#this game is so good I’m biting my hands | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elaci · 2 days

Text

You spur Art onto a rougher persona in the bedroom, and in turn make Patrick a very jealous man.

cw; voyeurism, f receiving oral, public sex.

Art Donaldson, Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | The Rule of Thirds masterlist | talk to me!

Art Donaldson is good with his tongue.

He speaks well, calls you nice things and praises your every action. You’ve learnt over the past month that he’s glad to have someone to coo over, someone who isn’t there to correct him but rather be connected to him— you sit and watch his games in supportive adoration rather than in scrutiny. He isn’t afraid to fuck up, isn’t afraid of your loss of attention, isn’t afraid of you. He thanks you for your companionship with his tongue; whether it's a sweet word rolled off the length of it, or a deep kiss in which he traverses your mouth with it, or a solid few hours spent lapping at your pussy like a thirst-driven man.

You thank him for his tongue with a memento to keep, a photo or three of his devotion to you. He keeps them in his bedside drawer, all titled differently, all of depraved things that should never see the light lest he wants to lose any chance at publicity.

Though some of the photos are sweet. There’s one in particular pinned to a posterboard in his dorm room, one you let him take of you after he had taken you out for food one night, your face messy with dinner and your grin wide at Art’s proposal of ice-cream for dessert. It’s a blurred photo, but he’s getting better at capturing you in the right light, he enjoys it, even. Some days you’ll return from class to find a new pack of film on your bed, Art almost more eager than you to fall subject to your artform.

He takes care of you, he’s sweet beyond belief. You aren’t dating, you don’t think so at least, but he treats you like his girlfriend— holds your hand as you walk through campus, holds your hand as you cum on his dick, holds your hand as you cuddle after the fact. He loves your hands, how they fit in his, and he loves your eyes too, and your voice and your ass and your—

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning, we can go eat before your match.”

Patrick’s voice is a little static through Art’s phone, especially with it being on loudspeaker. Art struggles to hear his friend through the phone that sits on his bedside table, he blames the shitty service he gets from his dorm room, but the fact that you’re sitting on his cock and biting at his ear might also be the cause of his hard hearing.

“Sorrywhatwasthat?” Art manages, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to focus on Patrick’s voice rather than the roll of your hips atop his and the feel of your hands on his chest and your tongue trailing across his jawline.

“I’m in Stanford tomorrow. For your match. Are you okay?” There’s a tone that laces his voice even through the static, Art can hear the growing smile on his lips.

“Yeah. Sorry, uh,” Art has to use both hands to hold you down on his cock to stop your incessant bouncing so he can think for a moment. “Shitty service.”

You frown against his neck, where you kiss languidly, and lean up a little to whisper lowly into his ear, “I want you to cum on my tits and take a photo.”

“Fuck,” Art bites his tongue only after the words spilt from his lips.

There’s silence, and then a sudden burst of laughter from the phone. “Are you jerking off right now?”

“No.”

“You are. You’re jerking off, I could fucking hear you.”

You grin, but Art cups a hand over your mouth before a word falls from your lips. He clears his throat and blinks a few times. “I’m not jerking off, Patrick, I’m just tired. I’ve been training all day.”

“It’s lunchtime, Art.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Art says, giving you a look as you dart your tongue out to lick the palm of his hand that covers your mouth. You try and roll your hips some more, find some friction you desperately need with Art’s cock, but all it does is make his grip on you tighten. With you still, he's able to focus on Patricks words and muster up something that resembles a conversation. "What time will you get here?"

"Early," you can hear Patrick shuffling around through the phone. "Do you know if Tashi's busy? We could meet for breakfast, make it a double date."

Art catches the furrow of your eyebrows and uncovers your mouth to lean forward and give you a kiss in lieu of the distraction your tongue is offering. You almost let yourself get lost in the kiss, you almost let your mind empty, but Patrick’s words ring in your ears and within a moment you’re turning your head and plucking Art’s phone from the bedside table.

“You’re dating Tashi Duncan?” You speak into the phone, very suddenly making your presence known. Art tries to grab at his phone, but you hold it away from him and frown at his attempts.

“You didn’t tell her?” Patrick speaks to Art rather than you, and you can imagine the dumbstruck look on his face.

Art takes a moment to look between you and his phone, silently debating whether he should try and reach for it again, but ultimately decides against it. Instead, he shrugs, sweat sticks his hair to his forehead— “It never came up. She’s been away for like… two weeks now.”

“Wow,” you and Patrick say in unison, though Patrick adds a ‘hi, by the way’ on to the end for good measure.

“Hi, Zweig,” you speak into the phone.

“Are you mad? Tashi is fine with me seeing other people if that’s—”

You cut him off with a laugh as Art's hands wrap around you and roam over the expanse of your back. “I’m not mad,” you say. “More like jealous: Tashi Duncan is the hottest woman I’ve ever seen. I’d kill someone to know what she tastes like. God, the photos I could take…”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. You wonder if Patrick is blushing pink like Art is right now, lips curled into an almost relieved smile. You wonder what runs through their heads, whether they too are imagining the sight; Tashi Duncan in front of your lens, something angelic.

“Wait, are you two fucking right now?”

Art chokes out a laugh, forehead falling to rest on your shoulder as you grin, despite Patrick’s inability to see it. You had almost gotten so used to the feeling of cockwarming Art that it felt natural, like chasing a climax is unnecessary when you feel so full and whole just sitting on his cock.

“Yes, and I was close to finishing before you called, so thanks for that.”

You’re about to click Arts phone off and return to business when you hear a shuffle from the other end of the line, and then Patrick speaks. “Leave the phone on.”

A moment of contemplation, Arts eyes meeting yours. He shrugs, unopposed to letting his best friend listen in on your intimacies— the ball is in your court.

“No,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “You’re in time out, you should have told me about Tashi— bye!”

“Hey wait don’t—”

The line dies and Art’s phone is thrown haphazardly onto the bedside table. He smiles when you turn back to him, those pretty lips of his curled upwards in amusement at your ways.

“You’re evil,” he smiles into the kiss he gives you, sweet as always. “He’s probably rock hard and hating life.”

“Hope so,” you joke, leaning into Art and rolling your hips again, relighting the burning need in both of your chests. Art groans as you hold onto his shoulders, slide up on his cock and then push your weight back down. Your movements are halted, however, by Art’s hands on your waist.

“Wait,” his words are breathless. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Tashi. I didn’t want you to—”

“I’m not mad,” you roll your hips. "It's not like you're the one dating her, and I'd assume you aren't thinking about her rather than me right now—" you pause. "Unless you are doing that. Is that why you're apologi—”

“Jesus Christ no,” Art chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “It's just.... we had something last year, me and Patrick... with Tashi. Now it's just them."

"Oh," you raise your brows in curiosity. "Lucky you. So you have a habit of fucking the same girl then?"

Art rolls his eyes, catching on to your teasing tone. "We didn't fuck," he assures you. "We just... made out. We had a match the next day, Tashi gave her number to the winner."

You nod and hum quietly, biting your lip to keep yourself from laughing out loud. You can hear Art's stuttered laugh exhaling through his nose and almost break into laughter at the thought of his face losing a match with stakes like those. "I'm sorry," you cover your mouth with your hand to try and stifle your laughter. "I'm not laughing at you I just, that must have been the worst fucking day of your life."

Art laughs even harder than you do. "Don't rub it in, I'm over it."

"So you aren't in love with Tashi Duncan?"

Art shakes his head. He pauses, his laughter subsiding. "...No."

"She's hot, Art. Hot like the sun," you sing Tashi's praises. "Who wouldn't be infatuated? How could you resist her? She's sexy."

Art swallows, his grip on you tightens. There it is, that warmth in your chest, that tightening in your stomach. Art tries to hide his face, press a kiss to your shoulder, but you card your fingers through his hair and pull his gaze back to meet yours. "You're too sweet on me, Art. I'm hurt," you tease, watching as his eyes flit from yours to your lips, to your tits and rolling hips. You test the waters; "do you think Patrick is this sweet on Tashi?"

"What?" Art's eyebrows furrow, but you can feel his cock twitch inside of you at the image forming in his head.

"Patrick isn't a sweetheart," you shake your head. "I'd know. I think he fucks Tashi how he fucked me; mean. Mean and selfish. And I think she's worse in return."

Art bites back a moan, lets you start moving up and down on his cock again, closes his eyes, relishes in the thought. It makes him ache, that image in his mind, but he can see it so clearly: Patricks pace, the possessive grip he has, that way he groans when he's breathless and nearing the edge. Fuck, he can hear it, he can hear her, he can hear you.

"Do you think he fucks better knowing he has what you don't?” you ask, your voice dropping lower, your hips moving quicker. “That you lost?"

"Shh," Art whispers desperately. He starts to rock his hips up into you, "just shut up."

You grin, "you like this, don’t you? This jealousy. You like knowing that if you got the chance, you'd change her mind— I've never seen you like this."

"Well I am—" Art mumbles, pressing wet kisses to your throat, to your collarbone, "—with you, not her, not him."

"Are you with me?" you breathe, arching your back as Art continues to grind into you. "Where are you in that pretty head of yours? Here, or with them?"

He looks up, eyes hooded, and his expression is unreadable. It's like he's searching your eyes for the answer you want him to give you.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Art. You don’t have to pretend to only have eyes for me, Patrick fucks good and Tashi probably fucks better.”

"Fuck you," his words are sudden, less angry than desperate. He's wrapping an arm around your waist and rolling you onto your back in just a second flat, pushing himself deep into you as presses your body into his innerspring mattress. He pushes forward and his thrusts are harsh, powerful and unforgiving. You gasp at the change of pace, but don't protest. You want this: the burning passion, the anger, the newfound pulsing in your cunt as Art drills into you. The heat of him is intoxicating, and it feels almost foreign at this pace. Like a new sensation and a forbidden thrill: it fills your whole body, every single vein, every single cell, every single inch of skin until there's nothing left behind but Art. His name on your lips and his sweat on your skin, his body heavy atop you. All encompassing, all consuming.

You're not sure if it's him or you who comes first, but Art is ordering his name from your lips like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth, to reality. He fucks you senseless, near bruises your cervix with the way his hips snap into yours even through your shared orgasms. Still, though, through the heavy-weighted feelings and sinful fantasies you share, Art takes your hand in his and holds it tight as you come undone. He may be acting like Patrick, but he's far from.

He stays seated deep inside of you once the waves of ecstasy wash away from the two of you, his chest heaving against your own. He doesn't move his hand from yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the side of your knuckles as he catches his breath.

"God, Art," you mutter, running a finger down his spine with your free hand. "I need to poke at your jealous side more often."

Art snorts, briefly into your eyes. "You want me to think of other people as I fuck you? Cuck."

"Cuck?" you parrot, smirking. You tilt your head towards him and lick your lips with interest before kissing him. The kiss is fleeting and chaste, yet still somehow filled with everything you've felt since he pulled your legs around his waist and buried his throbbing cock into you. "I'm not the cuck," you breathe against his lips. "Patrick is."

"What do you mean?" Art presses an unknowing kiss to the corner of your lips. You laugh breathily as he slides out of you gently, allowing your thighs to fall off from his hips. You hold his gaze still, the ghost of mischief pulling at the corners of your lips, and Art slowly puts the pieces together in his head. His eyes snap to his phone on the bedside table, screen still lit; ONGOING CALL.

"You hung up though?" Art scrambles to grab his phone and hold it to his ear. He's met with songs of Patrick's laughter, along with the sound of rustling clothes as he moves. "Patrick? Seriously? Did you jerk off to that?"

"What makes you think that?" Patrick replies through the phone, voice breathy and husky, the low timbre sending shivers down Art's spine despite his embarrassment. "I'm not a perv."

Art has to bite his lip to stop laughter from breaking out of his chest. "You absolutely are a fucking perv."

"Sorry, what was that? I thought I heard you say 'Patrick, I just came to the thought of fucking my girl as good as you fuck yours', my mistake."

