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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Steamy Waters — Jimin

Pairing: Jimin x reader (nicknamed Princess)

Wordcount: 7.1k (to be edited when my eyes aren’t bleeding)

Genre: NSFW, pwp, smut, slightest crack. Established relationship, Idol!AU

Rating: so 18+ I feel bad at age 22.

Hello ladybirds! Welcome to the Steamy Waters scenarios.

Let me move very quickly to the plot (I’m super late in publishing this — yes, it’s 7am, I stayed up all night but I was having fun🤭🥴). Well, it’s been a while since Jimin has returned from the tour. Princess is supposed to meet with Vixen and Lace — Girls’ Night squad is back — for dinner and is missing only a few details before leaving when Jimin presents his counterarguments. Too benevolent to leave him sulking — and too vulnerable to his charms — Princess decides she has enough time to indulge him. Of course she ends up being late to the appointment, but she’s not the only one.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: well. Swearing/slurs (used between girls who are joking among each other) Also, there’s a generic mention of drinking wine and tipsiness at the end of the piece. Hard dom!Jimin (Sir), bratty sub!reader; use of non-verbal safewords; very mild degradation (mostly patronising acts and hinted objectification — Jimin calls reader ‘doll’; very, very mild dumbification); masturbation, both male and female, clitoral vibrator; oral, male receiving, brief female receiving; the oral male receiving is pretty intense (includes ruined makeup, gagging, tearing up, wrist pinning and wrist bondage), facefucking; plenty of voyeurism (mirrors. Mirrors everywhere); marking (with lipstick) female and male (milder) receiving; lipstick and make up fetish; spanking with a hairbrush; partly accidental exhibitionism through phonecall (the girls are telling each other they’re gonna be late but a bunch of things go wrong so all the phonecalls end up exposing the characters and their current debauchery); playful mention of foot fetish (licking, it’s contained in a joke). FINALLY, AS USUAL, UNPROTECTED SEX WITHIN AN ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP! NO, DON’T DO IT UNLESS YOU AND YOUR PARTNER(S) ARE TESTED AND CLEAN.

Features: Namjoon x Vixen; Taeyhung x Lace. Yes. The Girls’ Night squad is back and this time it’s not Vixen’s turn to cause trouble.

Here is my masterlist!

Enjoy!!!

———————————————

Jimin was sulking.

Old news.

That brat is a professional sucker… ahem, sulker.

Anyway, he was sulking in the bathtub, the lower part of his face hidden under the bubbles, his stare so vicious he could have probably thrown very sharp daggers with it.

“It’s just one dinner.”

“It’s Saturday night! What about you join me in the tub we do our full skin care ritual and I fuck you senseless on our bed.”

“Please, the girls have been so kind to me. We have planned this dinner weeks ago.”

“I am less important than your friends?” Jimin opposed, sitting up and crossing his arms.

Dammit, you were walking in very dangerous territory. “In this moment you are a tiiiny millimeter less important than them. Very tiny millimeter.”

“Are you serious?”

“Jimin,” you begin to say, trying to make him understand. “We have the rest of the week. I owe them.” You told him. “We are always so busy, we can never meet up, plus with you guys’ crazy schedule we need our own debriefing. Let me have my time, baby.”

“So you prefer staying by yourself rather than spending time with me?” He said.

“That is not what I mean and you know it.” You replied, frowning, sitting at the vanity.

You opened a small drawer.

Oopsie. Wrong one.

Unless?

You checked your watch noticing that you had an hour left. You could make it a quick thing. Something to make Jimin quiet and willing to let you leave the house with the excuse that ‘the sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll be back’.

Sure, your brain might have been slightly confused by the thought of him naked in the bathtub, and the scent of his body wash, and the sexy way his elbows were propped on top of the edges of the tub, the water sliding down his perfectly toned, smooth chest, his head thrown back, wetness glittering on his plump, luscious lips.

His eyes opened. “Fine. Go.” He said, and his voice was grumpy and sad.

You couldn’t leave him like this. Still, it wasn’t important what he said specifically. The only thing you noticed was his dulcet timbre, like a siren calling you.

Without even precisely knowing what you were doing exactly, you took the small seat in front of the vanity and the tiny, powerful toy inside your drawer; you walked to the side of the tub, placing the chair there and tugging your pencil skirt up, exposing your panties. The mirror behind the tub offered your reflection to your unsure gaze, making you move your eyes away.

Of course Jimin noticed. Of course he stayed quiet.

He’d much rather watch you undisturbed as you bent forward, pulling down your panties and sitting down, your skirt bunched up in your lap as you spread your legs and propped your feet against the edge of the tub, dragging your toes against his elbow to catch his attention. He would boost your confidence later, when it mattered the most to you.

“What is it?” He called, pretending he hadn’t seen what you were doing.

“You’re not interested?” You asked, switching on your finger vibrator, a tiny device with a silicone band that wrapped around the back of your digit and a thick, bulbous head on the other side, a vibrator embedded in the thicker part, with the specific aim of making the ridges and patterns on the head repeatedly stimulate your clit.

The sensation was immediate, rubbing it up and down your slit a couple times, you managed to capture Jimin’s ears — and eyes, soon after.

“Princess?” He called, staring at you, your hand wandering and finding purchase on the bathroom counter.

“Yes?” You moaned sultrily.

“Don’t you need to go out with the girls?” He asked, his eyes hypnotised by the motion of the toy moving back and forth from your clit to your hole and back up.

“I thought I could give you this, as a treat.” You said, licking your lips.

“A very generous one.” He replied, licking his lips, bracing his forearms on the edge of the tub, settling between your open legs and placing his cheek on the back on his hands, staring, completely mesmerised.

Your breath was becoming irregular. “How close?” He asked.

“Not too much.” You replied, removing your hand on the counter and placing it on your chest, palming it heavily.

His gaze climbed up to watch your flesh swell as you squished it. “Does it feel good?” He asked, untucking one of his hands to remove the cover blocking the drain of the tub.

Water started to rush out, his hand going from the drain to your ankle, drawing patterns up your calf, the other one lazily reaching for his length, tugging it a couple times.

Your eyes closed as you started feeling the edge of your high, the image of Jimin kneeling before you filling your senses, imagining him everywhere, all over you, his mouth on your nipples, between your legs, his hips smashing against your ass as he slammed inside you from behind, and his deliciously candy-pink cock in your mouth.

“I’m close.” You murmured.

His hand slowed down between his legs. As if it could go any slower.

“Cum for me, Princess.” He ordered. Still, siren voice.

A pattern of quick circles on your clit possessed your digit, your brain going on autopilot to the fastest way to pleasure. “Jimin, please.”

“What, Princess?” He replied flirtily, gleaming in cockiness as you were begging him without him even putting his hands on you.

“Please.” You called again, as pleasure overthrew you, your lips parting in one long, purring moan, first very high-pitched and then descending all the way down to your normal voice as you calmed down, focusing on chasing your high until it became too much, your eyes closing completely, your free hand reaching behind your, holding you up since the stool couldn’t be trusted much.

As you removed your finger — and the adjoined vibrator — you felt something wet and soft part your folds and titillate the tight ring of muscles at your entrance, still quivering with your fresh climax.

Your eyes opened, blinking a few times before you spotted Jimin’s wet hair below you, his head between your legs, body tucked in the small space between your body and the tub.

“Put that finger back on your clit. We’re not done here.” He said, placing one of his hands on your spine, on the small of your back, holding you up while his other arm went to his thick shaft. You loved looking at it, at how deliriously pretty it looked. You would gladly print a very big picture of it. Hang it in your closet. Stand there and look at it every now and then, with a glass of wine. Get inspired by the shape, length and colour. Find new ways to please him and torture him. Study every small vein on it. Every tiny detail. The small mole at the base — God only knows how a mole can end up there. And how it can make a cock look so insanely, unfairly pretty.

You felt crazy for it, completely devoid of your own will. And the way his hand left your back and caught your wrist, placing your buzzing finger on your clit made you even wilder.

“Jimin.” You called, your other hand ending in his hair and tugging him closer.

He chuckled mischievously. “Needy.” He said simply, before fighting against you trying to remove his head. You were too close.

It was all too much.

“Jimin!” You called again, desperate and embarrassed.

“Oh, no.” He said, moving his fingers away from your wrist and crooking his arm at the right angle before sliding two of his fingers inside you, his digits just the perfect measurement to reach your g-spot.

“Feels too good.” You mewled, removing your finger from your clit. Too much stimulation.

“Put that finger back in place.” He growled, his hand moving angrily on his own sex.

“Please!” You said, whining and whimpering.

“Back in place, Princess.” He said sharply.

Without room for opposition, you did as he ordered.

“Good girl.” He murmured as you cried out at your finger and his working you towards your second high. “You’re doing so well for me.” He added.

“I can’t.” You said, feeling your pleasure amplify in your abdomen. Suddenly your ears zeroed on the nasty, squelching sound coming from between your legs.

“Oh, you can, Princess. Keep going, sweetie. Sir’s waiting for you.”

He had entered dom zone.

Well, fuck.

You were officially done for the night. Especially when he pressed his chin to his hand, his tongue devilishly playing with your sensitive hole while his fingers stimulated your pulsating walls.

You came undone. His moaning turned in loud, thin moans, open mouthed breathing as he finally reached his high with a tight squeal that undid a knot in his throat.

You removed the toy almost immediately, the filling sensation inside your cunt definitely too much for your nerve endings.

He didn’t even notice, and when he did, he let it slip. You were deep in your second climax, making you sensitive and vulnerable, and he had no intention of overstepping any boundaries. Yet. His fingers slowed down, his mouth parting from you; his hand stopped at his base, giving a slow, strong tug at his shaft, milking out the last few droplets of his release.

“There you go. Has your treat been satisfactory, Princess?” He asked with a saccharine voice, most definitely trying to tease you with his bratty ways, or maybe gloating about him getting what he wants. As usual.

“Very.” You replied, pressing down the button on the ring and removing the toy from your finger.

He unhooked his fingers from your sex, sliding them out and licking one gingerly. “Nice.” He grinned in a dangerously endearing way. “Let’s clean up, yes? Can you stand?” He asked, gentle as always, standing up and quickly moving to the sink, washing up the remnants of your shared debauchery on his hands.

“I hope so.” You replied, grabbing a small towel and running it under the tap before cleaning yourself, drying your skin with an unused corner. You wore your panties and tugged your skirt down next.

“Would you like me to do your make up?” Jimin asked, looking at you in the mirror. “I’d like to repay you for the sweet treat. And I don’t want you to think I don’t support you going out.” He turned towards you, completely comfortable in his naked state. “Consider it my way of blessing your plans.”

And maybe bless your face when you come back home later and drool on my cock.

You smiled. “That’s nice of you, Jimin.”

“I’m always nice.” He said, rubbing a towel wildly against his hair before wrapping it around his waist, grabbing the small bench and putting it close to the vanity, strategically placing you so the light would hit your face enough for him to properly do your make up. “Sit, darling.” He said, patting the seat.

You followed his direction, checking your watch. Twenty-five minutes until you needed to head out.

“You already did toner, serum, lotion, all of that?” He asked, making sure that the canvas was at its best.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, wearing the small necklace he had gifted after coming back from the tour.

“You already wore your cream?”

“Yes!” You repeated, playfully cocky.

He swatted at your calf. “Don’t play cocky with me.” He reprimanded, matchingly playful.

