his mercy to enjoy.

Bonus!!

Crocodile-

Voyeurism/BDSM

• To put it simply- He likes to watch..

• You are his favorite toy, his favorite thing to gaze upon like a sunset on the sea-

- You blush and whimper out a moan as you bounce on the rather large dildo under you, you'd already cum twice in 30 minutes but you couldn't let up now- especially with how excited he looked..

Crocodile Sat in a chair a few feet infront of you, a cigar to his lips as he watched your closely- The way your body jiggled and moved with each bounce of the toy, the redness of your skin- and especially the chain clasp tightned around your abused nipples. It was perfect.

"S-Sir" You whimper out, he smirks at your choice of word. Sitting forward as his fingers reached out and grabbed the chains on your chest, tugging on them.

"Faster" He commanded, a broken moan leaving you at his grasp on the clasp as you begin to bounce faster. Your cries getting louder before you sink down fully and cum- Shivering in pleasure as you look up at him teary eyed and too sensitive-

"One more go around~"

• Crocodile won't touch you, Not for a while anyway- Maybe using his sand to caress parts of your exposed form

• But eventually it will get too much for him and he will sleep with you. Rough and hard- Often breaking whatever furniture you happen to be lying on.

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