"I took him off speaker," you loll your head to the side, watching him for any signs of genuine anger. Besides the pink tint to his cheeks, something tells you that he's enjoying this, maybe the fact that his cock is already growing hard again. You can feel a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips when Art gives you a look of hushed approval.

"Goodbye Patrick," he speaks sternly into the phone, and then hangs up before his friend can beg to bear witness to round two. Art sighs, looks at you for a moment and then grins, "you're evil."

You shrug, biting your lip to try and contain yourself. You push some of your hair from your face and watch Art turn to rummage around next to the bed. You wonder for a moment if he's actually mad, if you've crossed a line you didn't know existed, but a sudden flash cures your racing mind. Art is smiling, your camera in hand as he looks at the image he had just taken.

"Hey that's my good camera," you huff as he tosses your Canon onto the mattress next to you.

"I know," Art grunts a little as he lowers himself to his knees between your legs. "I want him to know I've tasted more of you, and you can't email Polaroids.”

"But—"

Art bites the inside of your thigh, hard. "Shut up and take your photos, baby.”

SIX YEARS LATER

"I'm sorry, but we've decided to go with Rikki. We saw the shots she took for the Donaldsons’ wedding and just fell in love; have you seen them? Such a photogenic couple, we're hoping Rikki will capture us half as well."

You don't realise there's a sour look on your face until the couple standing in front of you both frown. Their faces match each other, but not in a cute married-couple sense: they look like siblings. The same nose, the same boring eyes and shit-smearing obsession with the fucking Donaldson's and their stupid fucking destination wedding shoot you've flicked through thirty times in the last two days.

"So I drove an hour to get fired," you say, rather than ask.

The wife, who wears a frilly top with so many sequins stuck onto the hem that they're starting to fall off in patches, nods. "Oh honey," she pouts. "Don't be sad! You aren't even a wedding photographer, are you? You wouldn't understand how exciting these things can be!" She grabs her fiancé by the elbow. "Right, darling?"

Her fiancé replies in a grunt of agreement, though you doubt he had much say (or interest) in who takes the photos as long as they can get the right angles to slim him down a bit. You try not to roll your eyes, fingers drumming on the café table that separates you and the soon-to-be-weds.

"So have you seen them?" The woman looks giddy, smiling at you from across the table.

"Seen what?" You ask, watching as she pulls her phone from her pocket and starts tapping on its screen.

"The Donaldson's wedding photos, John and I are huge tennis fans, I don't know if you know of them? Gorgeous couple, If I were a few years younger I'd be fishing to be their third!" She lets out a loud cackle at her own statement and slides her phone across the table for you to see, there on her screen, a gorgeous wide shot of the wedding party. In the middle, surrounded by groomsmen and bridesmaids you've never seen before, Tashi and Art kiss. Husband and wife, till death or retirement do they part.

You look up from the photo to look into the woman's eyes. "Never heard of them," you shrug. "Should I have?"

"I'm telling you, dear," she swoons. "Tennis players are something else."

God forbid you show her something else these tennis players have featured in.

Your phone rings before you can let your tongue get you in trouble, and though you thank god for the interruption, you’re less enthused when you see who’s calling. Still, a way out is a way out, you’re apologising for ‘simply having to take this’ and ducking out of the café, camera bag in tow, in less than a minute.

The outside air is good for your lungs and sullen skin— you take a moment to breathe before sliding the answer button over on your phone and holding it to your ear. You don’t say a word, and instead wait for the poor excuse that could warrant calling you.

“Look, I didn’t mean what I said in the email, shit still just stings, alright? I was second favourite to Art for a long time back then.”

Patrick Zweig gets straight to the point, always has, and you aren’t sure if you like that about him. A ‘hey, how are you? I miss you,’ isn’t the worst thing to hear when you’ve just lost a job and been reminded of your college woes.

“I told you not to call me,” you say, glancing back into the café to see the couple packing up to leave. “I was with clients.”

“Right, sorry,” Patrick says, though he sounds more rushed than apologetic. “How’d that go?”

You almost laugh. “They’re laying me off in favour of Rikki Leanne.”

“Who?”

“She was Art and Tashi’s wedding photographer, they saw the photos and ‘fell in love’—absolutely had to go with her, or something.”

There’s a pause, Patrick probably hadn’t expected you to speak so lax about Art and Tashi after all this time. Though if he’s surprised, or upset, he doesn’t show it in his voice— “so you’re free for a job then?”

“What?”

“I’m wanting some photos taken, you can stay here if you want, I can pay you in dinner and good booze.”

You frown and parrot a line from an email he sent the other day. The first one had been normal, though of course laden with cocky callbacks to the days you’d photograph him in exchange for an orgasm or three, but as you talked back and forth the emails had moved from reconnecting to remembering the fallout between the four of you. “Sometimes I wonder if you did what you did because you thought taking tennis from us would level the playing field.”

Your words are cold, though they were his first— you speak verbatim from an email he sent at four in the morning, littered with typos and missing words.

“I’m an idiot, I know,” Patrick says. “I didn’t mean it. Well actually yes I did, at the time— but I’m trying to make up for it now, okay? Look, I’m sorry if I made you feel guilty for what happ—“

“I didn’t do it, Patrick. I’ve told you, I told Art, I told Tashi— it wasn’t me.” Your voice catches and you swallow. “It happened, but it wasn’t me and I won’t take the blame for it.”

“Okay, okay.” He breathes out, and his tone softens a little. “Just… tell me you’ll come and see me.”

“I can’t, Patrick, it’s been six years.”

“Yeah but—”

You shake your head and interrupt. “No, listen, I’m busy. I’ve got work, a life, I’ve changed too much for you to even think about trying to get me back in your bed.”

Patrick laughs. “I never said anything about fucking you, I think that’s more on your mind than mine… maybe you haven’t changed that much.”

A smile plays on your lips despite yourself. “Maybe not,” you admit.

There’s a rustle on the other end, and then a sigh. “Come see me,” his tone is softer this time. “Please.”

You hesitate. “I… Alright, fine, I will.”

“Cool, cool, good, I’ll text you my address,” there’s a moment of silence, long enough for the words to start to sink in and the idea to become solid. “Hey,” he adds on, “it’ll be fun.”

No ‘I missed you’, no ‘I’m sorry’, nothing. Just fun. That’s all you’ll ever know from Patrick Zweig— fun, you guess. Still, though, despite the growing pit in your chest, there’s something pulling you to oblige. A fresh start, maybe, or a glimpse back to when life was exciting.

“Alright,” you reply, falling right back into the same circuit that ate your college experience. “It’ll be fun.”

SIX YEARS EARLIER

Four prints sit side-by-side on a table in the photography lab in front of you. You like the shots, all of Art, your newest muse, on the tennis courts. You wonder if sports photography is your new niche, or you just enjoy capturing the beauty of Art Donaldson doing what he loves. Though no matter how nice the photos came out, they’re still the reason you’re missing breakfast with Art and Patrick.

You’d have liked to be stuck between them at a breakfast table.

You remain alone, however, with photographs for company and a dull ache in your thighs from Arts second and third turn at you the day before, you spent the late afternoon sleeping off your exhaustion in his arms and missed your chance at finishing your photos then. The lab is cold and you regret wearing a short skirt, the fluorescent lights hanging overhead do nothing to warm you as you pick up and examine each image carefully, checking for blemishes or smudges you might have missed before printing them out. The clock above the door reads nine twenty-four, Art's game starts at ten, so you need to hurry and finish up if you want to find Patrick and a seat before it begins.

You're just reaching for a peg, ready to pin up your first photo, when you notice a movement at the edge of your vision. At the sound of footsteps behind you, you spin around quickly— just to find yourself pinned to the steel table where your photographs sit. Two strong arms and an all-too-familiar smile keep you in place; you can't help but stare, mouth parted while those sinful eyes of his bore into yours. Patrick Zweig.

"Jesus, I didn't hear you," you breathe out, your cheeks hot. You try to move back— away from him— only to bump into the tables' edge with your lower back. The photos of Art shift as the table rattles. "Where's Art?" You glance down at the hand Patrick places on your hip, riding your shirt up enough to rub circles onto the skin of your torso.

"Do you care?" Patrick leans down, presses his lips to your ear, sending shivers across your neck and through your body. "You should," he adds huskily. "He won't forgive me."

You exhale something similar to soft laughter, unable to fight against the way he pulls your hips forward, into his. "Forgive you for what?"

"Getting you alone, you're his. He lets me play with you on his terms, right? I fucked you facing him, I came twice listening to him ruin you, then a third time to those fucking photos; lights camera action, really?”

You laugh, "he came up with that, and I'm not his anything. If he wants to own me, he can ask first. Plus, he's probably fucked you too, right?"

Patrick shakes his head, and thumbs the hem of your skirt, traipsing his fingers up your bite-and-bruise ridden legs.

"Well then he wants to," you laugh, and then near scream as suddenly, Patrick dips down and grabs the back of your thighs to lift you up onto the photography lab table. Your head nearly hits a light and the cold stainless steel jars against your bare thighs, skirt hiked up around your waist and panties promptly pushed to the side. You kick your legs in protest, but the hold Patrick has on you keeps you from putting any distance between him and you. Patrick stands between your parted thighs, your feet dangling freely off the table— one of his hands on your thigh, the other on the tabletop. He takes one of your photos between his fingers, one of Art hitting a ball, and clicks his tongue at the sight.

"I forgot you take normal photos, too. I bet that shot isn't going to sell as well as your others would." His thumb caresses your skin, stroking over the bitemarks along your inner thighs until the pressure becomes near unbearable. You share a breath, his face moving in close to yours as you rebut.

"Lucky for both of you, I take those pictures for pleasure, not business."

"You don't have any shame," he says, smirking. A finger traces over another bruise that was just visible under your skirt. "You really deserve to suffer, but you told Art yesterday that I'm not sweet."

"You aren't," you scoff, "I think you're an asshole."

The corners of his lips quirk up at that. "And yet here you are."

"I never said I didn't like it," you tease, and press your lips together when his fingers swipe through the folds of your exposed pussy; from entrance to clit and back again.

"I can be sweet," Patrick insists, dipping two fingers further into your heat and watching you take a lip between your teeth in response. "As sweet as you taste."

His words make you smile. "Patrick, you're this close to letting me fuck myself on your fingers and you haven't even kissed me yet: you're not sweet."

He looks momentarily discomfited by your honesty, then shrugs. "Okay, maybe I'm not, open your mouth."

You oblige, and Patrick pulls his fingers from between your legs. Your hips buck up at the loss of contact, which makes Patrick laugh as he takes the back of your neck in one hand and presses his two fingers, slick with your lust, against your tongue. You wrap your lips around the length of his fingers and suck, tasting yourself on him, and for a moment wondering whether you’d taste the same licked from the length of his cock instead.

Patrick slides his fingers from your mouth and uses that hand to cup the side of your face, his fingers wet against your cheek; you make a face in turn. He stops, though, and opts to hold your face for a moment. His voice is unusually soft when he speaks, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I don’t want you to think I’m only interested in sex with you,” he says, words a door to that soul of his you’ve never seen.

“Aren’t you?”

Patrick Zweig shakes his head, unable to find the words to convey a simple ‘no’. Instead, your question is answered with a slow and tender kiss to your lips, a sweetness to the way his mouth melts against yours. Like you’re the sun, or the water in which he strides under the sun for a drink of, or the holy ground on which he walks.

He kisses you like Art does, who had spent the day prior kissing you how Patrick normally would. They melt into each other, personas shifted in an attempt to fulfil your aches and yearnings. You wonder if they realise that two is, in fact, better than one.

“I don’t want you to be Art,” you speak against his lips. “You can play sweet all you want, Art can play rough, I like the switch, but you play better together than apart.”

Patrick bites at your bottom lip. “Are we talking about tennis?”

You laugh in response, take Patrick’s wrist and redirect it back between your heated thighs. “I’m never talking about tennis.”