“Primer.” He said, standing up, his perfect chest right in front of your eyes for the briefest of seconds. Then he walked behind you, removing the whole small drawer and bringing it with him as he kneeled down again, pouring a small amount of concoction on the tip of his index and middle finger. “It’s summer so I bet you’d like to stay light.” He said, touching the two digits with their twins on the other hand, only to draw tiny dots all over your face, and then using his devilish hands to spread the lotion. “Sorry, I prefer using these rather than sponges and stuff.” He said, but it was actually simply an excuse to touch your face.

The more touching he could do the better.

His goal was getting you going and any kind of touching on your face felt intimate enough to be more powerful than a booty grab or a whole body slam all over you at the moment. He just knew.

With his pinkie, he pushed back the small hair on your forehead. “You know what? Fuck beauty standards. Out there is damp like a swamp today, you should just wear some BB cream and stay fresh.” He said, kissing your head. “You’re perfect anyway.”

“Jimin.” You said, a tad emotional.

“And I don’t want men staring at you. You’d look too pretty with full makeup.” He said, leaving a ginger kiss on your lips. “I want you to shine as you are.” He said, grabbing a small compact hand mirror containing a cushion imbued with light foundation. He took a small puff and pressed it twice against the cushion before placing his left index under your chin, directing your face as he patted the puff against your face, distributing the lotion evenly.

“It contains mother-of-pearl powder. It will make you glitter like the princess you are.” He said, with a kind smile. “You already look like a diva, babygirl.” He said, twisting your head to the side before noticing a small blemish.

He stretched to the table behind you, your gaze focusing immediately on the small, solitary droplet of water rolling down his chest. A bit hesitant, you collected it with your tongue.

“Princess,” he warned before grinning.

You were slowly, very slowly surrendering. He just needed to play the last few cards right.

With your concealing pen in hand, he fixed the red spot on your cheek, and another smaller one on your chin, blending them with the slightly damp tip of his pinkie.

You smiled and caught his hand, kissing the small digit before smiling. “Your hands are absolutely lovely.” You said. This kind of small reassurance was something you offered him daily, and even though he played tough and acted as if he wasn’t bothered by those details he so stubbornly called flaws, you still made sure his self esteem could always thrive.

“I assumed so, considering what they did earlier.” He stood up and — maybe — accidentally the towel fell, his cock standing proud in front of your eyes.

May goodness help you and God protect you.

You reminded yourself of dinner, of the girls waiting on you. I mustn’t. You told yourself. Still a part of your brain told you you’d be a fool if you didn’t took your chance.

But your chance had already disappeared behind the towel once more. “Sorry.” He said, standing straight after bending down to grab the cloth and fixing it back in place. He collected the small wooden drawer too, putting it back in place in the vanity.

Next he took your beauty case, making sure that it contained exactly what he was looking for.

This time he stood in place in front of you, his navel perfectly in front of your face. He found a small box and opened it, fishing out a miniature brush and running it against white, glittering powder. “Just a faint sparkly effect on your lids. Close your eyes.” He whispered sweetly, putting the powder in place, on one eyelid. Then the other. And then every touch disappeared. Before you felt his fingers tracing your collarbones. “Just for the extra sparkles.” He said, grinning viciously once you opened your eyes. It was indeed his fingers. Not the brush. He took his chance to widen the neckline of your white chiffon blouse.

“Tip your head back.” He said, this time more commanding.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You obeyed.

He took a dark eye pencil. It was something you hadn’t used in a while, preferring lighter make up, usually using simply dark eyeshadow to trace the line of your eyelid.

“Black pencil?” You asked.

“Be quiet. It looks so good on you.” He said, focusing on applying it evenly on both lids. “Look down.”

Right at his abs. Fantastic.

You prayed the other girls were being tempted just like you. Knowing Vixen and Namjoon, he was probably already halfway up her panties. And Lace… well. She’d probably had to change her outfit at least three times to hide Taehyung’s marks. You hoped they were late too.

There was no way you could arrive at the appointment in time with Jimin in this mood. And with your blood roaring in your veins, cursing you for each second you let him stand untouched before your eyes it was all a matter of time before it all went to hell.

“Eyes to the ceiling.” He said, “I’ll do your lower inner lid.”

“Jimin, that’s a bit aggressive...” You replied, trying to keep his hand from going anywhere close to your eye.

“You look so intense with the lower line too, though.” He teased, already tracing the corner with a slow, light-handed touch. “Just a bit. Come on, make me happy.” He said. And with that you knew precisely he was in the mood. Just like you were.

At this point there was no fucking way you could make it in time.

You stood perfectly still, the pencil too near to your eye, too dangerously close to stabbing it. “Jimin,” you called, as he moved to the other eye. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He already knew there was no way the other men weren’t in a similar situation. Knowing Taehyung, he probably still had Lace naked. Especially after what he’d told him about their sexy weekend.

“Jimin, please.” You said, exasperated.

“Baby, I know you’ll be the first one there, as usual, and you’ll have to wait for them all dressed up and pretty.” He said. “Chill. You can be fashionably late.”

He put down the eye pencil and picked up the silvery tube of your mascara.

“Just a teensy, tiny bit.” He said, “Look straight ahead.”

You mean at your hard on peaking from under your towel?

Your lips twitched nervously as you tried to look away.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on it.” You said in warning.

“Don’t,” He replied, fixing the upper lashes on your left eye. He applied way more mascara than necessary before moving on to the other eye.

“Don’t bat your lashes,” he said with a focused tone as he applied the finishing touches, giving quick, teasing flicks to the lower lashes and came back to the left side, making the two match.

“Lipstick.” He said.

You huffed out a stressed breath.

“Lip liner to make sure your lipstick doesn’t smear at dinner.” He said, tipping your chin up and drawing his face dangerously close to yours, his hot, quick breath fanning over your face. “Stay still.” He said, tracing your cupid bow first, then covering all the way from the peak to the angle, mirroring the gesture on the other side.

Your lower lip was tricky. From the middle he drew the left arc, then the right one. No matter how hard he concentrated there was something harder calling his attention.

And the situation worsened when he felt your hand timidly brush the back of his thigh.

“No.” He said harshly, cupping your jaw and squishing it, making sure that you opened your eyes and looked at him.

“Why?” You asked, your hand still climbing up.

“You need to go.”

“You said the girls will be late too. And I should be fashionably late.”

“Princess.” He said, his voice growling in a harsh warning.

“Jimin.” You warned, mocking his tone.

“Stay put. Let me finish my work here.” He said, a bit frustrated.

Your lips were tempting him. And his brain was telling him to claim, claim, claim.

For the umpteenth time, he closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly and calmly.

He completed the weak spots on your liner before he inspected it.

He placed down the lip pencil.

He found your Chanel lipstick, uncapping it and focusing before placing the perfectly shaped tip against your upper lip, following the liner before completing the other half.

“Almost done, Princess.” He spoke gently. But his hand shook. Especially when he felt your nails tease his skin again.

“Princess.” He scolded eloquently.

“Jimin.” You called again.

“What.” He replied drily.

“I wanna be late.” You said, your palm climbing higher up under the towel and landing on his ass, squeezing a glute seductively.

“Let me finish.” He said, giving up.

You smiled before relaxing your lips, making them extra pillowy as you offered the lower one to him.

He tapped the red paste against the inner flesh before drawing half a line, then the other half.

“Pop them.” He said, as you started pressing your lips together lightly and making them sputter.

“Am I ready?” You asked.

Jimin smirked before his eyes turned sultry.

Looking him in the eye when he had that expression was too dangerous. He held too much power.

“No.”

He stared at the upper hem of your blouse, at the way it let your collarbones show with an expensive, classy bateau neckline.

Jimin stared at the front buttons. He placed down the lipstick. And started undoing the buttons.

You grinned. “Are you gonna make me get there late?” You asked expectantly.

“Quiet.”

You obeyed. Not like you had much choice.

He reached the lace of your bra, then undid more buttons, until he reached the waistline of your skirt.

“Arms out.” He said, making the delicate fabric of the shoulders slip past your wrists, letting the blouse fall around your waist.

“From now on, not a word. Are we clear?” He asked, making you look him in the eye. “Answer.”

“Yes, sir.” You said, obediently.

“Excellent. You move when I tell you. You move how I tell you. Yes?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied again. You were salivating at the idea of what he was going to do, how he was going to use you.

His hands moved to your bra, pushing the cups under your heavy breasts. “You’re my little doll, aren’t you? Sir wants you and your nipples pop up. I bet you’re wet between your legs without me even touching you. Are you wet, Princess?” He asked.

“I’m always wet for you, sir.” You said, offering him extra praise. Not like the statement wasn’t true.

He smirked and moved to the vanity once more, letting the towel fall for real. “It was an accident.” He said, mocking you, raising an eyebrow and shrugging. “Not like you mind staring at my cock, do you, Princess?”

“I love staring at your cock, Sir.” You replied, giving him absolutely no reason to complain about you or punish you.

“So hungry for it, little doll.” He snorted.

Once more the lipstick was in his hand.

“Who do you belong to, Princess?” He asked, stroking himself as his sweet, poisonous voice enchanted your ears.

“To you, sir.” You said, sitting with your back straight, your knees pressed together, your thighs squeezing in helpless arousal, your hands laying flat on your legs.

“What’s my name?” He said, licking his lower lip as a droplet of pre-cum appeared on his tip.

“Park Jimin, sir.” You answered, sharp and refined as he wanted you.

“Just my name, Princess. Say it.”

“Jimin.” You kept your eyes on your lap, not yet sure you were allowed to look at him.

“That’s right, Princess. Good girl.” He said, voice disturbingly neutral as he bent down.

He let go of his length, running his hand under the tap and drying it, oh-so-slowly, before he cupped your breast and stared at it, his expression focused and meditative.

He placed the tip of the lipstick on the left side of your breast, drawing an horizontal line. Two curled ones. A straight one. He moved to the other side. A rectangle. Another straight line. An L-shaped one.

“There. Stand up.” He said, placing down the lipstick and offering you his hand, helping you on your feet, making you stand in front of the mirror. “Who do you belong to, my beautiful princess?” He asked, standing behind you, his lips moving sensuously at your ear.

Right there, spelled on your chest in expensive, rouge Chanel lipstick, you found your answer, just like it was indented in your heart, mind and soul. “Jimin.” You read.

“That’s right, ____. Excellent job, doll.”

He turned you towards him and placed a gentle kiss on your lip.

“Now, kneel.” He ordered, smiling gently, however the command in his voice was icy and sharp.

You smiled shyly and obeyed. Once on your knees, you waited for his hands to feed you the tip of his cock, his precum making your lipstick glisten and stain his spongy head. You opened your mouth wider, lolling your tongue out in invitation, but he refused.

“Kiss it. I want it covered in lipstick.” He ordered. “Kiss it like it’s my face. I want imprints all over it.” He ordered.

And just like that it stood in front of you, exposing all the underside to your feverish and reverent kisses.

You were ready to beg for him to push it down your throat, desperate to feel the taste of him, to feel him there; then you remembered you weren’t allowed to speak unless he asked you.

You tried to talk the only way you could. Your eyes connected with his as you gave a gentle lick.

He snorted. “Want it in?” He asked, biting his lip and placing his hand on your head.

“Please, sir.” You begged: the easiest way to get what you want. You would never, ever beg for anything in your life. But for Jimin? You would lick the soles of his feet if he asked you to. Thank goodness he was too ticklish for that.

“Open up.” He said, grinning.