It’s like his knees bend at your very words. Patrick is dipping his head down between your legs instantaneously, spurred on by the hand you snake into his curls. One of his fingers slips deep into your cunt, and you almost scream. Almost. It takes effort not to curse Patrick out for his pace when the next finger pushes into you— slowly and purposefully.

He latches hips lips around your clit in apology, though, tongue teasing the sensitive nerves as he pumps his fingers into you, a rhythm forming in tandem with the ministrations of his mouth. He’s good at it, you wonder how often he goes down on Tashi, probably not nearly enough for how reverently that girl should be worshipped by tongue and touch. And yet, you find yourself growing more aroused despite the thought of him pleasing anyone but you.

It’s then, when he’s working inside you, fingers pressing at your swollen walls, that you finally lose your composure. You grip the edge of the table, knuckles tense as your hips move faster, bucking against Patrick’s mouth, desperate for more of him. He looks up at you, pretty eyes locked onto yours as his tongue moves in circles around your clit. His long fingers curl upwards inside of you, stroking your wet walls with a practiced ease. You reach down to brush his hair away from his forehead before grabbing fistfuls of it and urging him closer— you can feel him smiling against your clit as he complies. With each stroke, with every sound his lips make, you feel more and more undone. You’re close. So close.

“God,” you breathe. “Please—”

You fall silent when a wave of intense pleasure surges throughout your entire body when Patrick quickens his pace even more. Your vision gets blurry, and soon tears spring into your eyes— they pool in your lashes, stain your cheeks as they fall— and you’re lost, consumed by him and every tormenting movement he makes. Patrick’s thrusts become harsher as you begin shaking, and you cry out, the last part of your restraint leaving you as you come against Patrick’s mouth. A shudder runs throughout your whole body when his fingers leave you and you watch him bring them to his own mouth to clean off like it’s nothing but an afterthought.

Patrick stands, his hands on either side of you now, and leans down to capture your lips in his. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, licking at your lips until you open for him, welcoming his entry and savouring the sensations running rampant through your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, you fall victim to his faux sweetness once more, until he’s pulling down his shorts and pumping his hard length with his hand. His kisses leave your mouth and travel down the expanse of your neck, biting and sucking and swirling his tongue over the marks left behind by his best friend.

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes against your skin. His voice sounds so breathless, so wrecked, that it sends a shiver down your spine. Maybe you would have given in, let him fuck you regardless, but when your eyes open, they catch sight of the clock above the door— 9;57.

“Fuck,” you scramble to push at Patrick’s shoulder, “Arts game, it starts in three minutes.”

He groans. “Shit,” you can tell he’s debating missing it entirely, making up some stupid excuse Art won’t believe so he can fuck you here and now. You shake your head before he can vocalise said idea, and he groans again. “Okay, okay.”

He’s taking a step back, pulling his shorts up and tucking his boner into his waistband as he watches you push yourself, albeit shakily, onto your feet.

“You gonna make it?” he asks, a wicked smirk gracing his features.

“Shut up,” you flatten out your skirt and give him a stern look. “Get moving.”

He doesn’t reply, simply gives a mocking bow, and turns on his heels towards the door to the lab. You take an extra moment to wipe down the lab table you just came on, because you aren’t a heathen, and follow Patrick with weak legs.

You’re taking your seats under the bleating sun as Art steps onto the court. He scans the audience for you, and smiles widely when he lays eyes on you, sitting in the back row of seats far enough from anyone else to consider yourselves alone. You don’t have your camera with you, as far as Art can tell, but he chalks it up to you wanting to enjoy the match and shrugs, stretching a few times and testing the racket in his hand.

You sit, uncomfortably needy, on the hot plastic chair as Patrick readjusts himself endlessly besides you. It makes you smile, the constant shuffling to find a position that soothes the strain of his hard cock against his shorts, though his face is contorted and you almost feel bad. He had been sweet, after all.

Art serves, a tall ginger playing against him that you really don’t pay attention to. You’re secluded, and everyone in the crowd has eyes glued on your Art Donaldson. You watch heads turn with each hit of the ball, and as Art scores his first point, your hand reaches down to palm Patrick through the thin fabric of his shorts.

Patrick’s head snaps to yours. He’s never one to shy away from a public endeavour or two, but anyone could turn their head to find your hand slipping past his waistband and toying inside of his pants.

“The fuck are you doing?” he near hisses as you squeeze at his cock.

“Shut up,” you cross one leg over the other and settle into your seat, circling your thumb over his aching tip before stroking him down to the base. “Just watch Art’s game, be a good friend.”

Who is Patrick to argue? He has to bring a hand to his mouth, act as if he’s dutifully interested in the match at hand as he bites down on his own skin, revelling in the languid pace you stroke him at. It’s ruinous, what you’re doing to him, and the fact that with each hit of the ball Art whines in a way much akin to what he heard over the phone last night, doesn’t help much at all.

With each point Art takes, you speed up. Patrick hopes the sun is enough to justify the sweat beading at his forehead, though he’s not so concerned when the feeling of your hand, wet now with his precum, is so tight around his cock that he can’t think straight. He bucks his hips up a little, coughing to hide a strangled moan as he watches his best friend on the court.

Art plays well as always, lean and flexible and at home on the court. Patrick thinks he can see it, that look of adoration in his eyes as he plays, as he scores again— one more to win the game. You speed up again, and lean over just enough to speak lowly into his ear. You whisper obscenities only just loud enough for him to pick up on, filth spills from your lips and goes straight to his pulsing cock. The audience collectively readies themselves for celebration as Art hits the ball with such force his opponent misses it by a long shot.

Everyone cheers, Art raises his arms in celebration and revels in his win. His eyes lock back onto yours, sporting the widest grin that you can’t help but return tenfold— though his eyes drift a little to the left, and he’s met with the stomach-tightening sweet sight of Patrick Zweig cumming in his fucking pants.

#art donaldson smut #challengers 2024 #challengers smut #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #art x reader

469 notes · View notes

bambiwrites · 1 day

Text

For me? ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

How you can help Palestine!🇵🇸

• A/N ; hi guys! so this is definitely something different for me. i’ve never written something like this so i hope you guys like it!! And i’m sorry for not posting yesterday i was so tired with school but here is something! This song is also based off of my favorite song rn it’s for me? by asal. so good omg.

warnings ; afab!reader! pussy eating, fingering, a lot of smut

• about ; Reader is going out to her friends birthday dinner and when Emily sees her Emily definitely knows the dress is gonna end up off by the end of the night…

“okay em, i’m about to leave” you say softly as you walk out of yours and emily’s shared bedroom, running a hand through your hair. You were going to your best friends birthday dinner and you were all done up nice and pretty, your wearing a black maxi dress with a cute trimming at the top(or whatever you’d like).

you look up and see emily on the couch man spread with her gaming controller in her lap as she plays some game on the tv, she looks up with a smile “you look beautiful baby” she says setting the controller to the side and getting off the couch walking over to you. She grabs your hips pulling you up to a soft kiss, you hold her biceps as you kiss back softly, she of course deepens the kiss as she slides her hands over your butt deepening the kiss. “mm em i really have to go” you say quietly as you pull away, “cmon ma please just stay home” emily says in a smokey voice as she rubs circles on your hips with the palms of her hands. “you know i can’t ‘m sorry em” you cooed as you kiss her lips softly one more time and going to grab your keys “but cmon baby it’ll be way better here” she says with a smirk, you can hear it in her voice “no em, i love you okay i’ll see you later” you say quickly as you kiss her once more and then walk out as she slaps your butt on you way out.

time skip ~

it’s about 2 hours later and you finally get back home, you park the car in the drive way and walk into the house, as soon as you walk in your slammed against the front door as lips force their way onto yours. “mmm i missed you sm ma” a breathless emily mumbles out, you gasp as she kisses down your neck biting and sucking “i-i missed you to em, god” you whimper softly as she sucks on the sweet spot. “how was dinner” emily says as she pulls away wiping the corner of her mouth, “it was good” you mumble softly as you look up at her and wrap your arms around her neck bringing her in for another kiss. “mphf please em” you whine against her lips as slides a hand over your butt and her other hand to hold the back of your head “what is it baby tell me…” emily rasps out. “you know what i want please” you whine as you buck your hips towards her, she dives back into your lips kissing harshly as she pushes your dress up your thighs and hooks her arms under your legs pulling you up into her arms as you two sloppily kiss. She carrie’s you two upstairs as you both make out, she kicks the bedroom door open and throws you onto the bed and climbing on top of you.

“god mama you look so pretty” Emily groans into your neck as she kisses up and down softly. You run a hand up her back as you bite your lip suppressing moans from falling out of your mouth, “please em i can’t wait any longer” you whine as you squirm. She laughs, her voice rugged, making you even wetter at the sound of it(no way i’m writing this), she pull the straps down your shoulders kissing your shoulder every time she moves the strap further down. She unzips your dress pulling it off leaving you in just a pair of black lace underwear and she groans staring at your body “god your so fucking beautiful baby”

she leans down kissing you roughly as she runs her big hands up and down your thighs, you feel the calloused fingers and the warmth of her touch all over your body and you can help but moan, she kisses down your chest taking a nipple into her mouth sucking softly, you moan as your back arches and you run a hand threw her hair. she groans softly then begins kissing down your stomach slowly getting towards we’re you really want her, she places soft kisses all over your thighs as soft whimper fall out of your mouth. she slides your underwear down your legs throwing them to the side and kissing up your thigh. You buck your hips towards her face whimpering “please em” she smirks and laughs “so impatient baby” she says lowly as she throws your legs over her shoulders and going in, to lick a stripe up your slit. You moan softly as your hands go to her hair, she wraps her arms around your legs that are over her shoulders to hold you in place as you squirm.

She sucks your clit as she pushes a finger into you, thrusting it in and out at a fast pace “god ma your so wet” Emily groans as she continue to lick and suck and adding a second finger in. Your legs start to shake around her head as your eyes flutter shut “e-emily” you whisper softly as you tap her hand, she grabs your hand interlacing your fingers as she continue to ravish you(🤨). “cmon sweet girl cum for me” Emily says and pushes you over the edge, your eye sight goes white as your thighs shake and you grip her hand, your back arching of the bed as moans fall out of your mouth. “that’s it ma you did so good” Emily says softly as she rubs her hands up and down your thighs praising and whisper soft coo’s to you.

“i’ll be right back mama okay” Emily says softly as she kiss your forehead softly, and walks to the bathroom running a warm bath with oil salts and turning the lights low. She walks back in to the room to you and walks over to you brushing some hair out of your face, watching your eyes flutter open and look up at her “i ran a bath sweet girl, you wanna take one? emily ask i’m a soft tone , you nod letting your eyes close once again as she wraps her arms under your legs and another arm around you waist holding you bridal style and taking you to the bathroom. She sets you on the counter as she gets undressed and then puts you in the tub, she gets in behind you letting you lean back against her chest, you nuzzle your face into her neck sighing softly.”i love you” you whisper softly and kiss her jaw, “i love you more sweet girl” Emily says back and kisses your forehead as she rubs her hands up and down your sides.

#bambiwrites #fluff #smut #imagine #emily engstler #wlw post #wlw fiction #taylor swift #queer #lesbian #wnba basketball #wnba #wnba x reader #wnba imagine #emily engstler x reader #emily engstler x y/n #emily engstler fic

190 notes · View notes

fuckmyskywalker · 3 days

Note

thinking about religious reader and stepbrother!sam (with corruption kink) going to catholic school together

18+, smut, Catholic!Reader x Stepbrother!Sam, stepcest, slight dubcon (if you see manipulation as dubcon).

I've been having an awful block so I hope this is good ;)

“Give me my notebook back.”

“No.”

“Give it to me,” You repeat, launching your arm over your head in an attempt to snatch it off Sam’s hand, which is pointless. His soft chuckle infuriates you, to him, everything is just a game. “Sam, I’m being serious. I need to finish my homework.”

“Lemme just borrow it,” He insists, like he has been doing for the past ten minutes. “I’m just gonna copy your Classical Studies homework.”