You assumed your position and waited for him to slide in. Holding your head, you felt his tip on your tongue, his hand feeding his cock into your mouth.

“That’s it, Princess.” He said, pushing inside.

Your hands naturally moved to his butt, leading him further in. You wanted to take him all the way, watch your lips print a nice red ring at his base.

“Hands in place, Princess.” He scolded.

You placed them lightly on your knees.

“Yes. Good girl.” He spoke through gritted teeth. He started thrusting in, your eyes watering as you felt your throat close up, hitting your knee noisily, twice, letting him know you needed to breathe.

“Okay.” He slid out, giving you some time to catch your breath. His fingers wrapped around his length, thumb, index and middle finger forming a ring sliding up and down the tip.

“Ready?” He asked.

You simply nodded and he let the small misbehaviour slip. He just wanted to sheath himself in the warm velvet of your cheeks, tongue and throat.

Once he bottomed out a new set of prints began forming on his pelvis, your hands coming for his hips, trying to slow him down as you began tearing up.

“Hands. Princess.” He roared.

You drew them back, shaking, trying to bob your head on him, wet droplets leaving your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

And now the black eye pencil and mascara make sense. He wanted this from the very beginning.

Your hands pressed against his abs.

“Silent. Safeword. ____.” He ordered aggressively with a growl.

No. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to snap.

You made to remove your hands, but instead you cupped his balls with your right one.

He drew out. “That’s it. Brat.” He walked to the shower wall, where your bathrobe was hanging. He tugged at the tie, whipping it out of the small hooks in anger.

“Lay down.” He said, minaciously as he walked to the vanity, picking up the lipstick again.

You crawled to the carpet in the middle of the room and did as he told you. At least you wouldn’t be met with the cold of the tiles.

“Ungrateful brat.” He said, placing two fingers under your chin and straddling your chest with his legs. “I let you go out. I made you cum. I did your makeup. I offered you what you wanted. And you disrespected it, and disobeyed me.”

He caught your wrists and pinned them over your head. “But maybe I didn’t offer you what you wanted.” He said, wrapping the soft tie around your wrists, making sure it wasn’t too tight, even though he was furious. He took two deep breaths before securing the knot with a flowery bow. “Maybe this was what you wanted, uh? Answer me, Princess.” He encouraged you.

“I want what is best for you, sir.” You replied, eyes imploring as his cock laid on your chest.

“If you really did that, I would already be done fucking your mouth and I could be slamming my cock in your disobedient, tight, creamy cunt.” He said, applying more lipstick on your lips.

“You better make me cum quick, brat.” He spat the words at your face, his legs moving to bring his hips closer to your mouth. He lifted his ass and propped himself on one forearm, his hand holding his cock before offering it to your lips for small kisses. “Your non-verbal safeword is snapping your fingers. Any number of snaps will mean ‘stop immediately’. I will slide out and let you breathe, then I’ll ask you if you want to keep going.” He said, using his tip to draw your lips, just like a tube of lipstick. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“Make me proud, Princess.” He said, before accompanying his shaft into your mouth and looking down, into your eyes, before he started thrusting. The movement was identical to that he uses to fuck you nice and good on your bed, his hips usually slapping against the back of your thighs, while now they met the skin of your cheeks, the blurred mascara coming down in thicker rivultets, making your eyes redden.

You were definitely a mess.

Jimin tried to stay focused on your hands, feeling pleasure but ready to ignore it or your safety.

His thrusts became more intense, your throat producing thin, panicked whimpers before he felt your fingers snap, two, three times.

He pulled out.

You gasped for air, your eyes immediately connecting with the black stains on his pelvis. Your mascara. Or eyeliner.

And the red on his sex. All over it. Staining his balls too. It was undoubtedly your lipstick. No natural blushing could do that.

“Are you okay, ____?” He asked, and you could tell he was out of his dommy character.

“Yes.” You replied simply.

“I’m almost there, love. Can you take it, baby?” He asked, worried.

“I can. I want to.” You said, nodding and reassuring him.

“Then let’s go, Princess.” Back in the game.

He was back in your mouth in a second, and this time you were sure you wanted him to dissolve in pleasure like sugar in coffee.

You used all your tricks, swallowing once he settled in, pumping him with your cheeks until you saw him lift on his tiptoes, needing closer, giving up on the fine grip of his knees to plank on top of you and properly stroke inside you as his head rolled back in a very improper, very loud yoga position, making his mouth spill a divine moan while his orgasm spilled inside you.

He gave a small series of the tiniest thrusts before going perfectly still, his moaning stopping. It was smart of him to own a house rather than an apartment. Way more feasible in terms of… disturbing noises.

He slid out of you quickly once he realised you were there, perfectly still, trying to save your oxygen and prolong his bliss.

“Oh, Princess, angel.” He said, quickly undoing the ribbon, descending down your body, straddling your hips and touching your face. “Can you stand up?” He asked, trying to fix the smudged line around your mouth.

“Maybe.” You said, hesitant.

“Come on, let’s try.” He said, helping you up.

“I want more.” You said, kneeling on the carpet, flinching at the sensation.

“That flinch is a reply enough. And you’re messed up. And late for the meet up.”

You checked your wrist. “Lace is always twenty minutes late. Please, one last thing.” You begged, looking at his sex, half hard. “Please.”

“You want to fuck or make love?” He asked, already touching himself. He could do one more. And it was you. All he needed to do was bend you over and watch your tits move as he ground his hips against yours.

“Fuck me.” You said.

He grinned sadistically. “In front of the mirror. Bend over and spread.” He ordered drily.

You smirked back at him and turned into his doll, becoming exactly what he had asked of you, your panties soaked by now, the only protection your skirt.

You were a mess as you looked at yourself in the mirror. His name barely smeared on your breasts, your cheeks made of tens of dark, dried-up rivulets, your mouth a ridiculous attempt at a clown look.

He tugged the hem of your skirt up, exposing your ass before slipping his fingers into the see-through, fine net of your panties, his fingers digging until the fabric ripped offering your slick, honeyed entrance to his eyes.

He stood behind you, the reflection intoxicating as he showed you a wooden hairbrush.

It was that wooden hairbrush. It was the one he liked being used on himself when the roles reversed.

It was extremely fitting of him to want to use it right in that moment, on you.

“Ten. If you don’t cum on my cock all you’ll have is your fingers while I touch myself. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“Ready. Count.” He said, rubbing the smooth wood against your lower glute.

The smack was harsh. Violent. The sound was scary but the pain was divine.

“One.” You called.

He slammed inside you, his thighs hot with boiling blood as he thrusted in harder before delivering another smash.

“Two!” You almost screamed.

“That’s right, doll.” He said, bending down, teasing your ear. “How pretty my name looks on those tits.” He said, slamming into you, a few more times, the various objects laying on the bathroom counter shaking as he pushed into you.

What you didn’t expect was for your phone to shake that hard.

The screen lit up.

Jimin noticed it immediately.

“Oh. It’s Vixen.” He said. “Maybe she’s worried about you.” He panted at your ear.

No. No, no, no. You thought.

“Come on, answer, Princess.” He said, vicious and petty as usually. “You love your friends so much.” He smacked your ass, just with his hand, almost playfully. “You wouldn’t want her to worry. Answer.” He ordered.

Your hand shook as it reached the phone. Jimin stilled inside you.

You picked up the call. “Hi.” You said.

“Hi bub, lovely to hear you. I might be late.” She said, straight to the point, her voice way higher than usual.

“Late?” You asked, trying to speak as little as possible.

Jimin started to move behind you.

You shook your head. NO. No, please, no.

“Forty minutes. Also, tell Lace. She’s not—” squeal “—answering.”

A dark voice behind her murmured something. “Only forty minutes?” He teased.

Namjoon, of course.

“I’m… busy?” You said, just as Jimin pulled out and smashed the hairbrush against your right asscheek. “Three.” You said under your breath.

“Didn’t catch that.” Jimin said teasingly.

You tried to cover the microphone. “Three. Sir, I said three.” You knew you were very likely putting yourself in trouble.

“Joon, why am I not getting spanked?” Vixen asked on the other end of the phone.

“Brat.” He snarled before his voice disappeared again.

“____, dearest. My boyfriend is threatening me with his ten inch cock. I can’t make that call, sweetie. Please, call her.”

“She will.” Jimin answered on your behalf.

“Thanks, Min. Enjoy.” A final squeal echoed down the line before it fell.

Another smash.

“Four, Sir.” You said, feeling Jimin stroke in while sneering, his lips parted as your wet, slippery walls welcomed him with a rich, squelching sound.

“Call Lace.” He ordered at your ear, sweet like a mermaid.

You shook your head in denial, but at the same time you searched for her contact on your phone. The sooner, the better. You would be done embarrassing yourself, and he would simply focus on torturing you until you reached your orgasm.

You pressed ‘call’ and Jimin’s ears tuned in to the sound of the phone, making sure that he began to truly fuck you only once Lace picked up.

The calling sound went on forever. “Let me… She’s not answering. Please.” You said, looking at Jimin’s reflection in the mirror.

“Wait.”

The line went silent for a second. “Vixen, for fuck’s sake, she’s sucking my cock, stop fucking calling.” Taehyung roared.

Jesus.

“It’s me, Princess?” You said, using the nickname that all the boys used. Sometimes it felt ridiculous. Like in that precise moment, when your boyfriend’s dick was buried inside you.

“Princess, what is— mh… Yes.” Taehyung stopped for a second. “Sorry. Lace is busy. Might be late.”

Jimin stretched to the mic. “I knew it.” He said, talking to Taehyung.

“Jimin, get out of my ears.” He joked with his friend. “Can I please… Twenty minutes. She’ll be there in twenty. Thirsty— Thirty at worst.” He spoke before a low rumble came from the line.

You blushed.

Jimin started pushing inside you, trying to get a moan out of you.

“Mh—Meet in forty. Vixen late. Bye.” You said before closing the call, Jimin using that precise moment to start hammering into you.

“Let’s make this quick. We need to make you presentable again, doll.” He said, picking up your knee and propping it up on the counter. You were so wide open for him, his hips smacking lewdly against your ass. To go the extra mile, he grabbed your waist with one forearm and used the hairbrush again.

“Five? Is it… Five?”

“Yes, Princess.” You weren’t sure he was saying yes to the counting or your inner walls squeezing him.

His cock touched your cervix repeatedly with a neat pattern, two fingers reaching your clit. “Quick.” He said.

You managed to push back only three times before your vision went blank, your upper body collapsing against the bathroom counter, your hand pressed against the mirror as you tried to find purchase to keep you upright, to no avail.

Jimin whimpered a few times before he went silent and collapsed on top of you.

His cock twitched twice inside you, weakly. He was probably drained.

“Jimin. Thirty-five minutes.” You called. He slipped out, immediately trying to clean you up.

“You shower, I get an outfit for you. Try to save your hair. Make up remover in the shower.” He said. “I’m driving you.” He said, helping you unglue yourself from the bathroom counter. “Do you need something special, love?” He asked, stopping you a second to hold your face and kiss your mouth, no matter how messy it was. “Aftercare, baby.”

“Just help me get ready.” You said, kissing him again. “I love you. You’re fantastic. The best.”

His ego exploded. “Love you too. Let’s make Stickerella ready for the ball.” He grinned before rushing to the closet.

——————————————

Forty minutes later, you, Lace and Vixen met in front of a classy, sleek restaurant.

“Did you pre-party, Vixen?” Lace asked as the three entered the place, Vixen leading the way to the table. Her legs were wobbly. Very.