“No!” After another failed attempt, you give up, defeated arms falling, frown forming. “No one is going to believe you wrote that. You are not that smart.”

This time his chuckle bounces sarcastically around your walls, looks like he isn’t giving up. Sharing a household with him is already bad enough— share school, classes, work is just the cherry on top. Sam can be quite a pain in the ass if he wants to; with little effort to continue his studies, the only reason he agreed to join a religious college was because it was his only option. Join or get kicked. Bothering you is just a plus.

Stubborn, dense and miserable, Sam is quite the fit. Sticking like a sore thumb, he enjoys how you lower your eyes and hide your face behind your binder every time he drives you both home. Is easy to read what's going through your mind, how you wish the world just swallowed you. People talk— the more religious, the more toxic is their venom— something that is part of Sam’s everyday life. Not yours.

You hide under long skirts, friendship bracelets and psalms. The role model that would never be able to break a plate or hurt a bug. The kind of girl you'd see every Sunday; which only makes it more entertaining to taunt you.

“Give me a kiss and I’ll give it to you,” He smirks, leaning down. Your eyes admire his piercings, the dark circles under his eyes— pure sin. The juxtaposition of your disgust and his amusement is enough to pump blood… all the way down.

“Ew,” You squint. “No.”

“Fine. Then show me your tits and I’ll give you the notebook.”

The request alone brings a wave of discomfort down your spine— but surprisingly you find yourself considering it. The thought lasts no longer than a few seconds, barely even acknowledged by your mind. Sam notices. Blue eyes drinking your expressions, how your eyes zone out for a moment, perhaps he hit a soft spot, or perhaps he was truly experiencing God’s blessings.

“Give me a kiss or show me your tits. Either way you'll win,” Threading carefully, there’s a purpose, a chance.

You pout, a habit of yours that indicates frustration. “I’m not going to kiss you.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot you are saving your first kiss for your husband,” Dangling the notebook over your head, Sam leans down. Just keep pushing, he repeats to himself. Just keep pushing. “Look. Showing me your tits isn’t that bad. I’m not going to touch you or anything.”

“It's just as bad!” You argue, biting the inside of your cheek. “If I’m saving myself for marriage, no one should see me.”

Gears working at maximum speed, you ignore how his eyes change focus. “ Now you are wrong, little sis. Your husband is the one who will touch you and enjoy your flesh. I will simply watch,” His words aren't even convincing, far from truthful, close to deceiving. “Just lift your grandma’s dress, I know you wear those fucking briefs underneath. I won’t look anywhere else.”

“How can I know that?”

He is so close. He can almost taste it.

“I swear to God.”

This is the first time you have ever heard Sam say that.

With a regretful tremble, your hands find the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly. Your eyes stay glued to the door, praying that no one walks in. He says it is not that bad— yet it feels like it. Your heart is racing, palms sweating, as if this wasn't supposed to happen.

“Well, if it helps, I think your bastard future husband will be more than happy.”

Not sure if his compliment is a backhanded comment, the second your eyes meet Sams, he lifts them, agreeing to break contact with those round, precious pieces that he thinks are in fact a blessing. A beat goes by. You know you should let go of the fabric now, he got what he wanted, right?

The notebook hits the carpet with a muffled sound just in time for Sam to launch forward. Pushing you down with strong hands on your shoulders, you let out a choked gasp, wondering when did you stop staring at his eyes to now focus on the white ceiling.

His tongue flicks your left nipple teasingly, the sudden jolt of pleasure both terrifying and exhilarating. “I said no touching,” He whispers, the devil’s voice dripping down his lips. Circling your nipple with said lips, you arch your back, surprised by your own response; the soft suckle is enough to drown your loud thoughts. momentarily, at least. “But I didn’t say anything about sucking.”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya answers!#anon #sam monroe #sam monroe smut #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe fic #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x you #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe x reader smut #sam monroe x fem reader #life as a house #hayden christensen x reader #womp womp bitch

167 notes · View notes

0cta9on · 1 day

Note

you sure you really know all fromis_9 members by the surface still? if not, can you make a lewd thoughts of your choice?

Hello anon! Sorry, I'm still not that familiar with the fromis_9 members :/ I will take this chance to write about a short smut about Eunha bcs I haven't written about her yet :>

(Adding this part after I finished writing: This like 10% BFH, 90% I wanted to try something different. Unedited so might be bad, but I hope it's interesting at the very least :})

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. She’s your daughter’s friend, you shouldn’t be doing this.

Yet no matter how many times you repeat this to yourself, you still can’t seem to let go. Maybe it’s because you’ve been left unsatisfied after your wife cheated and divorced you. Maybe it’s because she’s the first woman to give you attention years after the divorce. Or maybe it’s because of the simple fact that her body is so fucking delicious.

“Mmm, the water feels so nice and warm, daddy~” Eunha says, resting her head against your chest. You kiss her neck, eliciting a cute whimper from her plump lips.

Your memory gets foggy whenever you think about how this all started, probably your mind trying to suppress all the sinful acts you’ve done. All you can remember is that one day, your daughter brought Eunha home to work on a project for school, and then suddenly, the cute Korean girl is on her knees in the middle of your laundry room, sucking on your cock like it’s second nature. Your daughter never found out about that time, let alone the multiple other times that came after. In the bathroom, in your car, anywhere you could find a little privacy, you and Eunha would fuck like rabbits. She became your dirty little secret.

When you heard your daughter say she would be going to a sleepover tonight, you actively had to stop yourself from looking too excited. “Sure thing, have fun,” is all you could utter before immediately fishing your phone out of your pocket to tell Eunha the news. At best, you would get a couple minutes with her before your daughter would start to get suspicious. But a whole night? Filthy fantasies ran rampant in your mind, thinking about all the things you could do to Eunha’s tight little body. It’s all disgusting. You are disgusting. But hell seems a whole lot more bearable with your dick inside her pretty mouth.

Eunha plays with the bubbles, sloshing them around the bathtub. Instead of tossing her on the bed and having your way with her, you decided to start things slow with a relaxing bubble bath - something you and your ex-wife used to do for your anniversaries.

“This is so romantic, daddy,” she says, grinning up at you. You pull her tighter towards you, caressing her hefty breasts.

“I’m glad you like it, baby.” Sweet little moans escape from her lips as your hands travel across her body, going down the curves you’ve already memorized at this point. Her hips buck as you tease her clit, sending mini waves across the water.

“Oh yes daddy, that feels so good.” Eunha’s head falls back, eyes shut and mouth agape in ecstasy. You take the chance to shove your tongue in between her glossy lips, savoring the faint taste of strawberries. She moans heavily into your mouth with each squeeze of her tits and each flick of her clit.

Her body is like a game you’ve played over and over again, you’ve ingrained all the combos and strategies in your mind to the point that it’s muscle memory. Bite her clavicle, she’ll make this noise. Squeeze her ass, she’ll make a different noise. Do both at the same time and she’ll do something else entirely. So easy, so predictable, yet it never ceases to be thrilling.

“Y-yes! Finger my pussy, daddy! My pussy is all yours!” It barely registered in your mind, your feverish movements in and out of her tight hole, causing water to splash out of the tub. You’ve become so enamored in playing with your little toy that you forgot about the good part. No matter, it won’t take long for her to do it again.

“Augh!!” With a loud squeal, her body squirms as her climax overtakes her before falling limp into your arms. “That… was so… amazing…” Eunha plants a small peck on your cheek. Her breasts rise and fall with each heavy breath, water glistening on her beautiful chest. Much to her delight, you are far from done.

You help her out of the tub and dry her off, exchanging brief kisses as you feel each other up. Her smooth skin feels plush under your grip, way better than what your ex-wife felt like. Eunha looks up at you with a hungry glare while stroking your erection.

“I can’t wait to have this inside me~ Daddy’s cock is soooo big and thick.”

You chuckle at her juvenile words that sound like they’re ripped straight from a vulgar porn script. The moniker left a bitter taste in your mouth, but it stuck naturally: you are, in fact, old enough to be her father. In a repulsive way, it does turn you on, especially when it comes out of those slutty lips.

Eunha giggles as you pick her up by her ass and carry her lithe body to the bed like a ragdoll. Her supple thighs are already covered in her slick, desperately waiting to be used like the toy that she is. Those large, glistening eyes never leave yours, promising to give you everything and more. You know she can’t, but she’ll try to, even if it hurts her.

“Ooh yes, fill me up, daddy.” Her familiar yet luscious tightness surrounds your member, accepting every inch of you. A chorus of grunts, moans, and expletives fill the room, crescendoing into an incoherent symphony of lust and sin. So sweet, so delicate, her pussy takes you so easily without resistance. Fuck. Fuck, this is wrong. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. She’s your daughter’s friend, you shouldn’t be doing this.

Yet you keep thrusting and thrusting, marking her body with consequences she’ll have to face alone, harder and faster until tears drip down her face. Kiss her, endure the burning of fingernails in your back, it’s the least you can do right before you absolutely ruin her.

“F-fuck! Daddy, I f-fucking love you! A-ah, yes!”

Your body continues like a machine, but your mind is still human. Love. You tried to love her, tried to think about the future with her in it. But it’s all dark. Deep down, you know you don’t love her. You love her body. You love the way she takes your dick down her throat or into that tight cunt. She takes it so well. So. Fucking. Well.

You’re close. Eunha has already went through two or three orgasms at this point, but you fuck her right through all of them. Her face is frozen in lust, eyes rolled back and mouth desperately catching oxygen. Your fingers sink into her hips, pounding away at her like she’s a piece of meat. Her entire body shakes violently as you dump your load directly into her womb, nothing but a glorified cum rag. You pull out, watching the mixture of your juices drip and stain your sheets, marking them with your sin.

Eunha looks at you with that damn twinkle in her eyes - she wants more, and so do you. Your favorite little toy to use as you please, never arguing or complaining or fighting with you. Dress her up in whatever you want just to rip it off and fuck her senseless. Purely built for your pleasure and your pleasure alone. You pounce onto her, ready for another round.

Suddenly, the both of you freeze. Eunha’s sultry look is replaced with shock, fear, and shame, her gaze fixated on the doorway.

The door swings open on its creaky hinges. You always thought about fixing your door, but never got around to it. But that’s the least of your problems right now.

“D-dad…? What… the fuck… are you doing…?”

69 notes · View notes

izgnanik-a · 2 days

Text

If You’ve Been Waiting (For Falling In Love)

cw: Trans!Simon x Johnny, mutual pining, mentioned homophobia, slight miscommunication trope, first kiss

Don’t like? Don’t read.

Simon always felt lost without direction, and maybe that made him a good soldier. So when he found someone who was willing to guide him without question, he felt like something clicked.

There was some primordial urge within him to just follow, be a good soldier, an obedient dog — he never complained. Especially when the order came from someone as level headed as Captain John MacTavish.

The decorated Captain was not only a great soldier, but a good man.

In the years serving with him, they’d become an inseparable pair. There were shared cigarettes while waiting for evac on missions when they shouldn’t have, drinks shared over hard victories, vicious fights and scars that landed them both in the hospital.

There was a connection so wound tight that there was never a doubt that Simon could just come out with the most outrageous things.

Like when he came out to his Captain.

They’d been drinking a bit, and John was leaned up against him, arm over his shoulder, they’d been sharing laughs and it felt right. It felt safe. It fell out while he was staring up at the side of his Captain’s face.

There was never a moment where John felt unsafe to be around, he’d been courageous and selfless plenty of times. He was a human being who honored his word, who valued loyalty and honesty. He was the people’s hero.

Why would John MacTavish begin with homophobia?

The word trans hadn’t been a common place among the military, but especially when rules mandated that no one tell their people if they were, because it wasn’t the place for it. The military was a place to serve the country, nothing more.

But in those moments of processed drunkenness, and staring at each other, Simon felt his heart pounding in his chest.

That night he cried.

And John MacTavish had been there to comfort him through his terror of rejection.