“You’re so much fun.” She replied with a fake laugh. Namjoon’s habits were starting to rub off on her. Not the only stuff being rubbed, you thought mischievously.

“Seriously, did you swap your left shoe with your right one?” Lace asked as the tiny woman showed them the table for three. She took a seat on the closest chair, biting her lip as she lowered her bottom. Her eyes closed and she swallowed noticeably.

You smirked, right before sucking your own lips, your ass hurting with the leftovers of the spanking. “You are both two nasty bitches and I am so proud of you.” Lace said with a wide grin.

“Fix your neckline, you classy whore. I can see your boyfriend’s marks from here,” Vixen seethed, still smiling, no offense in her words. Still, she ran her tongue against the edge of her teeth, taking a calming breath as she fixed her position on the seat.

You chuckled at their scene before clearing your throat.

They both turned toward you, waiting for you to speak before realising that you simply had a sore throat. Yeah.

“Please. let’s order wine. You both sound like Marge’s sisters in The Simpsons.” She said, laughing and shaking her head.

“You’re just envious because your gag reflex sucks.” Lace said, clicking her tongue before shaking her head herself in faux disapproval.

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth.

“Glad I’m everyone’s laughing stock.” Vixen said, fixing her hair.

“Your neckline, slut.” Lace said, once more addressing Vixen with a whisper, acting with the posed mannerism of a lady from a Jane Austen novel.

Vixen laughed herself this time. “How did you get out?” Vixen asked her.

“Baby boy fell asleep like a puppy.” Lace said, a dreamy look on her face. “You?”

“Something along that line.” She replied. “What about you, sweetie?” She said turning towards you.

“Jimin brought me.” You said, smiling serenely.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” Vixen said, smiling with her whole face, her eyes turning into pure affection. Again, she looked like Namjoon.

You clicked your tongue. “Everyone’s a sweetheart when they’re getting fucked right.” You said quietly.

Both women laughed.

“I’m just sorry Yoongi’s girl couldn’t come.” Lace said, a bit sad.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s fine. Coming. In… other ways.” Vixen — her neighbour — quipped.

“My god, we’re nymphos.” Lace said, covering her face with her hands.

You shrugged. “Again. That’s the magic.”

By the end of the night, the three of ended up happily tipsy, toasting to your boyfriends and ‘doing things right’.

#bangtan hq #jimin x reader #jimin smut #dom!jimin #park jimin x reader #jimin x reader smut #jimin fanfic #jimin x y/n

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years

Text

Where You Want My Lipstick Part Seven

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Notes: Welcome back to our regularly scheduled smutty programming! (With a light sprinkling of angst) (Sorry) If you’re viewing on mobile, I’ve noticed that the italics can get a little wonky. For the conversations below, the texts that start with ‘-’ indicated Reader’s texts.

Thanks for all of the likes/comments/reblogs/replies. I’ll be honest, I was pretty nervous posting this story and the positive feedback has made me feel way more confident, so yeah. Thank you!! Not beta-read

The warnings below lists a running/growing list of warnings that vary from chapter to chapter. Not everything on the list below will be in every chapter.

Warnings: This fic has explicit sexual content.

Sugar daddy-esque relationship, oral sex, dirty talk, fingering, vaginal sex, Daddy kink mention, Dom/Sub dynamics, alcohol, under-negotiated kinks, possessive behavior, jealousy, public sex, cock warming, shower sex, phone sex, praise kink If you dislike these, please don’t read. Thank you. Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: I just kept thinking about the what-ifs.

“I mean it was like a normal -- I don’t know, it almost felt like a date, and I got this feeling like he hasn’t been out on many since all of the, well, you know.” Selena had been talking for the past ten minutes with no signs of stopping. I had done my typical nods and, “Mhm”s, just wanting the conversation to be over. I didn’t want to hear any more about how nice her time was with Andy. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since he’d left my apartment on Saturday night. I hadn’t heard from him at all on Sunday, and I hadn’t reached out. I just kept thinking about the what-ifs. What if Andy hadn’t seen Max dropping me off? What if I had invited Andy in from the cold, we had gone up to mine and hadn’t said a word, as had been custom at his place so many times before? Or what if we had gone up to mine and I had brought up Selena to him without him knowing about my seeing Max? What if Selena hadn’t told me about their after-dinner drink at all? “--Are you gonna finish those?”

I nudged the remainder of fries closer to Selena, smiling at her when she grinned and snagged a few. As frustrated as I was, this wasn’t her fault. No one in the office knew about whatever the hell had been going on with me and Andy.

“So what’d you get up to this weekend?” Selena asked, plucking up one of my abandoned ketchup packets and drizzling it over the remaining fries. “Oh, ah... Errands, mostly.” “Riveting,” Selena teased, and I laughed, nodding. “Oh yeah. Playing it fast and loose with my grocery shopping.” “Hey, guys.” We looked up at the sound of Andy’s voice, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach. He looked...Fine. Nothing like the tired, hunched-over, put-out man that had been on my step on Saturday. No, he looked like he’d spent the weekend relaxing and resting. “Hey, you,” Selena smiled, leaning back. She patted the seat beside her. As Andy settled down, I pushed my chair back. They both turned to look at me and I waved them off, gathering my things. “Meeting,” I said lightly, nodding to the clock, “I’ve got some notes to prep.” Selena shot me a wink and a smile, and I returned it smile easily before I left, not sparing a second glance in Andy’s direction. --

AB: Are we just going to avoid one another now? I didn’t answer the message that popped up on my laptop right away, or turn to look into his office like I might’ve when this had first started. Maybe that was mean, but maybe I wanted him to sweat a little. When I did answer, all I sent was: ? AB: That excuse was a little weak

Some of us actually get work done when we’re here, you know. AB: I see. AB: Was it a productive meeting? Very. Plaintiff agreed to settle outside of court.

AB: Glad to hear it.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head and minimizing the message window. I turned away from my laptop and opened my planner, ticking off a few of the tasks I had set out for myself that day and looking over what else I planned to do. I glanced at my phone when it buzzed on my desk and did a double take at the message. Sir🖤 Come in here.

I risked a glance in the direction of Andy’s office and found him watching me. I hesitated before I got up, walking over to his office. “Happy to grab that for you,” I said, flashing him a winning smile and closing the door. I walked back to my desk and settled back down. A few moments later, my phone buzzed again. Sir🖤 Brat

I managed to fight the urge to reply to the text for a total of two minutes. -You gonna do something about it?

I was a little wary to bring him back to my apartment, but it was closer to the office than his place, and both of us were feeling more than a little impatient. I didn’t have to coax him out of his coat this time; it hit the floor in record time and was left there as we made slow progress back toward my room. Our kisses were harsh, bruising. Whatever argument we hadn’t properly had on Saturday, we were having it now. My hands grappled with Andy’s shirt and tie, nails claiming every new bit of skin that was revealed as I made my way down the line of buttons. Andy’s hands skated over my sides, across my back, over my ass as I worked at undoing his tie and shirt buttons. He wouldn’t pull or grip too tightly on anywhere for more than a few seconds; it was like he couldn’t decide where to put his hands. Andy made to lean away from me and I bit at his lip harshly. He grunted, bringing a hand up to slide into my hair. He gave it a tug, then a yank, and I let out a broken moan as he leaned down, mouthing and kissing along the line of my neck as that was bared to him. His hand untangled from my hair, sliding down my neck to the zipper of my dress. I leaned into him, lining sharp little nips along his collarbone as his undid my dress. I leaned back Andy tugged the garment, stepping out of it once it was on the floor and leaning back against the wall as he pressed closer. His hands were still everywhere, not settling anywhere, and I squeezed my thighs together as my pussy ached, impatient to be touched. I felt a sting on my thigh, groaned as the light slap echoed in my ears, followed by Andy’s hushing. He nudged a foot between mine, spreading my legs wider before he reached down, teasing his fingers over my underwear. I didn’t press into the sensation like I wanted to. I watched Andy instead - watched him watch me, knowing he was waiting for me to slip up again. A pleased little smile pulled at his lips as he murmured, “Good girl.” He smoothed his fingers in circles, teasing my through the fabric. I could feel my breath picking up, coming in shallower pants, like anything heavier or louder would make him stop. Andy stopped, pulling his hand away, and I growled, eyes narrowing. “Barber, I swear to god,” I hissed. “Get your ass in that bedroom right now,” He ordered lowly. I looked up at him, into those eyes that I swore were piercing right through before I reached out, taking his hand and tugging him into my room.