Nothing changed.

Though Simon had feared the worst, the worst never came. They still smoked cigarettes on long nights, got drinks together, crashed at each other’s places during leave, and had their long talks on the roof of Riley’s apartment complex.

In between missions, MacTavish invited Riley to his place. There was football playing on the TV when he walked in.

“John?” Simon called as he untied his shoes at the door.

“Yeah?” He called back.

Simon followed the sound of John in the kitchen, the handle of a knife in his teeth as he occupied his hands with his dish. “Is that safe?”

MacTavish plucked the knife from his mouth and set it down, “Of course it is. I’m handling it.”

“Let me correct myself; is it sanitary?”

“It’s my kitchen. My sandwich.” He began cleaning up his mess. “Make yourself useful and grab me a drink.”

Simon opened the fridge as John put his condiments back in the door, his chest brushing Simon’s shoulder. He paused.

“Take-away is chicken parm.” He remarked before stepping aside.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing.”

“Why aren’t you eating it?” Simon looked over his shoulder towards John exiting.

“Because I know you will.” He muffled over a bite of his food.

Simon peered back into the fridge with a breath. Working alongside MacTavish had always been handsy. They trusted each other. They were friends outside of their line of work, which was rare. With closure came trust, vulnerability, loyalty.

Simon was a dog with a good owner. And there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him.

But that translated into hard unrequited feelings. Feelings that were considering insubordination. Simon couldn’t let that surface.

“The game’s almost over.” MacTavish remarked from the other room.

Simon grabbed himself and John two cans of beer before saddling on the couch beside him. There was enough space to just feel the heat radiating off of his arms, to get a brush of elbow when he reached for his sandwich in his lap.

Simon kept his eyes fixed on the TV ahead.

“You’re not gonna eat?” MacTavish asked him.

“Not hungry right now.”

John hummed, picking up a can of beer and cracking it open. His attention was fixed ahead, TV glossing off his eyes, and Simon couldn’t help but stare at the side of his face again.

From being on leave for so long, his hair started to grow back in around his neck. The faded hair was now growing in its natural patches down his nape, and growing thicker around his ears. The hair began curling softly on his forehead, Mohawk past military regulations.

His beard was the only kept thing, shaved down to his usual shadow.

He was comfy in his sweatshirt and pants, with his socks a slightly different shade of black from the other, he looked homely.

There had been plenty of domestic moments like these; lunches in Riley’s kitchen, sitting in silence as they passed the kettle in the morning at MacTavish’s, laughing so hard on their backs their ribs hurt while drunk out on the streets.

If there was anyone Simon would choose, it would be John.

John reached for his beer again, gesturing to Simon’s, “Am I the only one drinking tonight or what?” He teased as he passed a glance at Simon, bringing his can to his lips.

Simon felt the giddy anticipation in his stomach at that smirk of his. He took his beer, cracked it open, and chugged until he felt like he was going to shoot it back out through his nostrils. He set it down, empty on the table.

John stared at him. “You alright?”

Simon took a moment. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to freak out.”

Staring at the look of anxiousness crossing Simon’s face, John didn’t have an ounce of understand. He shrugged softly, still holding his can. “Okay?”

He was already biting on the inside of his mouth before he could say it. He would say it, he had to. It had been eating at him since the day he’d come out, maybe even before that. And if he didn’t confess now then it would have all been for nothing.

Simon turned his body towards John, knee brushing his thigh, nudging his plate. He looked into his Captain’s eyes.

And he was patient. He was kind. He was willing.

Did he deserve to be burdened with Simon’s emotion? Did he deserve to be given this confession whether he wanted it or not? What if John never thought of him other than a friend? What if he was just a loyal soldier to him? He wouldn’t have allowed him into his personal life if it had been just that.

Don’t be stupid, Riley. Simon thought to himself. Say it.

“God.” Simon shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what? Hey.” John grabbed his arm as he was turning forward, standing.

“Forget I said it. I’m just tired.”

“Sit.”

“I’ll feel better in the morning—“

“Sit.” MacTavish demanded, putting a little tug into the hand on Simon’s bicep.

Simon sat, far much closer than he had before.

“Tell me what’s going on, Riley.” John asked. His voice returned to something soft. He kept his eyes locked on the micro-movements of Simon’s face. His eyes darted along the slopes of scars and flesh. “Talk to me.”

Simon’s bottom lip fell open on words, but they failed him. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt like he was behind the scope of a gun on his first mission again. The target was right ahead, but there was some distance between him and them. There was wind, and sun glare, and pressure to make his shot perfect.

MacTavish’s palm against his sternum did nothing to calm him, but his soft breathing against the side of his face brought him in to focus. He matched his breath to the audible noise.

“Good.” John praised. He kept his hand firm on Simon’s sternum, bring his other hand to Simon’s nape. His thumb applied such soft pressure to his trap that it was euphoric.

Simon shut his eyes as MacTavish soothed his hand against his chest in small circles.

“Good.” He praised again. “Nice and easy.” His whisper was something to fall asleep to. It was intimate, warm, sweet as it balanced between Simon’s ears and the hands on his body.

He let an audible sigh escape his nostrils, a soft hum escaping his throat.

“Good boy.” MacTavish squeezed his nape again, soothing his fingers into the base of Simon’s skull. “Now. Try again. Tell me.”

Simon let his chin tuck to his chest, his eyes falling on the circles drawn into his shirt. “I think I am in love with you.”

John’s hands stilled on Simon’s body, and he felt like he’d launched the wrong codes. The nukes were coming, he was a dead man.

Simon forced his eyes shut again. “I don’t deserve to feel that way about you. You’re my captain, and I’m sorry. I don’t know what has gotten into me, and how it happened. But I felt like this for a while. I tried to put it aside for years, thinking it’ll just go away, it’ll pass. But every time I think it’s going away, it gets worse again.”

There was silence behind his words, the TV playing commercial breaks. No cars passing in the street, no people walking their dogs, no neighbors fighting.

Just Simon and his blistering thoughts.

“If you want my to transfer, I’ll do it. I’ll leave you be. Because you didn’t ask for this. You wanted honesty, and I felt like I wasn’t being honest with you. I didn’t feel like I was being honest when I didn’t tell you I was trans. I didn’t feel honest when I didn’t tell you this — but I’m telling you now. And I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ll leave. Never have to see me again. I’ll understand.”

Simon felt the hand on his chest leave.

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last—“

Fingers gripped his jaw and he ripped his eyes open to MacTavish turning his head up from his chest. Holding his head back by a hand on his throat, the back of Simon’s head was pressed up against the couch cushion.

And John was kissing him.

John was kissing him.

Soft lips overtaking Simon’s, stationary, just a press of skin. Simon stared at John’s closed eyes in disbelief. Was this to mock him? Kick him while he was still down? He didn’t understand.

John pulled away, just until his lips ghosted over Simon’s, eyes still shut. His hand kept Simon from escape the couch.

“John?” Simon said lowly.

He hummed in response as his other hand dared to tempt at Simon’s hair, smoothing over the top of his head to lean against his back of the couch.

“Why’d you kiss me?”

John peeled his eyes open, keeping them fixed on Simon’s mouth as he clasped his face in his hands. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to.”

Simon furrowed his brow in confusion. “What?”

“I never picked anyone in this team but you.”

“But — you said it was because I was the specialist.”

“You are.”

“And you picked me.”

“I did.” John purred. “And I’ve been waiting for you to make a move, because I was afraid I’d run you off.”

Simon peered along his captain’s face in disbelief, muddled with delight, he felt his chest tighten with every short breath. “How long were you going to wait?”

“Another year. If you didn’t come to me first.”

“You—“ Simon bat his fist against John’s ribs. “Bastard.”

John flinched and laughed, “I thought I’d made it obvious.”

“No. You never did.”

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his thumbs along Simon’s lips. “I did give you a key to my flat. That’s major.”

“You said it was because you wanted me to fetch you things from your place without having to give me your keys.”

“You have one of your own. Isn’t that something important?”

Simon hit him again, and this time, John gave him a warning squeeze with the hand under his jaw.

“Watch it, Riley. I’m still your Captain.” He teased, gazing down at Simon’s face as his bottom lip threatened to sink between his lips.

“You’re a lousy kisser.” Simon teased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

MacTavish sunk his hand into Simon’s hair, holding the bottom of his jaw as he hovered over him. “I’ll make up for lost time then with a good one.” He hummed against Simon’s tongue.

Tf141 masterlist

Fic Masterlist

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #captain soap mactavish #cod mwiii #cod mw3 #izgnanik-a

21 notes · View notes

the-phantom-peach · 10 months

Text

Meeting the Light Dragon ✨🐉

[tagged as spoilers!]

6K notes · View notes

crowcryptid · 10 months

Text

sleep deprivation 200 mph gaming had me acting most unwise last night

This was not from last night but it proves that I am not to be trusted. Liar. ⬇️

Authors note: the tags of this post were written at around 4 AM but in my wisest judgment I did not post but upon review it’s not as bad as I thought. You are once again saved by my inability to put thought into words.

Hey staff new feature idea where you can set a ‘no post’ timezone and anything you do just gets saved to drafts instead

*Staff proceeds to add a $20 set of tumblr exclusive emojis that completely break the tagging system* <- prediction

#The twitch chat in my mind: mods ban that guy now (that guy is me)#Reading my tags. What happened. Was that real. It’s ok I am normal now #fear not I don’t actually have room in my mind for more brainrot rn. this is a temporary illness #I can tell when it’s long term and when it’s not #original 4 am tags begin #But to be fair. What IS his problem? What a little freak. This guy wants to plug a usb in me #He wants to run a minecraft server on me and build a house with only one bed. He’s griefing the villagers so we’re alone in the world #He made an army of clones to crawl over me like ants dragging me back to the nest #Hey guys I think I still might be a little sleep deprived. My bad.#he’s upgrading my batteries??#Sorry. I said I was normal. That wasn’t me. who said that. Hello? I’m scared. Why did I hear minecraft cave sound .mp3 who is doing that #Do worry. I have a game backlog that scares the hoes I’m sure I will find more weirdos in there #Unfortunately for you there’s like.. idk.. 5-10 more fps to get through. This is possibly dangerous. for me.#You see this is why I like to go into games as blind as possible.#It’s like sticking my hand in the dumpster and pulling out a fresh fruit. Peels him and takes a bite. Hrm yes fruit.. I see.#Dumpster wasn’t a good example here cause the game is actually great but you get that I mean #end of 4 am tags #you know I think what’s saving you all here is the way he looks #yes he’s a tin can but not to my standard. why are you so eyes. put those things away. freak #anyway. no context once again if you know you know if you don’t. don’t worry about it #I am at work. dies

1 note · View note

shaguro · 3 months

Text

{ "SKIN TIGHT.ᐟ" }

{ft. satoru g.} when you realize that you’re falling in love with your friends with benefits, you distance yourself. ghost him after each session. but this time, gojo won’t let you go so easily.

{warnings.} fwb!gojo x reader. fwb to lovers trope! fem!reader, orgasm denial, missionary, breeding kink (like if you sqint) unprotected sex. pet names used, (baby, girl) gojo is a lil delulu. extremely intimate. angsty throughout but ends happy. wc. 2k.

{shanti’s note!} heavily inspired by skin tight by ravyn lenae. listen to the playlist for this story here.

“are you.. are you just usin’ me, (y/n)? just think you can fuck me whenever you feel like? that’s just cruel, baby.”

you knew this was coming.

satoru was pretty much good at everything, sex included. it’s why you initiated this arrangement in the first place, being his friend and fucking him whenever you wanted to. the terms were simple: casual sex with no unwanted, lingering emotions. love is complicated, exhausting — after a handful of failed relationships, you wanted no parts of it and threw in the towel, officially out the game.

he’s not wrong, you do use him. fuck him and disappear by the next morning, unseen and unreachable until you decide to show up at his doorstep again, sometimes days — usually weeks later.

you know he’ll let you in, no matter how much time has passed. just cruel.

“you’re evil. you and this fuckin’—“ he sucks in a sharp breath, tilts his head back. gooey walls mold his dick, all ribbed and dangerously warm. is this why he lets you play him like this? “. . . tight ass pussy you’ve got.”

if it wasn’t for satoru holding your legs up and open, veined hands creased in the bend of your knees, you’re sure they would’ve gave out. he’d been relentless with his teasing this session and you were puffing, the shallow breaths left a slight tremble throughout your body. sweat beads rolled down your temple, cascade down the junction of your neck.

satoru denies you an orgasm for the umptheeth time and you start to think he’s the cruel one. you deserve it, though. this torture, his crafty method of punishment.

he’s had you like this for some time, the deep rut of his hips halted, everything is still. just satoru and his cerulean-speckled iries glowering down on you, goosebumps decorated your skin. you knew he was waiting for some sort of explanation to rationalize the mess you’d created but you weren’t sure where to start.

with your cheek smushed on your shoulder, you decide to fix your eyes on something, anything across the room to avoid his stare that was burning into the side of your head. “‘toru, i’m sorry.”

satoru scoffs, his trimmed fingernails indent your soft skin. “damn, now you’re lyin’ to me too? must really wanna hurt my feelings.”

“i’m not, i swear—“

“you disappear for three months and all you have to say is sorry?” he spat, his words had an uncharacteristic sharpness to them, hard and demeaning. it wasn’t hard to detect the underlying rage that rumbled within his entire being. “no explanation? just sorry? nah.. you gotta.. you gotta give me more than that, (y/n).”

taken aback, you bite down on your bottom lip, at a complete loss for words. there isn’t much you can say to pacify him, you doubt he’d care to hear it. what worked before certainly won’t work now.

the quiet is deafening and suspenseful.

and your silence angers him further, on levels you can’t fathom. you won’t weasel your way out of this, he concludes. you’ll give him an answer, even if it’s at the expense of his already bruised ego.

“hey.. look at me.” he sneers, and you feel the warmth of his skin on your chin, his thumb and pointer fingers curl as they angle your head forward and back onto his face. “just.. talk to me, please.”

satoru gojo, begging? oh yeah, you’ve really done a number on him.

you take your time as you admire him, basking in the sheer beauty of the man in front of you. obnoxious and arrogant as he was, satoru gojo is undeniably attractive, simply gorgeous — pink, kiss-bitten lips slightly parted and his cheeks a pretty shade of red from the exertion, you gather. his abs are chiseled and tense and if you peek lower, you’re met with neatly trimmed, white tufts of hair at the base of his dick.

“you…” you stop to clear your throat but it didn’t need clearing, only to counteract how embarrassingly weak your voice sounded. “..y-you wouldn’t understand, satoru— oh!”

he exhales deep through his nose and suddenly leans down, releasing his hold on your knees to brace his elbows on the satin-sheets. while he does this, his hips roll — slow as he feeds you all his thick inches until he bottoms out, his pelvis taut against your neglected clit.

you mewl out and your hands encircle his neck, scratching at the low hairs on his nape. he’s so close, your noses basically touch. his breath fans your face, cooling your rather hot cheeks. “then help me understand, baby. make it easy f’me, whatever it is.. i can handle it.”

you’re not worried about him not being able to handle it, in fact you’re not worrying about anything at all. how can you when he’s got you stuffed, stretched and full like this?

concentration is impossible as satoru sets a steady, languid pace — not too slow nor too fast, just enough to have your manicured, white toes curling. your mouth in the shape of a pretty ‘o’, your breathy whimpers resounding off the walls of satoru’s bedroom, the beautiful symphony ringing in his ears.

an addicting melody, you were like his own personal drug. insatiable and persistent, gojo was unsure if he’d ever get his fill of you, truly he didn’t care. as long as he had you here with him, where you belonged.

“c’mere,” he pants and leans in, connecting your lips in a swift motion. you melt into the kiss, jaw slack while your tongues meld and mix. it’s fervent like always but this sensation is new — raw, almost vulnerable. pouring his heart out to you in all his movements and you can feel all of it.

“‘toru, oh my g-god.” you grip his forearms, keening as his length drags along a spot that has stars twinkling behind your lids. “i was j-just— fuck!”

“just what baby?” he mocks, it wouldn’t be gojo if he didn’t find a way to tease you, even in the most intimate of moments. he litters kisses along your jawbone before latching onto the delicate skin on the column of your throat, grazing his teeth on the surface to ensure it’ll leave colorful marks, letting out a pretty whine of his own. “shit, squeezing me s’tight- gotta use your w-words f’me.”

well, that’s easier said than done. your body is trembling in a way that can only be caused by satoru, every time your mouth opens to form words only meek, whiney moans follow. your tips scratch the plane of his delts, surely leaving cat-like scratches in their wake. and your legs hang loosely off his slim waist as you cling to him for dear life.

“i was just s-scared, satoru.” your voice was low, it was nearly drowned out by the wet squelching of your pussy. the constant schlap schlap schalp of satoru’s pelvis meeting the fatty flesh of your thighs.

satoru’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes meet yours, his head slightly tilted in confusion. “scared of what? of me?

“no!” you shake your head profusely and reach a shaky hand up to cup his face. he leans into the touch, the heat of his cheek warming your palm. if there was one person you’d feel eternally safe and protected with, it’s him. “no.. never. it’s the w-way you make me, hmm, f-feel that i was scared of.”

“oh? and how do i make you feel?” he purrs prior to kissing you again, nibbling on your bottom lip. truth be told, he wasn’t sure what you were about to say. he prayed to the god above you couldn’t feel the rapid beating of his heart, notice the uneven rise and fall of his chest. so he plays it off, even with that slight tremor in his voice. “you love me or somethin’?”

it might be more than love. a deep attachment, a classic case of yearning and longing. gojo satoru was made for you. no amount of denying or running from the obvious would change that fact. you love him so badly it hurts, it consumes you — clouds your thoughts and steals the air from your lungs. no more fighting, you had no energy left to.

you’re surrendering yourself to satoru gojo and it was time to let him know.

“yeah,” you confirm with a giggle, all airy and breathless. your thumb strokes his cheek gingerly, tilting your chin up so your foreheads touch. “i love you, satoru.”

satoru doesn’t respond, in fact he was deadly silent. mouth agape, his eyes darting wildly as he examines your face, searching for signs of roguery but he found none. you were telling the truth, the love swelling in your eyes made it oh so apparent.

“again.”

you let out a surprised yelp when satoru presses his body down, the pressure of his weight dips into your chest, leaving you winded. his face is buried in the crook of your neck where the neediest whines roll off his tongue. with this new angle, he’s balls-deep and the rhythm his hips carry has your eyes rolling, holding his broad shoulders to ground yourself.

skin-tight, it’s like your bodies, your sounds are one.

“s-say you love me again.” he rasps, and it’s more pleading than demanding. like he needs reassurance.

“i love you s-so muchh— ohgod, don’t stop, don’t stop!” your words trail into high-pitched mewls and satoru sighs, a blissful sound of relief. your pussy clamps down on his dick greedily, sucking him in impossibly deeper as he massages your aching walls, un-calculated and sloppy.

this was the effect you had on him, you always left him a fucking mess. satoru would let you ruin him, every time, for as long as he lived. “don’t know how long i’ve b-been, hah, waitin’ to fuckin’ hear t-that.”

you’d tease him for the stutter in his words if you could think clearly but your mind is blank. you’re delightfully delirious as satoru pounds into you, giving you quite literally everything he’s got. simply insatiable, you still want more. settling a weak hand on his hip, you use the last of your strength to propel him forward, your juices aimlessly squelching between your bodies, dripping down your perineum.

“f-fuck girl, you-you’re drivin’ me crazy. n-not gonna last, baby. f-feel like y-you’re tryn’ to milk me.” satoru babbles, and you swear you can feel a warm trickle of drool on your collarbone. how cute, he’s just as brainless as you are.

his pace is frantic now and that familiar tingling is building your gut. your limps are limp against him, your whole body rocks in tandem with his as he works his hardest to bring the two of you to completion.

“satoru, m’gonna cum, s’closeee.” you whine, lashes fluttering as salty tears clustered on your lash line.

he only hums in response, snaking one of his hands between your bodies to find your clit, all your sticky slick had your mound drenched. he smirks whilst rubbing figure eights on the sensitive nub, your quivering folds dragging a deep groan from his chest.

“want m-me to fill you up, hmm? p-pump this pretty pussy with all my cum.. want it all, y-yeah?” he’s rambling is incessant and you nod dumbly. it’s in one ear and out the other, the pure euphoria coursing through your bones driving you insane and all you needed was release.

it was the pinch to your clit that did it, the final blow that had your back arching almost painfully as your climate rushes through your body in intervals, your hardened nipples brush against satoru’s pecs as you twitch uncontrollably, a chain of broken cries mixed with his name fall from your lips like water.

like clockwork, satoru’s orgasm follows directly after, he muffles his moans in your shoulder, damn near biting the skin as he pumps you full, as promised. it’s alarmingly warm, scorching as it invades and overflows within your womb, too much for it to handle, some of it spilling back out. satoru doesn’t pull out, plugging as much of his semen as he can to your insides.

the silence after is comfortable. the two of you in a tangle of limbs, sweaty and panting from the intensity of your shared orgasms. you’d make your way to the bathroom, eventually. for now, you bask in the blissful ambiance.

“(y/n)?” satoru’s voice breaks the silence, a whisper as his head lulls on the fat of your breast.

“hmm?”

“i love you too.”

@screampied @satorena @hoshigray made yall wait long enough LMAO.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #shanti's stories⋆˙⟡♡

6K notes · View notes

nymphomatique · 9 months

Note

wanna sit on nerd miguel’s face while i use my phone to snap other guys that’s my little chair fr😔😻

this just changed the trajectory of my life in a way you cannot understand.

cw: slight d/s dynamics, sending nudes, munch miguel makes an appearance once more, bro literally FEASTS, new character yippee (v minor), brief choking (more like a neck squeeze tbh), praise, squirting LOL, miguel gets kicked out again 😔 reader catching feelings?? we may never know. semi proofread today i felt nice. this is a longer one than usual, so enjoy!