Andy didn’t let me turn to look at him when we got there. He kept me facing away from him, wrapping his arms around my waist as he leaned down, kissing across my shoulders. I flung my bra off as soon as he unclasped it, bending over and bracing myself against the bed frame as his fingers began to tease and tweak my nipples. He stopped for just a second to push my underwear down. I wriggled, kicking them off once they were around my ankles. He groaned into my skin, grinding against me with punishingly slow rolls of his hips. One of his hands dipped down between my legs, the pads of his fingers gliding through the wetness that had gathered there. I whined, pushing my hips back against his as he pressed a finger into me. I let my head drop forward onto my arms, mewling and sighing as he opened me up slowly. This didn’t feel like he was taking his time for the sake of going slow. This felt like he was taking his time for the sake of torture. I felt the coil tightening in my stomach, and I looked at Andy over my shoulder, licking my lips. “I’m--” I started, but that was all I had to say. I sobbed as Andy pulled away, giving my ass a sharp slap as he did. “Turn around,” he ordered. I did as he said. “Get on your knees,” He said. I went down easily, keeping my eyes on his. “Go on,” He added. I reached up, undoing Andy’s pants and pulling them down. I leaned in, nuzzling at the bulge in his briefs. I opened my mouth, following the shape of it, the thick, hard outline with my mouth, right up to the wet patch where the tip had been been weeping precum. I fitted my mouth over the head through the fabric, sucking and tonguing at it, moaning softly at the bittersweet taste. “Shit,” He breathed, reaching down and stroking his fingers through my hair. I reached up, pulling the band of his briefs down and taking the head of his dick into my mouth. I suckled it, flicking my tongue over the slit as my hand began to work the shaft. Andy watched me through hooded eyes, lips parted as I took more of him into my mouth. He pushed my hand away after a few minutes, taking hold of himself. “Open your mouth,” He murmured. I did as I was told, sticking my tongue out. He grunted, slapping his dick against my tongue a few times before pushing it back into my mouth. I slid my hands up his thighs as I leaned down and took him in, then raked my nails down as I leaned back, leaving light red tracks on his skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, reaching down and tugging my hair gently. I pulled off of him, waiting for his next order. He seemed torn, and I took advantage of this indecision, trailing the head of his dick back and forth over my lips. “Goddamn, baby,” He mumbled before he reached down, pulling me up for a desperate kiss. I pulled away after a few moments, stepping around the bed to grab a condom. Andy was close behind, fully undressed by the time I’d turned around. He kissed my shoulder, working another mark into my skin as I worked the condom over him. Once it was on, he gave my ass a light slap. “Hands and knees,” He said. A thrill ran through me as I clambered onto the bed. I positioned myself as he told me, glancing over my shoulder at him as I felt the bed dip. “Face forward," He murmured. I did, staring at my wall and biting my lip. I felt Andy steady a hand on my hip before I felt the head of his dick tease over my pussy. I closed my eyes as he took his time, pressing into me as if he hadn’t been careful in opening me up, torturing me still. By time the time he bottomed out, my arms were already shaking a little. He pressed a soothing kiss to the back of my neck, and I could feel him smiling like the goddamn menace he was. Andy didn’t move for a few moments - another test, waiting for me to act out, kick up a fuss. When I didn’t, he wrapped his hand around my hair. He was careful with me this time, pulling my hair and bowing my back as he ground into me at the same pace he had before. I ground back against Andy as much as I could, but that hand on my hip would squeeze, remind me when I’d forget myself and go too far. He’d pinch my hip, or slap my ass, and I’d whine and settle down, and he’d reward me with a murmured, “Good girl,” and an extra hard snap of his hips. I could feel my patience giving out, though, and sometimes Andy’s would slip, too. When he’d reward me with a harder thrust, he’d give me another two, or three, or four, and then he’d have to restrain himself. He’d press his forehead between my shoulder blades, breathing heavily as he reset those steady, slow rolls. I wanted so badly to reach between my legs and feel where he was pressing into me, or to play with my clit and tighten up on him until he lost control. When I couldn’t help it, I lowered myself into my forearms. Andy groaned at the change, letting go of my hair and sliding his hand down over my back. He reached down, easing us both onto the bed and covering my body with his. He pressed his face into my neck as he slid his arms over mine, intertwining out fingers. I gasped as Andy’s pace grew more brutal, the sound of our of skin slapping and our panting filling the room. I felt myself getting close again and I chased the feeling, consequences be damned. "Andy,” I whined, voice high and reedy, tightening my grip on my his hands. "Say it again,” He growled. “Andy,” I gasped as I came, “Andy, Andy!” Andy came with a moan that was low in his chest; I felt the vibration of it against my back. We lay there for a few moments, Andy pressing the occasional kiss to my neck of shoulders before he rolled off of me. I didn’t move for a while. I didn’t know what he was going to do - part of me figured he’d just get up, get dressed and leave. And he did get up. Left the room, too, but his pants were still on the floor by my bed, so that was a good sign. He came back neater than before, and looking a little apologetic. “Couldn’t find a washcloth,” he said, leaning against the bed frame and looking down at me, as if he wasn’t totally naked, as if we hadn’t just had some of the hottest sex I’d ever had in my life. “S’okay,” I mumbled. Andy smiled before he turned around, looking around my room: over my dresser, at the things on my vanity. I watched his reflection in the mirror as he walked over to my rotating lipstick display. My chest ached as his smile widened, lightly turning the display around and looking at all of the tubes. We should’ve gone to his. At least there I had the easy escape of, ‘I should go, I don’t live here’. I pushed myself out of bed, avoiding his look as I left the room and went into my bathroom, nudging the door mostly closed with my foot. I knew Andy (and suddenly hated that I did): all the way shut would raise alarm bells in that stupid, pretty, perceptive head of his; mostly close would hopefully signal, ‘I need a minute’. I took my time cleaning myself up, longer than I would’ve if this was any other time. The longer I took, the more time he had to get his things together and leave. I was careful and quiet, keeping my ears tuned for the click of the front door, the creak of the floorboards in the front hall. He was still in my room when I went back in. I avoided his eye, heading over my vanity to finish the glass of water I’d left there this morning. I heard him coming, and held still as he rested his hands on my hips, lips sweet against my neck as I watched our reflection. He lifted his eyes, looking at us as he curled around me. I closed my eyes as he nuzzled against my hair, sighing. “Andy?” “Hmm.” “What the hell are we doing?”

#Andy Barber #Andy Barber x Reader #Andy Barber x You #Where You Want My Lipstick #18+

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for-emilia · 4 years

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Taking The Media By Storm.

enjoy, i love u lots x

Being in the public eye wasn’t Dele’s favourite part of his job. Don't get him wrong, he loves the fans and, of course, he’d never complain about the free PR and perks of that manner, but sometimes it felt like eyes were on him constantly, critiquing every single aspect of his life. All footballers go through it to some extent but from his debut, Dele has always had more intense scrutiny from the media than most. It was truly unfair and he hated it, the media clung to him like a parasite, and there’s nothing he could do about it.

It made all aspects of his life harder and more tedious, but there’s one aspect the media loved to hone in on and make extra torturous: his love life.

He had met Emilia 6 months ago. He wasn’t particularly looking for anything or on the hunt for a relationship but everything fell into place and it was the happiest he’d ever been. Dele tended to not actively look for love, partly because Sally engraved into him that “love finds you”, and partly, again, because of the media. Being a well known athlete meant it was difficult to differentiate between the girls who truly did like him and the ones who liked his fame and fortune. With Emilia he didn’t even consider if she had ill-intent, he knew from the first night that she had a heart of gold. In their initial meeting, it helped that she was a Chelsea fan, that in itself gave away how much she liked him, she’d not touch a lilywhite with a 10ft bargepole; Dele was an exception.

They’d silently agreed to keep things to themselves as they navigated their way through the first stages of the relationship. Dele had seen how horrific the media was to his teammates’ girlfriend’s and wives, quick to brandish them as gold diggers or tear apart their appearance and invade their privacy, and that’s the last thing he wanted for the gorgeous girl who had fallen into his life, especially not because of him.

The first few months consisted of sneaky late night drives and meeting up inside either one of their houses, slowly getting to know each other before making any decisions regarding how serious they were or taking it public. After a few months, it became less casual and Emilia found herself, to her own disbelief, in the stands watching Dele do what he does best on the pitch. Weeks passed by before their eyes as they relaxed into it, Dele knowing every week that Chelsea played away, Emilia would be cheering him on in the stands instead, going perfectly undetected due to the mass crowds around her and her obvious aversion to wearing a Spurs jersey with his name on the back. But it became harder to hide as time went on. Dele had posted a few stories here and there of dinners, clearly only being consumed by him and one other, or a boomerang on his story of a film set up on the tv in front of a blanket, so people were suspiciously questioning his relationship status. However, not a single eye was on Emilia… until the paparazzi got the better of them one match day. It was the second Alli Derby day they’d endured in their relationship, a cold November night filled with tension and expectation ending with a tight 0-1 win to Chelsea, with Dele involved in commotion more than once, earning himself a yellow card well into the second half. The media knew how stressed and riled up Dele could get so at the news of him receiving a yellow card, swiftly followed by him being subbed off, they set up their cameras just outside the stadium car park to snap photos of his angry demeanor to plaster all over their articles. Their narrative soon changed as they got more than they bargained for as the camera rolls filled with photos of Emilia climbing into the passenger's seat. Mere hours after the final whistle, photos of ‘Dele Alli’s mystery Chelsea-clad woman’ were circling the internet, some people theorising she was a fan who needed a lift home after various incidents they were imagining, some claiming she was a friend of his sister’s or even a cousin who simply went to go and watch him, but the most obvious shout was that Emilia was Dele’s girlfriend. The pair sat together, thankful for a distraction from the stress of the match and Dele's uproar, now figuring out what to do about this new stress.

“So, Dele, you’re taking the media by storm at the moment?” the interviewer laughed as Dele, fresh off the pitch, brought his hands up covered by his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, giving a breathy giggle followed by, “yeah, I guess you could say that.”

The interviewer proceeded to ask him about the 1-4 win, Dele having involvement in all 4 goals, particularly focusing on the hattrick from the man himself.

“One freekick, a header and top bins goal, of course not forgetting the goal you put on a plate for your good friend Son, how does it feel?”, Dele went through the usual procedure of a post match interview, beaming from ear to ear and clutching the Man Of The Match trophy close to his chest, glancing down at it every so often and widening his grin.

In the midst of his high, he forgot all about the speculation swimming the internet, until the interviewer brought it up with no way to get out of it.

“Even before tonight, you’ve been a hot topic in the media, haven’t you?” he inched towards asking the real question, you could see the cogs turning in Dele’s brain before his smile faltered a bit, thinking up what his reply would be to the next question inevitably coming his way, “the hot question at the moment, Dele, what happened after the derby on Saturday?”.

“I was just trying to go home to be honest, it was a rough match, with the loss and me being given a yellow rightfully or not, so yeah we just wanted to go home but the paps are always around,” he gave the sort of laugh that’s more like just an expulsion of air and rubbed over the back of his neck. He looked slightly uncomfortable but the small smile on his face said otherwise, obviously thinking about the pretty girl in his car.

“I’ll take that ‘we’ as all the confirmation people want.. I have to say, it’s not often you see a player dating an opposition fan, especially not from the same city. I hope I’m not stepping a line when I ask this but, how do you navigate that situation?” the interviewer held the microphone closer to Dele’s mouth, ensuring he doesn’t miss any of the gossip.

Dele half scoffed, thinking all decency and ‘lines’ are abolished in today’s media, knowing none of them give a fuck as long as they have a story and are harbouring clicks for them. In truth, they navigated the situation with a lot of angry sex but he couldn’t say that, trying to surpress the various images drifting through his mind and scramble to think of a suitable response.

“We don’t,” he pauses for a second to laugh at his own joke before continuing, “nah yknow, we have our ways, we make it work... I’m not just a Spurs player and she’s much more than a Chelsea fan.”

He panics a little bit knowing he’s just outed them on live television but they’d discussed it and agreed it wouldn’t be too bad, only 6 months in but it felt like 6 years and neither of them had any doubts it’d last a lifetime. Looking down at his MOTM trophy, he smiled knowing what he was going home to and the welcome he would get as a well done for his hattrick.

Dele didn’t say much, quickly wrapping up the interview after that and walking into the tunnel to head for his phone to read his girlfriend’s reaction, undoubtful that she was watching everything he said.

Emilia (19:22)

here we goooooo

Emilia (19:23)

not an invasion of privacy my arse

Emilia (19:23)

much more than a chelsea fan huh?

Emilia (19:23)

ur cute

Emilia (19:24)

and sexy

Emilia (19:26)

stop wiping your brow like that its arousing

Emilia (19:28)

now get dressed quick quick quick smelly boy x

Emilia (now)

i love u

Dele couldn’t help but mention Emilia in interviews. Without a doubt, her name or a reference to his girl always came up. It got to the point where the other lads involved would place bets on how many times it would happen and challenge him to not do it, but it seemed an impossible task for the man in love.

During an interview for Soccer Saturday, he was asked about his injuries and his setbacks throughout the past few seasons and how he coped with it and snapped back to match fitness like he always did.

“It must be rough for you, not being out on the pitch doing what you do best, Dele, how do you deal with that every time? Does it get any easier?” Dele scrunched his nose up at the question, he hated thinking about and talking of his injuries.

“Yeah, you know it’s the worst feeling in the world just wanting to be up there helping the team out but not being able to, it’s unbelievably frustrating. But I have a great team of physios around me and available at Spurs to help and get me back as soon as possible, and all of the lads still make sure that anyone injured is still involved in team things so that’s amazing,” his mouth turned up at the sides at the thought of his next sentence. “I have my brother at home with me who’s my best friend so he tries to keep my morale up, as well as my girlfriend Emilia who is always by my side and knows me better than anyone else, yeah she’s amazing.. always cooking for me and looking after me even when I’m not injured” he laughs out.

In the same interview even she came up again, later on when he was asked about the fan presence at Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.

“How much do the fans on a match day influence your performance? Do you think it helps significantly to hear the fans singing your chants and acting almost as the 12th man on the team?” he asks, and Dele thinks it's an extremely obvious answer.