“stop fuckin’ squirming down there and eat me out properly,” you say, looking down at miguel. his eyes are hazy and hooded, his glasses somewhere on the bed, his brown eyes clear as day. you grip his head by his hair and position him to where his nose brushes above your clit, and you moan at the feeling. “l-like that, okay miguel? be good for mommy.”

miguel takes heed of your instructions and begins to lick, suck, and thrust up into your wetness, making it hard for you to maintain something relative to your composure. in the throes of miguel’s mouth work, your phone screen, next to miguel’s head, lights up with a snapchat notification from none other than the star quarterback of your school, peter parker. you bite the corner of your lip, mouth pulling up in a smile at an idea. you grab your phone and open it to snapchat, seeing peters name at the top of your snap list. you open his snap and it’s a picture of him shirtless, abs on display, his happy trail just peeking over the band of his pants. his snap is captioned with text reading ‘wyd?’

you prop your camera up, angling it enough that miguel’s face and your pussy are out of frame. miguel stops for a moment to ask what you’re doing, but before he can get a word in you speak up, “if you stop, this will be the last time i ever let you touch me. got it? keep fucking going.” and wordless, miguel does as he’s told, going back to eating you but with a new energy this time. it catches you off guard a bit, and you let out a light f-fuck in response, but you don’t let it derail you from answering peter back.

peter. you and him have had.. complicated history to say the least. since high school, the two of you ran in the same social circles, with him being on your high school football team and you, a cheerleader. a true status quo. the two of you had ended up attending the same underaged parties, hooking up and even going steady for some time, until the blonde busty thing known as gwen stacy walked into your high school in sophomore year and made her claim on your then boyfriend. you figured it out after you walked in on them under the bleachers post-game, the spot where you habitually got on your knees to congratulate peter for his win. you stayed with him after a profuse apology and intense “i’m sorry” fuck session, to your dismay, but broke up with him in the beginning of your senior year. now, you two fuck from time to time, scratching an itch when you have it.

you look back at the tease of a photo on your phone, your tits spilling out your plunge neck crop top and your abdomen cutting off right above your pubic area, your pink thong still visible coming up the sides of your hips. you feel miguel plunge his tongue into you, causing you to fall forward, steadying yourself with one hand, phone in the other. “keep this up and i’m gonna squirt on you, but i bet you’re into that huh?” you laugh out a little, miguel moaning into you in response. you try not to get distracted and caption your snap to peter ‘nothing really’ and press send.

immediately, you see that he opens it and he replies just as fast, this time the photo of him in grey sweats with a visible tent, layer out on his bed. the caption attached, ‘wanna turn your nothing to a something? ;)’ and you roll your eyes. you move to answer him with another midriff picture, but you change your mind. “hey, look at me dweeb,” you say, turning the camera so that it’s capturing the angle of miguel’s mouth on your pussy, covered in spit and your juices. he looks up and sees the camera of your phone pointed down towards him and he goes red in the face and tight lipped. “remember what i told you about stopping,” you remind him, and he maintains eye contact with the camera as he goes back to lick a strip up your pussy, from your leaking hole to your clit. you move your unoccupied hand to his face, palm to his cheek as you slowly caress him with your thumb. “that’s a good boy.”

you move your hand from his cheek, trailing softly down to his strong neck and you wrap your hand around his neck and squeeze. at the pressure he lets out a groan, his hands moving to grip your thighs tighter to his face. “fuck miguel, you’re making mommy so happy right now- ah! fuck, just like that. keep doing that, o-okay?” you moan out. he says nothing, his eyes, still maintaining contact with the camera, clouded with lust, answering for him.

you snap a picture, turned on at the lewdness of it. it’s your pussy on miguel’s face, pink panties pushed to the side as his mouth is sucking on your clit, his hands gripping the fat of your thighs, and your hand around his neck at the same time. you make quick work to save the photo and caption it ‘busy, sorry’, feeling your orgasm approach. you press send and drop your phone, ignoring the back to back buzzing, probably of peters reply to your salacious snap.

a steady heat begins to boil in the pit of your stomach, and you keen forwards, your hand leaving miguel’s neck to grip the white sheets on your bed. “i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna-“ and with that, you feel the pleasure within you tighten then burst, like a damn breaking way, and you begin to tremble as miguel continues his work down on you. the overstimulation begins to hit you, and you feel a spurt of liquid leave your body and miguel groan and suck. “oh my god,” you heave out, “st-stop, no more.”

miguel places a final kiss to your mound as he moves to lift your limp hips for you. he feels sheepish how, his sweater and mouth drenched with your liquids. he wipes his lips and makes way to speak to your still firm on the bed. “are- are you okay?”

you say nothing, grab the nearest pillow you have, and throw it at him. miguel dodges and understands that means get the fuck out.

after collecting yourself, your body still spent and sheets still wet, you roll over on your back and grab your phone to look at what peter replied to you. you open his snap, and laugh a little at his responses.

peter 🚮

| is that fucking o’hara..?

| you’re fucking with me???

| fucking whore

| you sleep with nerds now??

you make way to reply to peter one more time, opening the camera and taking a picture of the wet bedsheets, caption it ‘nerds that can make me cum? yeah’ and unadd him after.

you finally haul yourself up to change your sheets when you see miguel’s glasses on your bed. you grab them and put them on your nightstand, feeling heat rush through your blood to your face, thinking of him and the mess he made of you.

fucking dweeb.

#the ask had me sweatin #u guys need to start writing instead of me 😭#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel atsv smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel atsv #sub miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #you’ve got mail💌#<nerd!miguel3

7K notes · View notes

pantherxrogers · 11 days

Text

after the game - wooyoung x fem!reader (18+)

⚾️ pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader

⚾️ warnings: pure smut (18+), no plot lmao, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, housewife kink, explicit language, gentle dom vibes, hint of sub reader, not proofread 👀

⚾️ summary: after seeing his wife interact with the kids at the baseball game, wooyoung wants one of his own.

⚾️ a/n: still trying out the lowercase text! this is puuuuure smut with no plot, so i hope you guys are okay with that lmao. also, i am madly in love with wooyoung and that baseball game did not help 😮‍💨

my masterlist

it all started with a baseball game.

now, wooyoung’s black jersey and pants are strewn on your bedroom floor, along with your sundress and thong. the pair of you barely made it to the bedroom, bodies intertwined as soon as you got home.

he’s still slightly sweaty from the heat, refusing to shower until he’s had his fill of you. he’s been hard for hours, and he’s not stopping until you both get your fix.

all you can do now is pant beneath him, his thick cock stretching you to the brink. the fringe of his grown-out hair hangs over his hooded eyes, which are focused on your sopping cunt.

he bites his lip at the sight, fascinated by your wetness coating his shaft. your steady moans keep him going, like music to his ears.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, pushing further into you, knowing that you’re on cloud 9. you can feel every ridge of his cock, the closeness sending a shudder down your spine.

“sh-, shit, yes,” you huff, “feels so good, woo,” you whine, lifting up to meet his lips.

it’s sloppy and wet, both of you focused on the intense pleasure. the way his tongue delves into your mouth makes your pussy even wetter. he’s like a starved man, ravaging your body for whatever you can give him.

“fuck, this pussy is so damn tight,” he groans, breaking the kiss. the sight of him wetting his fingers makes your eyes roll back. when he starts rubbing tight circles on your clit, you know you won’t be able to hold back for long.

“uh, woo, please,” you whine, unsure of what you’re actually asking for. you’re so close, but you don’t want this to end. he lets out a cocky laugh, carrying above the slick sounds of his sharp thrusts.

“i know, baby, i know.” he slows down a bit, making sure you feel all of him. he loves the way your face contorts, getting off on your pleasure.

“h-harder, please,” you beg, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. you moan out when he leans down, slower thrusts allowing him to grind against your clit.

you let out a gasp, hands suddenly pinned to the mattress beneath you. he’s staring at you intently, wanting to see the moment you fall apart.

“look at me when i’m fucking you.” his serious tone makes your pussy throb. when you meet his eyes, you’re enthralled by his beauty.

his tanned cheeks are flushed, brows furrowed in concentration. his full bottom lip is between his teeth, another sign of the harsh way he drills into your pussy. a warm shiver spreads over your body, further turned on by the hungry look in his eyes.

“there’s my pretty girl,” he hums, love-filled smile briefly breaking through his dominant demeanor. you whine when he pulls his cock out, sitting up to find out why he stopped.

you sweep your eyes over his body, appreciating the beauty of your husband. his lean body before you, muscular thighs bent at the knee, sitting back on his heels.

his veiny hand grips the base of his cock, tapping it on your clit. he makes a show off stroking himself, loving the way to stare at him. your thighs quiver, the sight of him making your pussy clench around nothing.

he pants, rolling his head back at the way your wetness clings to his tip. each tap of his sensitive head against your clit drives him wild.

“woo, please,” your voice cuts through to him, breaking his trance. with one last drag from your clit to your opening, he nestles his cock into you, the squelch filling the quiet of your bedroom.

“fuck, gonna cum soon,” he grunts, his thighs slapping against your thick ones.

“me too,” you squeal, feeling more of your wetness leak onto his hard cock. lifting up, you trace your tongue along the vein in his neck, the sensation making his cock jump inside of you.

“gonna cum in this pussy, make you a proper housewife,” your eyes roll back at his words, excited by the mention of his breeding kink.

“y-yes, please,” you squeal, bringing your hips up, matching the pace of his thrusts.

“want me to fill you up?” he huffs, pinning your wrists again. “maybe i should just cum in this pussy and get you pregnant, hm?”

“f-fuck woo! i’m cumming!” you squeal, eyes shutting at the immense pleasure. he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips into your clit, prolonging your pleasure.

“that’s right baby, cum for daddy,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy at the sight of your fucked out expression. your pussy feels even wetter around him, the lewd noise pushing him further to the edge. your hand comes up to tweak his nipple, before running your manicured nails down his abs.

“you look so pretty for me, woo,” you hum, turning your head to press a kiss to his flexed arm.

“shit, i’m close,” he whines, hips losing their rhythm. you wrap your arms around his neck, meeting him with a sweet kiss before you pull away.

“wanna feel you cum inside me, woo,” you purr, looking up at him with doe eyes. “wanna feel you in me all night,” you look straight into his eyes, already seeing his orgasm wash over him.

“fuuuuuuuck,” he pants, warm spurts of cum flooding your wrecked pussy. you soothe him during his orgasm, stroking every part of him you can get your hands on.

when you’ve both come down, wooyoung is quick to hop up, much to your dismay.

“wooooooo,” you whine out, missing his warmth already.

“i know, baby, it’s okay,” he coos, running into the bathroom to grab a washcloth for you. when he comes back, he’s very gentle, carefully cleaning your sensitive folds. he finishes off with a soft kiss to your thigh, finally taking his place beside you again.

he pulls you into him, your sweaty bodies cuddled together beneath the sheets. your little yawn makes him chuckle, heart full of love at your cuteness.

“did i tire my baby out?” he teases, lifting your chin so he can see those pretty brown eyes. your smile is bashful, always feeling a little shy after a particularly strong orgasm. he smothers you kisses, unable to contain his love for you.

“speaking of babies,” you murmur, now causing a blush to spread across his face. “hello, mr. breeding kink,” you tease him, having fun with his embarrassment.

“you just looked so sweet today with all the kids. it made me start thinking about our future kids,” he confesses, tracing his finger along your cheek. you feel your heart skip at his confession, trying to fight back the sudden tears in your eyes.

“jagi, what’s wrong?” he hums, brows furrowing at your tears. he’s afraid for a second, hoping his confession hasn’t made you uncomfortable.

“nothing baby, i was thinking the same thing today,” you pout, so in love with the man in front of you.

you share a kiss so sweet it almost makes your heart burst. wooyoung’s lips are soft against yours, setting a slow pace. you both savor the feeling, never tiring of sharing your affection.

you’re both breathless when you pull away, giggling under the sheets like teenagers.

“so, maybe we should keep practicing,” he smirks, covering your body with his own. it’ll be a while until the both of you leave the bedroom again.

#𓆩 ♡ 𓆪 ⊹ ˚˖⋆｡ ra ra fics #ateez x black!reader #ateez x black reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #ateez wooyoung #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez smut #wooyoung fanfic #ateez fanfic

1K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 5 months

Text

Gojo Satoru

TW: drinking, Gojo's overbearing

gn reader

Thinking about a pushy Gojo who incessantly flirts with his shy underclassmen.

He thinks your reluctance is the most adorable thing ever – never respecting when you cutely shake your head no, ignoring the hand you put on his chest to keep him at a distance when his lips seek out yours at every turn.

Whining his name, “Gojo-Senpai~ stop~” all meekly while hiding your face from his searing blue leer when he slinks his arms around your smaller body, tugging you tightly to him – brazenly telling all the other underclassmen that “This Kohai belongs to me~”

He thinks he can lure you into giving him a kiss after a couple of drinks. And you’ve been playing drinking game after drinking game in his dorm room for the past three hours, and everyone was relatively wasted by the time Gojo suggested they switch to truth or dare – sitting with the card up his sleeve during the entire game while waiting his turn.

You silly little Kohai~ biting off a little more than you can chew, choosing dare – only to blanch when he tapped his lips and told you to come closer and give him tongue.

You refused, of course, hands thrown up in a protective x in front of you – wide eyes hoping everyone would tell him he was crossing a line – but between Suguru having been made to wear Gojo’s blindfold while slurping a body shot out of Shoko’s belly button, who had been made to forfeit her bra over to a poor Nanami, who sat there in the pretty B-cup – everyone but Haibara, who gave you a sympathetic smile, agreed that it was high time you did something you didn’t want to do too.