“Oh definitely, nothing compares to 40,000 people singing your name or celebrating alongside you when you put one in the back of the net, having fan presence at the games means everything to us. Makes losses easier and wins even sweeter. Of course a lot of us have our families and friends in the stadium as well which tops it all off, most matches I know that my girlfriends up in the same box, and it always helps to look up at her cheering me on when me or the team is doing bad, or to look up at her little smile when I score, makes everything feel worth it.”

Even a year or so later, he was sat parallel to Eric making another of the iconic roommates videos for England. Eric had already had his turn to answer the questions while Dele guessed, getting himself a respectable ⅘. But now it was Eric’s turn to guess.

“Question 2: What’s the first thing Dele does after a match?” Eric rolls his eyes already knowing the answer, “A) gets a massage, B) texts the missus, C) has a shower”

He cranes his neck to turn and look at Dele doing some stupid wiggle to a song playing through his headphones before turning around and finishing the question.

“Well the answer is B, texts his missus, but he’s had your life there with that answer, the woman’s normally waiting in the tunnel for him, or if she’s not then yes he texts her immediately.. then sends her a photo.. then calls her.. then ignores all of us and leaves to get back to her, they’re like magnets,” Eric muses warmly, rolling his eyes and making fun of them both but deep down he loves it. He loves that his best friend has found someone he loves so much and my god were they an exact match. He found it creepy at times how perfect they were for one another.

“So Delboy, question 2.. Bro I don’t even have to ask, its B, moving on,” Eric quickly flips through the question cards getting to the next question as Dele’s shriek of a laugh echoed around the mostly empty training hall.

“Stop it, am I that obvious?” Dele laughs pushing Eric to the side and blushing slightly.

Eric simply looks at him, then looks back at the camera, then looks at Dele again and cocks his eyebrow.

“May as well get her name tattooed on your forehead mate.”

Roaring from the crowd filled his ears, eliciting a warm feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know what came over him. Dele looked up at the box after his celebration, half ignoring the cheers and pats on the back around him, and gave a cheesy grin and kissed his ring finger as always, laughing as Emilia kissed the air in her direction and stood with her hand on her stomach.

He’d just put one in the back of the net against Wolverhampton and immediately ran to the corner, picking up the ball from his feet on the way and sticking it under his shirt.

The expecting parents had been to their 20 week scan that morning and found out they were having a boy and Dele couldn’t stop thinking about it, even on the pitch. The excitement bubbled up and it just felt like the right time to ‘make the announcement’ after his goal. They were going to post maternity pictures this week anyway but the opportunity seemed too good to pass up right now. He was elated.

“Dele, we and everyone else at home has noticed the tape on your ring finger for a little while now along with your wife up in the stands, but do you have some news? Did we see that celebration right?” the interviewer prompted a beaming Dele.

“Well, I wasn’t meant to say anything until she could make her official post this week, so I’ll get into the tunnel and be battered by her,” he said through gritted teeth and a laugh, “but yes, we’re so excited to start this new chapter.”

The Spurs midfielder looked to his right across to the tunnel to see Emilia joking with Jose, rolling his eyes mentally at how her and her mum insist he’s her long lost dad.

“It comes as a surprise, you’re still quite young and love a party, it’ll be difficult to give up the nightlife and non stop partying for a life of nappy changes, no?” He hates this interviewer. He’d love to just rip into them but that’d just prove their stupid opinion right and give them more to feed off and fuel their narrative that he wasn’t ready to be a father.

“You’d be surprised,” was all he said. Ever since he was young he’s been labelled as a party boy and the sort of footballer who goes out on a weekly basis picking up girls for a fuck and chuck, but that’s never been him. At every party they found themselves either leaving early together or in a corner somewhere just the two of them, they hadn’t spent a night apart for 99% of their relationship and the times they did weren’t by choice and they still fell asleep on facetime, they were even married now for god's sake.. But the media still see him as ‘Dele the party boy’. There’s nothing he’d love more in the world than a baby with Emilia, and as annoying as it was, they both loved to prove everyone wrong and show it will last.

“On your screens now in the stands is Dele Alli’s missus and newborn.. His first time at Tottenham Hotspur stadium at only 4 weeks old, I wonder how long it’ll be until his first appearance at Stamford Bridge,” Martin Tyler let out a chuckle as the camera panned to Emilia sat in her usual box, Isaiah’s face nuzzled into her neck as she bounced rhythmically trying to soothe him.

Both sides of the pair became more open and active on social media as time progressed but still kept their own privacy. The fans loved to see the side to Dele they rarely got to see and it was so lovely for their friends and family to be able to see what they were up to and the stupid reasons why they weren’t replying to texts.

Little Instagram posts and stories here and there at random times. For example, early on in their relationship, Dele posted a video of a monopoly board in front of them with hotels and houses scattered messily where they weren’t meant to be. The video slowly panned up and stopped on Emilia sat opposite him bending to pick some more up from the floor, but at the sight of Dele filming, she threw one straight at his forehead, eliciting a hyena like laugh from Dele, captioning the video ‘landed on one of my hotels and couldn’t afford it, the woman doesn’t take Ls’ alongside Emilia’s @.

Another time, Emilia posted a video to her story, still in bed with the camera pointing outwards towards the door. Dele’s t-shirt was visible on the floor and the duvet was messed up on his side, evidence he wasn’t there, as the smoke alarm blared through the house. She simply captioned it ‘when he tries to make you toast in bed as a surprise at 8am.. someone come collect him @dele.’

There were various cute posts and stories as well as the jokey ones though. About half way through the pregnancy, Emilia posted a photo of her husband fast asleep strewn across the huge sofa, one hand hanging off the end and one hand holding a book against his chest that eagle-eyed fans could just make out to be a parenting book called ‘Happy Mum, Happy Baby’ alongside Rome laying across his legs and Diesel on the floor near his hanging hand. Emilia made a joke of it, captioning it ‘we haven’t even had the baby and my man’s already tired enough to pass out at 4pm.. he ain’t seen nothing yet’, but the pull in her chest showed she thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

A fan favourite was a simple photo on Dele’s story not too long after Isaiah was born and announced on Instagram. The photo was framed from up a height and captured all 3 pairs of their legs, Dele on the left, Emilia on the right and Isaiah’s little legs in between them, one leg on Dele’s thigh and one leg on Emilia’s thigh. The family were all wearing grey joggers and white trainers, Isaiah included, and they were the picture of cuteness in their matching outfits.

Throughout her pregnancy with Mabel, Emilia captured too many moments that pulled at her heart strings, she couldn’t not post some. One night she posted a photo which was mostly dark but you could make out the top of Dele’s shoulders along with his messy bed hair and big hand sprawled over her bump, holding his wife and unborn daughter close even in his sleep. Emilia couldn’t help but share her love with the world, captioning it with a simple white heart emoji and leaving it at that.

More videos popped up throughout the months of that pregnancy in particular: sneaky videos from behind Dele of him in shops picking up little baby clothes even though they already had surplus, videos from afar of them in the Enfield training ground cafeteria zooming in on him making people listen to the heart beat for the thousandth time, a video of the baby inside her stomach making bumps and movements from under the skin but stopping when Dele speaks.

After Emilia’s pregnancy and birth of Mabel, the world knew it didn’t quite go to plan and there were more complications than they’d imagined, so when Dele made his return to football after his extended break for his little girl, all eyes were on him. The commentators and pundits made comments wishing him and his family well, claiming how pleased they were to have him back and recalling his tweet from a few days prior: ‘Thank you for your patience over the past few months. Making sure our daughter was happy and healthy is our first priority but I am excited to make my return on Saturday. Appreciate the support.’. That evening, Emilia posted a video of Mabel in the baby swing chair from behind so you couldn’t see her face, with a smiling Dele zoomed in on the TV during the pre match warm up. She captioned it ‘watching her daddy <3 always proud of you’ in the centre and lower down hidden in a smaller font ‘both had a tantrum at leaving each other this morning ffs’.

Even as the children grew up and Dele stepped out of the limelight, every so often a post would pop up and make people melt. A little picture of a sunshine that Ora had painted in school that says ‘smile’ underneath in her messy handwriting that Dele posted to his feed. A photo posted of a fort that Isaiah had made from whatever he could find around the house, insisting that he had to have his dinner in there, resulting in Emilia going to check on him and snuggling up herself ready to watch Monsters Inc with him; even though she had to squish up and become a contortionist to fit, it was the cutest thing Dele had seen. Or a story of them on a dog walk, first showing Emilia, Isaiah and Ora along with all 7 dogs in the field in front of Dele before panning down to his muddy wellies alongside Mabel’s similarly dirty wellies next to him.

Odd appreciation posts for each other every now and then, showing that even after being married a decade and coming so far from the start, they were still more in love than most people could imagine, candid photos of Dele’s bare back in the kitchen adorned with dribbling emojis or a sneaky video of Emilia getting ready for an event, turning around at the call of her name and rolling her eyes at the sight of his phone pointed at her and his wolf whistle with the caption ‘my girl’ and the sweating emoji alongside.

They had a love hate relationship with the media throughout their lives but they couldn’t deny they loved being able to broadcast their love to the world, bursting at the seams with pride and joy for what they’d created.

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Control and Release - 7

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, dub-con, nipple clamps,(more warnings as the story continues)

Words: 3.2k

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts Eight and Nine are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

“You made it!” Max claps his hands together.

“Yeah,” you smile walking toward the table. Half the bar is filled with the staff from W & S.

He’s clearing off a chair for you next to him, directly across from Pepper who looks like she’s already had a few.

“What is she doing here?” Pepper groans.

“Play nice, Pep. We’re all friends.” Max gives you a shit-eating grin, pulling the chair for you.

“The last thing I need is her running to the boss, tattling about how his assistant complains about him.” She looks from you to Max.

“I’m not a snitch.” You settle in as Max pours half his beer into an empty water glass and slides it front of you.

“We’ll see.” Pepper purses her lips, giving you a once over. “Sam has a way of turning people on each other. Everyone needs to survive in the end.”

“He can’t be that bad.” Max rolls his eyes.

“Ask Y/N,” Pepper scoffs, sitting back in her chair. “She’s in tears every time she leaves his office.”

You want to melt into the floor.

“I, um, he’s just-” you sputter, searching for the right words. “Sometimes he gets a little...intense.”

“That’s one word for it.” Pepper snorts, martini sloshing over the edges of the glass. “You know,” she points at you, “I have a theory about what he’s got you doing.”

“Oh yeah?” You’re just about done with tonight and you only just arrived. You thought this might be fun but instead it’s an exercise in hiding your reactions. Not to mention Max failed to mention your sworn nemesis would be here.

“Internal employee audit.” She nods. “He’s got you keeping track of something across departments. If I had to guess I’d say he’s looking for something. Maybe...a mole? A leak?”

“Are you spying on us?” Max laughs, placing a hand on your back.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” You look around for a waitress, you’re going to need a stronger drink.

“Give us something.” Max shakes the back of your chair.

“I don’t do many things well, but I can keep a secret with the best of them.”

“Hey Pepper,” Doug chimes in from the other side of Max. “Does Winchester ever talked about his brother?”

“His brother?” Your interest is peaked.

“You don’t know about Dean?” Pepper cocks her head. “Sam’s brother is on the FBI’s ten most wanted list.”

“For what?” You’re flabbergasted, you guessed there were some dark secrets in Sam’s past but you didn’t expect a fugitive to be one of them.

“Murder, kidnapping, robbery, you name it.” Pepper shrugs, fishing an olive out of the bottom of her glass. “Every once in a while an agent shows up at the office to ask him questions.”

“Here.” Max pulls out his phone, pulling up the information. “Dean Winchester, unlawful flight to avoid prosecution. Wanted on five counts of murder, one count of kidnapping...where’s the good stuff - here we go - grave desecration, impersonating a federal officer, torture...the list goes on. The guy is a real piece of work.”

“Wow.” You take the phone from Max to look at a photo of a handsome guy in an orange jumpsuit. “That’s crazy. Sam’s been so successful and his brother is...this.”

“I guess their dad was some crazy, backwoods survivalist type. His mom died when he was a baby.” Pepper nods. “The story goes that Sam got as far away from his dad as he could. Got himself into Stanford. His senior year Dean showed up and killed Sam’s girlfriend. Burned the whole apartment building down with her inside.”

“Are you serious?” You’re horrified, looking from Pepper to Max. “His brother killed his girlfriend? Why?”

“I guess Dean wanted Sam to ditch school and go with him and their dad. When Sam refused, Dean went off the deep end.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, handing Max’s phone back to him.

“That’s why he’s so uptight about everything. The man is brilliant but he’s fucked in the head.” Pepper raises her hand to find a server. “I need another drink.”

“Really, I’m fine.” You stop in front of your apartment building. Max insisted on walking you home for safety but you get the distinct impression he expects to be invited up.

“There could be creeps out here.” He shrugs, looking at the steps of your building. “You tired? Up for a nightcap?”

“I don’t think so.” You shake your head. “It’s late and we’ve both been drinking.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” He grins, all charm and white teeth. He’s handsome and cocky, and in another lifetime you’d take him upstairs and ride him until he popped like a champagne bottle.

“No hypotheticals.” You step back and he moves forward in tandem.

“Come on,” he grins, leaning closer. “We both know we’d have a lot of fun together.”

He goes to kiss you, but you stop him with two hands on his chest. “I told you I was seeing someone. And you told me we were out tonight as just friends.”

“Seriously?” He cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you were just trying to play hard to get. Why are you out with us on a Saturday night if you’ve got a guy?”

“None of your business.” You pat him on the shoulder. “I’m going upstairs and we’re both going to forget this ever happened.”

TUESDAY

“Good morning.” Sam greets you without looking up from his tablet.

“Yes, good morning.” Pepper sneers, looking up from her laptop long enough to give you the stink eye. “Boarding begins in five minutes. You’re cutting it close.”

“I got stopped by TSA,” you explain and Sam smiles without looking up. “Random check, I had to have the hand swab and they searched my bags.”

“Early is on time.” Sam looks up at you, giving you a once over.

“And on time is late.” You parrot back. “I’m sorry Mr. Winchester, it won’t happen again.”

“Better not.” He confirms.

W & S owns two planes, both of which are in use. Sam’s not one to shake up a finely tuned system. While he could simply bump the legal team, he won’t. Schedules were solidified and this is a last minute trip, so today he’s flying Delta with all the other lowly non-millionaires.

The first class section is separated into pods. There are a few singles and the rest are in pairs, with ample leg room and enough space to fully recline the seat if one wants to sleep.

You’re struggling to get your ticket out of your purse to check your seat number when Sam grabs your arm, thumb and forefinger pinching just above the elbow. “You’re here. The window seat.”

“Um,” You look around as if he’s the one who’s confused. “I’m in first class?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He rolls his eyes, already impatient. “Sit down.”

You take your seat, sinking into a pod large enough to hold two of you. This is how the other half lives.

“I’m up here...with you.” You state the obvious, watching as the few other people in the section find their seats.

“Yes, you are. God, I hate flying commercial.” He shudders, retrieving his computer from his briefcase. “Would you have preferred to sit in back with Pepper?”

“No, but...doesn’t it look strange that I’m up here?”

“Things look however you want them to look,” he snips, putting up a finger to call over a flight attendant. “Next time I’ll make sure you’re back in the cargo hold if that would make you more comfortable.”

“What can I get you, Mr. Winchester?” the stewardess asks, smiling sweetly.

“Two blankets, two waters,” Sam orders, turning to you as she walks away. “Stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry.” Sitting back you force your legs to stop bouncing. “I’m not the best flyer. I get nervous.”

“Lucky for you I have a few tasks to take your mind off things.” A small smile appears for a fleeting moment. “Just try to relax.”

The plane boards and the minutes tick by. While you’ve flown plenty of times it never gets any easier. And today is worse. Sam makes your senses heightened. Normally it’s just sex, but today it’s also fear that’s swimming in your belly, churning like a swell rolling toward shore.

The attendant brings Sam two thin blankets which he passes off to you.

“Thanks.” you whisper, unsure. “You think I’m going to be cold?”

“I think,” he leans in your direction, close enough that no one else will be able to hear, “that you’re going to have that skirt up around your hips and your hands between your legs for most of the flight. So unless you want the flight crew to see your pussy, you’ll want the blankets to cover up.”

“Oh.” You look towards the crew who have been stealing glances at Sam since you boarded. “But...they’re watching us.”

“This is a perfect opportunity for you to learn the true meaning of discretion.” He buckles his seat belt, wordlessly reaching over and doing the same for you. He grabs one side, then the other, sliding the clip into the buckle, tightening it around your stomach as if you were a toddler. “Now cover yourself and pull up your skirt. We’re about to take off.”

He logs onto his computer, checking his email one final time.

Carefully unfolding both blankets, you lay them over your lap, before subtly hiking your skirt up until your bare ass is directly on the seat, then fold your hands together in your lap as the plane picks up speed on the runway.

“Fuck,” you whisper, closing your eyes at the sensation of the front wheel leaving the ground.

“I think nervous flyer is an understatement.” Sam observes.

“I’m not normally this much of a baby. I was on a bad flight once,” you whisper eyes closed tight. “I was a teenager and I was flying alone. The turbulence was so bad people were crying, we all thought we were going to die.”

“Well, you’re not going to die today.” One of his big hands curls over both of yours where they’re clutched tightly in your lap. You’re so startled by the compassionate touch that you flinch and he squeezes harder.

Slowly, the plane gains altitude and he releases your hands. Looking around carefully to make sure no one is paying attention he leans over, voice low as he murmurs into your ear.

“I want you to rub your clit for the next five minutes. Nice and slow, nothing too fast. Tell me when you’re wet.” And with that instruction, he sits back in his seat. A thrill shoots up your spine at the challenge of complying with the request.

You look around, checking to make sure no one is paying attention and snake your hand under the blankets, sliding over your pussy. It doesn’t take much movement to do as he asks, just the pad of your finger moving back and forth over your clit, slow and even. Sam pulls out his phone, starting a timer for five minutes and you think you might die of embarrassment.

It’s truly an exercise in restraint. Your jaw is locked in place, trying your best to maintain a neutral expression as your own touch begins to stir excitement between your legs. A familiar tingle blossoms from your cunt up to your belly.

It doesn’t take long, there are still two minutes on the timer when you swallow hard and lean toward Sam and whisper, “I’m wet.”

“Already?” He tilts his head to the side to look at you, pulling his glasses off. He smirks, eyes dropping down to where your hand is moving imperceptibly under the blanket. “Two more minutes, keep going.”

Instead of watching the seconds tick by you close your eyes and concentrate on keeping your face from giving away your dirty little secret. You think about Sam, how badly you want his hands on you and what new experiences will happen over the next three days. You’re here for two nights and you wonder if he’ll want you to spend all your time with him, or if he’ll send you away as soon as he’s had his fill, like the first night you touched yourself for him on his hotel bed.

“Times up.” He announces. And you take a breath, yanking your hand away. You’re pretty good at knowing how to touch yourself. He’s given you ample practice, all those mornings and nights of denial, getting yourself right to the edge are paying off. You just hope he’s not expecting you to cum, not here.

“Can I have some water, please?” You clear your throat, gesturing at the two bottles tucked into the pocket in front of him.

“Of course.” He opens the bottle, holding the cap and hands it to you. “You have ten minutes, then we go again.”

You sit stoically next to Sam as he reviews documents, unphased by the fact that you’re right there, next to him, shifting in your seat. Time ticks by and he leans over again, looking away from the screen as an afterthought.

“Five minutes, touch yourself the entire time, don’t cum.”

“I will.” You look at him, his stare sending little zaps of anticipation to every inch of you.

This time he watches you, glancing up every so often to ensure privacy. From your seat no one other than Sam can see below your neck but controlling your facial expressions is proving the hardest part of all. As your finger brushes over your clit again and again. You lock your jaw, it’s the only way to keep your mouth from falling open. At one point your eyes flutter shut, but he doesn’t like that.

“Look at me.” He commands, voice low and confident as you turn your head to look him in the eye. “We’re just two people having a conversation. No one knows otherwise.” He glances down to where your hand is moving gently under the blanket. “When’s the last time you came?”

“When I was last with you,” you confirm in a breathless whisper, pleasure steadily building.

“Did you touch yourself after that?”

“Yes, twice.”

“But you didn’t cum?” He smiles, shifting in his seat to give you his full attention. “I don’t remember giving you any homework.”

“It was so good last time.” You take a deliberate breath, pausing to control your throbbing pussy before you continue. “Making myself wait for you made it so intense when I finally came.”

“I’m glad to hear it was so good for you.” His mouth barely moves as he speaks, pressing his hand over the crotch of his pants to adjust himself. “From now on you don’t cum unless I give you explicit permission. You’re to ask every time. That wet little pussy is mine and so are your orgasms. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” you hiss, fingers slowing. Rubbing yourself is hard enough, but listening to him talk like this is almost enough to make you cum all on it’s own. “I need to stop.”

“You still have a minute left. You better not stop.” He chastises, frowning as if you’re a petulant child in time out. “Just slow down and control yourself. Deep breaths.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you rasp, staring at him as a tear slides down your cheek. Your hand is shaking, middle finger pressing against your aching bud. “Please, I can’t-”

“Don’t you dare.” Sam looks at his watch. “Just a little bit longer. You won’t like what happens if you disobey me right now.”

“I’m trying so hard, but I can’t-”

“Times up.” He taps your knee and you instantly pull your hand out from the under the blanket. You’re one firm touch away from falling over the edge, your pussy is slick, dripping with arousal and you can feel it on the seat under you.

“Everything alright over here?” There’s suddenly an attendant standing next to Sam, looking at you with concern.

“Nervous flyer.” Sam explains, patting the back of your hand. “Panic attacks.”

“I’m fine,” you offer, voice shaking as you wipe sweat away from your forehead. “It’s just nerves.”

“Please let me know if you need anything.” She nods, giving you one last look before walking away.

“You’re attracting attention.” Sam chuckles, as your cheeks burn bright red.

“I was trying to be discreet,” you puff, sitting back in the seat.

“Trying and failing.” He points out the obvious. “But by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be surprised what you’re capable of suppressing.”

There’s no response for that. It’s terrifying to hear that for him this is just the tip of the iceberg. But it’s also exciting, everything about this arrangement is exciting. The fact that he has you edging yourself on a plane, surrounded by people and manages to remain so casual about the whole thing makes you want him even more.

There are three more sessions. Each farther apart than the last as he gives you ample time to calm down. By the time you’re finished with the last session the world is blurry, your entire body sweating and quaking as you use every last ounce of self-control to hold back an orgasm.

It’s just as the pilot announces that you’ve been cleared for landing that Sam closes his computer and starts to roll up his sleeve as if he’s about to go to work. The flight attendants strap themselves into their own seat and Sam tilts his head toward you.

“Spread your legs.” He murmurs, turning to watch your face as you comply. He snakes the hand closest to you under the blankets, wedging his knuckles between sticky thighs. His eyebrows shoot up when he feels how wet you are.

The plane begins to shake as you hit a turbulent patch and at the same time his finger slides over your swollen clit. You almost shout out, instead slamming your eyes shut and gripping the armrests.

“You love this don’t you? Being on display for me, everyone else just going about their lives ignorant to what’s going on between your legs.” The heel of his hand presses over your clit as he scoops down, sliding two fingers into your throbbing cunt. You whimper, sinking teeth into your bottom lip.

His fingers slide out and up, stroking your clit before burying back inside. He does it again and again, finding a rhythm, stroking your bud and teasing your hole open until you’re a mess, squirming uncontrollably.

“You’re gonna make me cum.” You wheeze, trying to squeeze your legs together.

“You better not.” He warns, hand slowing to make slow, painful circles around your clit.

“I’m trying but it’s too much.”

“Then we better stop.” He quips, pulling his hand away, leaving you gulping for air as the plane’s wheels touch down on the tarmac. “You did well.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, smoothing your hair back, ignoring the constant throb between your legs.

You put yourself back together, unlocking your seatbelt and pulling your skirt back into place. Right on cue, Sam hands you a napkin that you use to wipe off the seat under you, blushing as he watches you clean up the mess you’ve made.

In stark contrast to your usual roles, Sam stands up grabbing his own carry on bag, then takes yours, throwing the strap over his shoulder.

“You good?” He looks down, offering a hand to pull you up.

“Yes, thank you.” You nod, following him down the aisle.

The stewardess offers you a little pout, gently touching your shoulder as you pass by and a moment later you step off the plane into the San Francisco airport.

Parts Eight and Nine are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

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#tedtalk!sam #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfic #Control and release

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inkedshawnie · 5 years

Text

Spies and Thieves

CHAPTER TWO - PART TWO

I understood what he was trying to say this was going to be a solo mission with no back up. Evidence I was even involved couldn't be found by anyone, a ghost mission of a sort. I grimaced. I had already made the decision to help as soon as Dad had given most of the details.

"How long do I have?”

“The ball is this Saturday. I need you to find and bring him back in that time."

I frowned. "Not a lot of time. I’m assuming I can’t loop my team into this, not that I would want to.”

I heard him exhale as he rubbed his forehead. He did that when he was stressed about sending me into a bad about a situation. “If I had anyone else, I could call for this, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

"Don't worry about it, Dad. I am your best asset in this situation. I'll email you when I have something to tell. I got up and went to give him a hug. “Have the guys in the lobby when I get down there please.”

“They are already waiting for you.”

I nodded and walked out of his office. Mentally preparing for this suicide mission.

******

I was seriously contemplating just knocking on the front door and shooting whomever answered. It would be so much simpler and less disturbing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I loved being able to do spy shit, but I didn't like the days where I had to crawl through rat infested air vents, contaminated sewers, collapsing subway tunnels and the like. Like now, I was slinking my way through a presumably haunted insane asylum that had no air and more rat shit in it than I cared to think about or acknowledge.

After about twenty-four hours of digging around on the darknet I had figure out where they were keeping him, and I was not happy about it at all. The Old Tooele Hospital in Utah had opened in 1897 as a family house but in 1913 it had become a Country Poor House, for the elderly and the mentally insane. Then in 1953 it went to back to being, the Tooele Hospital and this time it had better accommodations for its patients.

The place was beyond creepy, more so because I was doing all of this in the dark with only a half dead flashlight. My over-imaginative mind was fucking me all the way up. I didn’t like it. I shuddered and swung my flashlight around, the dark didn't bother me really, it was the fact that I couldn't really see in front of me and all the pitch blackness surrounding me gave off the impression of it swallowing me up. Ryan had used the dark to torture me when I hadn’t done what he asked and although I had gotten help for it, there were times when the terror engulfed me. I turned and faced the door, the uncontrollable urge to run gripped me and I had to fight it. It was eerily quiet, and I got the distinct impression that I was being watched and followed, yet every time I turned around or moved the flashlight in a different direction than I was walking, there wasn’t anything there. Turning back, I blew out a breath and continued walking. Ryan was not here and even though he was most definitely looking for me, he was not in this place. Shaking myself I did a sweep with my flashlight again before pointing it straight ahead.

For the umpteenth time I wondered what possessed me to accept this assignment when I didn't know the victim from a bird’s nest. But if I was being totally honest with myself, I took the assignment because I didn’t think I had another choice. If I could save him then I would do that. Also, he had intrigued me after I had gotten home from the meeting with my father Joss had handed me page after page of details about the Korean crew. They were apparently some very big people in Korea, they had a cover that was flawless if not a little out there. They were apparently a K-pop group and while I had never heard of the genre Joss was very much a fan. Her eyes were saucers by the time I had finished reading.

Their cover was as the group EXO and this literally allowed them the freedom to go around wherever they wanted and while they had to be extra careful not to be seem or found out they were very good at hiding who they really were and what they really did. There were nine of them in total. Kim Jun Myeon, or Suho was the of leader in the group and their handler in real life. He was also the one who was stopping by the hospital to check on my girls. Kim Min Seok or Xuimin was from what I could tell the well-rounded one of the group he could sing, dance and rap and he was a Thief in real life. Zhang Yixing or Lay was a dancer and Vocalist in the group and was a weapons specialist. Byun Baek Hyun or BaekHyun was the main vocalist of the group and also a weapons specialist. Kim Jong Dae was another main vocalist for the group and a hacker in real life. Park Chan Yeol or Chanyeol was a rapper, vocalist and visual for the group but he was also a spy. Do Kyung Soo or D.O was a main vocalist for the group and a hacker. Kim Jong In or Kai was a dancer, rapper and vocalist for the group as well as a thief. Oh Se Hun or Sehun was the youngest of the group and was a dancer, rapper and sub vocalist he was also a spy.

Their group had a good balance to it, and I had to give them respect because I couldn’t figure out how they made it work with the covers they had. But it was working, I had done some digging of my own and found out some of the jobs they had done for their government and some for themselves. It had been so long since a man had intrigued me and Chanyeol fascinated me for some reason. So, here I was.

My silent musings were interrupted by a scraping sound above me. I silently took off running, flashlight swinging, and raced down the rest of the hallway and up a flight of stairs. Lucifer himself couldn't have gotten me on that old elevator. Coming to a halt at the top of the stairs I aimed the dim flashlight and looked around. I didn’t want to announce my presence to anyone, not even to the one I was here to help. Well, at least not yet.

I heard the scraping sound again and started walking, my breathing even despite the running. I stopped when I got to a door that was labeled as being a surgical room and shivered. This couldn't be good. I clicked off the flashlight and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was a low light permeating from under the door, but I knew it wouldn't help... much. Rolling my neck, I slowly opened the door, praying that it didn't make any sounds. Once I had the door open wide enough to slip in, I closed it again and looked around. My eyes swept the room until I came across a figure tied to metal chair.

I swore, as I quickly looked him over. His hands and feet were cuffed and tied to the chair. He was soaking wet, which could only mean one thing. They had water boarded him, and I hoped whomever had done this hadn't used electrocution too. I was hopeful, only because I didn't see any wires in the room, but that honestly meant nothing. I walked over to the chair, my anger growing until it engulfed me, and I saw spots of red in my vision. They had really done a number on him. I knew he because I had memorized his featured both with make-up and without. I visually roamed his body trying to see if he would need assistance walking or anything. He didn’t look too hurt, but I wasn’t going to take any changes.

"Shit got real in here, I see. Sorry it took me so long to find you, I had to do some detective work before I could come for you." I waited for any signs that he understood me and smiled weakly when he nodded his head.

He tried to speak, but nothing came out his mouth. That was to be expected, I didn’t think they fed him or gave him water that often. I came prepared for this. I walked around the chair, pulled the knife out of my boot, and cut the rope away before I picked the lock of the cuffs. Then I did the same for his feet; inherently trusting him for some reason. When I stood back up, he was exercising his hands, wrists, and arms. I watched him until he looked at me, and when he did, I was hit hard - and surprisingly - with the impulse to kiss him. I ignored it, and only ended up swaying towards him a little before I caught myself.

"Shit." I looked at the ground before defiantly looking back up at him. He smiled like he knew what I was feeling and made his fingers into the universal sign for a gun, silently asking if I was packing. I nodded but first I took out a nutrition bar and some water. He raised an eyebrow but took both items, finishing one then the other. For some reason I’d had a feeling I'd need the extra heat, so I had strapped up like I was taking on a small army - guns, knives, grenades, and whatever else I'd thought might be necessary. Hoping my strange sense of trust wasn’t going to get me killed, I handed him two guns from the holsters at my waist to him just as a sound by the door snagged our attention. I gave him a nod and slid into a dark corner out of sight. He stayed seated but didn’t bother pretending to still be tied up.

He was all controlled rage, just sitting in that chair. His hands didn’t tighten on either of the guns and he seemed more relaxed, his face a blank mask. The insane part of me thought it was sexy as all hell, the rational part of me knew all hell was about to break loose and my insane side rejoiced at the notion. I was obviously losing my damn mind.

I nodded at him, positive he saw me and then faced the door, whoever had taken this man hostage, was now turning the handle of the door. I felt my heart kick into overdrive and my eyes got clearer. I loved the adrenaline rush, it was a high unlike none other, but this was slightly different, there was an undertone of arousal. I looked over at him one last time, raking my gaze over him, taking in everything I could from my distance and his sitting position. Then I raised my guns and pointed at the door.

Only one person who walked through that door would live through this. They would be dead soon after but that didn't matter. I didn’t examine why I felt the way I did about it, just accepted it for whatever it was and let the feeling spread through me. I watched the door swing open and the first guy stepped into the room, eyes on the too calm man in the chair.

“I see you have gotten free and acquired guns. I am not sure how you managed this, but I guess it is not so surprising in a way. The guy who hired me told me you were… resourceful, although I have no idea where you were hiding the guns.” Dead guy had a slight Boston Accent, which meant they were from the states. I absently wondered why they brought him all the way to nowhere Utah, but I guess that was the point. Harder to find someone in the middle of nowhere.

“Boss… Something does not feel right.” That was the messenger; he was the smart one out of the two of them sensing the danger around him. The lackey in my opinion was always the smart one, they knew when to run and when not too.

"Shut up, I didn't ask you what you felt." Dead guy sneered at his companion before turning back to stare at a now empty chair. "What the fuck?" He sputtered and swung around, his gun raised and pointing in different directions.

I leaned out, careful to stay in my shadow and cocked my gun, aiming it at the messenger, he would deliver the message to the one that actually called the shots.

"Should have listened to your friend there." I took two shots, one in his knee cap and one in his shoulder. Neither places would kill him. I watched him drop and then focused on the one who would die, but he wasn't mine to kill.

Dead guy fired off random shots from a Glock 17, aiming everywhere and I counted every time he took a shot. He'd took exactly seven shots, I could only operate on the assumption that he had a full clip in there, which would mean he still had 10 rounds left.

Tracking my guy, I watched him move across the floor towards dead guy. He moved with an ease that couldn't be faked and it was sexy as hell. He never increased his speed or let his emotions bleed through the mask he'd slipped on after I gave him the guns. He was completely in control, and that was why I stayed where I was and let him do what he obviously good at.

#EXO #FANFICTION #HACKERS #EXOL #THIEVES #SPIES

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