“Either you kiss me for a whole minute or sit on my lap the rest of the game.”

It wasn’t really like you could say no either – someone had the idea that you all make a binding vow to make things more interesting.

“Here-” Shoko handed you the remaining spirits of the two-liter bottle the six of you had passed around all night – and you grimaced with a sigh, knowing there was no getting out of it.

Swigging the last two gulps, you crawled over to the white-haired upperclassmen.

But as he leaned forward to finally catch your pretty drunken pout with his own puckered lips, you turned around.

“What are you doing?” He shook his head incredulously – like a baffled cartoon character.

You smacked your lips, saying, “I’m not giving you my first kiss.” while shimmying back to plant yourself on his lap.

Nanami sighed, shaking his head at you. “Only you would think sitting on his lap is any better…”

Your brows furled. “What does that mean?”

But before you could get your answer, Gojo was slinking his arms around your front and nuzzling his chin into your neck. “It means you’re the cutest~” He murmured against your ear – pulling you snugly against his chest. His nose nudged itself against your hairline. “And you smell like good~”

“Ew, Gojo-Senpai – don’t smell me.” You cringe, but he just squeezes you tighter.

Pouting, “You’re so mean~” with his wet lips ghosting your throat. “Kohai are supposed to respect their seniors...”

The room rolls its eyes, and Nanami blanks a stare – even when sitting in Shoko's black bralette, he still holds higher ground than the shameless senior. “Not much about you calls for respect, senpai.”

2K notes · View notes

yumeboshi · 24 days

Text

𝜗𝜚。．．❛ #02. XXX!

𐙚 topic。．hcs of random things that turn on hsr men

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。suggestive content, i wrote this with no brain, MINORS DNI

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。aven, sunday, and blade. I wanna write for my bootyhill but i need to study him more to get a grip of him lol

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE ⇢ rebuking his argument in a fight

。i js know he would go crazy when you do this 。he’d find people who just agree with him as boring. To him it may look even insincere 。but you? countering his smartly crafted arguments with irresistible logic with your pretty brain, glaring at him as you do with those adorable eyes? 。this man would go from being mad to being horny. tbh he would have probably already been horny in the argument 。nobody can be more masochistic than he is

“ARE YOU STUPID?” You glare at your boyfriend who looks nonchalant as he idly examines the coin between his fingers. “Fucking look at me. Do you know what happens when you join forces with them? You’re just risking the IPC and it will eventually lead to your unfortunate befall.”

You continue barreling on furiously with concrete points. Every time you prove him wrong, his eyes dance and he tries his hardest to bite back the grin that plays at his lips as you rant on. You are so perfect, he thinks- he is nonetheless impressed at you, your wondrous little brain. Something snaps inside of him when he sees you focused on derailing his points, your lips moving quickly to spit out syllables. He feels a loud moan caught in his throat.

“I get it, I’m sorry, princess, I won’t do it.” he suddenly surrenders and you eye him suspiciously as he advances, hands sneaking up to your back. “Let’s talk this out in bed, ‘m gonna apologize to you there.” He says softly, giving you lovely kisses along your neck but the way his fingers dig into your skin lets you know he’s not going to wait any longer.

And you will be confused as hell, because although you did win the argument, you feel like you just lost something else, a hidden little game he never taught you the rules to.

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY ⇢ whipped cream on your lips

。hear me out… i have a gut feeling he likes it a little too much 。ik it’s totally random but he will go nuts when he sees you bite down a particularly creamy cake that promptly smears its remains over your mouth- he tries to think of something more dignified, but he just can’t. His poor brain keeps returning to the most vulgar visuals of you. 。he will always point out whatever you had near your mouth when you two eat, because he’s such a clean freak, but anything with cream, specifically white whipped cream, he will be unable to comment on it and fall weirdly silent to he point you are confused why you not hear his scolding to wipe your mouth. 。he’ll just watch you eat dessert with a smile on your face as you savor the taste innocently. Unfortunately his brain is not, and he will start to feel his cock struggle under the fabric. 。”you have cream over your mouth, sweetheart. should i clean it for you?” he’ll sound restrained, like he’s being choked but his expression doesn’t waver. 。and after he found out his new obsession, he will literally only buy you huge whipped cream cakes for dessert.

“THE CAKE HERE IS SO GOOD.” You savor the taste happily and dig into the whipped cream cake and eat without much care. “Where’s it from?”

Sunday is too busy staring at you to register that. The creamy ring around your pink lips. It bothers him in a bad way. It’s making him feel like he is out of breath. His wings flicker wildly like a cooling fan, trying to blow off the heat that suddenly started to build inside his stomach like a raging primal flame that’s trapped by his own conscience.

You tap his shoulder gently and he snaps back to reality and tries to stare at your eyes instead, yes, lovely eyes, he thinks- your words phase in and out as he gulps, darting his eyes back to the cake.

“…the brand? The cake brand?” You ask again, frowning at his silence.

“Ah, yes, sorry, sweetheart. I was thinking of something else for a moment.” He breathlessly apologizes, the words spilling out a little too quickly like an excuse that makes your frown deepen in confusion— he closes his eyes and opens them again so the heat will ebb away. But his plans are obliterated when you take a portion of the cake and eat it, all while looking at him in the eye with curious doe eyes.

That’s when he can’t restrain himself anymore. He suddenly seizes your chin with his gloved hand, making you squeal in surprise when he practically devours your lips, licking up the cream residue around them roughly before shoving it inside your mouth with his tongue. The sweet cream melts when it gets to your mouth, mixing with his saliva that dips down your chin to make messy thick lines.

“It was from a shop at Golden Hour. I hope you like the taste,” he’d say as if he didn’t just feast on your mouth like a starved beast. “Me personally, i think it’s a tad too sweet.”

#BྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིLADE ⇢ treating his wounds

。it’s ironic because Blade doesn’t want to be healed at all 。but how could he refuse you you’re frantically at his door with an emergency kit, worry written all over you- you are like a cute puppy that keeps following him around. 。he lets you do it reluctantly at first, grumbling about it inwardly 。but when you lift up his shirt with no hesitation to put gauze to soak in the blood, his muscles tense visibly, when your touch ghosts over his skin like tiny little lilies blooming in their wake. 。what have you done to him? He feels nothing but tension and something he didn’t want to register, something a little too pleasant to him. 。and at some point he will actually look forward to having his would treated by you. He still likes pain, but he likes your touch drifting over his bruised skin like an innocent butterfly way more.

“DOES IT HURT?” You softly pat the ointment around another fresh scar on his broad chest. It pains you to see that most of the scars are near his heart. You sigh like a worried mother. “You worry me.”

“I enjoy it,” he grunts in response, but his brain ran a quick recap. Enjoy what? The pain? Or your smooth touch?

“Stay still,” you say, and he does, as you carefully squeeze in another ointment into an ugly looking scar. His eyes never leave you the whole time, his muscles tense at the pain but otherwise he’s relaxed. His intimidating stare makes you scared a little, considering this mysterious man didn’t speak his mind often.

“I think that’s it,” you say, quickly trying to lower Blade’s shirt back- but the man grabs your wrist mid-action. You jump, confused. His eyes are unreadable but he states, “You’re not done.”

you frown in puzzlement. “I double-checked, im pretty sure I didn’t miss a spot.”

He lifts his shirt up and with his bandaged finger, cuts open the scar you just treated for him, making it ooze another layer of fresh blood around the dried wound. His lips form a rare smirk as he looks at your wide-eyed stare.

“There, you have a new wound to work on.”

He will do that until you are out of ointment, and the next day he will come visit you first this time with another set of fresh scars.

#𐙚．。articles #honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #blade x reader #hsr blade #sunday smut #aventurine smut #blade smut #divs by v6que & cafekitsune #div by chilumitos

2K notes · View notes

antiquarianfics · 10 months

Text

You Have a Girlfriend?

So you get a little confused when you’re drunk? So what?

a/n: I saw a goofy little twitter post about this somewhere and ran with it. I’m goofy when I’m drunk, so, honestly? A very plausible scenario.

warnings: Mild language, alcohol consumption.

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy, repost, or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and/or reblog.

—

You’re sitting next to Bucky and across from Sam, and you are a little very drunk. The three of you chose to have a drink and talk after a long day of working on the Wilsons’ boat. The issue, however, is that Sam challenged Bucky and yourself to a drinking game, and you were desperately losing.

One thing about you is that when you’re drunk: you feel the need to tell everyone how much you love them. Another thing about you when you’re drunk: your memory sucks.

“Sam,” you whisper yell across the bow of the boat. “Sam. Sam. Sam.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at you when he turns his attention to you.

“I have a secret to tell you! No, two secrets!” You hold out two fingers in front of you.

Sam smirks. “What’s that?”

“One,” you hold up one finger, “I love you; you’re a good friend. Two,” you hold up a second finger, “your friend who’s sitting by me is really, really hot.”

Sam lets out a loud laugh, and you grin at his reaction.

“I love you, too, kid.”

Bucky is smiling fondly at you, watching you with love and adoration. He’s glad he can’t get drunk simply for the ability to take care of you while you let loose.

“I’m really, really hot, huh?” Bucky teases, and he laughs when you nearly get whiplash from turning to look at him.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him. In your drunken state, you clearly didn’t expect him to hear your admission to Sam. You relax after a second, though, and smile at him.

“Yeah, you are. Y’know, I was wonderin’…” you trail off, getting distracted as you stare into his bright blue eyes. You let out a content sigh as you observe him.

“What were ya wonderin’, Doll?” He lets his hand rest on your thigh, rubbing his hand up and down comfortingly.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Your question is dead serious. There’s no hesitancy or joke in your voice, and Bucky finds it completely endearing. He chuckles as he stares at you, and you can faintly hear Sam lose his shit. You don’t pull your attention away from Bucky at all, though.

“I do,” Bucky informs you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at your reaction.

Your eyes go wide, tears prickle at the corner of them. You swallow and wipe them away before doing your best to come up with a steady voice.

“Is it serious?” You question him.

“Very,” he smiles. “‘m gonna ask her to marry me.”

Generally speaking, Bucky wouldn’t have told you his plans, but he is fairly certain you’re not going to remember this conversation in the morning. And, if you do, he isn’t too concerned because he is so very serious.

You make no effort to hide your disappointment, and you let your tears fall freely this time.

“Oh, okay. She’s so lucky. Does she make you happy?”

“Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

You’re obviously upset, and you’re obviously unaware Bucky is talking about you. Sam is trying not to laugh, but his wide grin betrays him. Bucky, however, finds himself more concerned than entertained when you start to actually cry.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” He wipes a tear away with his thumb, softly holding your face.

“No!” You push his hand away, eyes going wide. “You have a girlfriend! She wouldn’t want you touchin’ me!”

He laughs then. He can’t help it. After all, his girlfriend would very much want him to touch you. You always have your hand interlaced with his, or your body snugly tucked into his side, or your hand in his hair, or… The list goes on.

“Hey, don’t laugh.” You frown.

“Sorry, sorry. ‘s just that my girlfriend loves when I touch you.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“Why would she like for you to touch other women?”

Sam bursts into another round of laughter. He is struggling to breathe as he wordlessly points at the two of you, ignoring Bucky’s glare.

“Oh, Doll, she doesn’t. She hates it, really, and I never pay another dame a lick of attention. She’s the only one I’ve got eyes for.” He kisses your forehead, a form of punctuation to his assurance.

Your critical thinking skills, however, are formally shot.

“You’re lying! You’re paying me attention! And I’m not your girlfriend! What’s your girlfriend’s name? I’ve got to tell her you’re cheating. Girl code.”

Sam loses it again.

“Your girlfriend! You: cheating! Shit!” Sam barely manages to get a thought out. Bucky grins at his friend. He can’t deny that he is just as entertained by your antics.

He pulls out his phone, opening his contacts up to the one labeled “Dollface,” and hands it to you.

“Here,” he says, “call her.”

You nod and take his phone, hitting the call button and holding his cellphone to your ear.

A ringtone fills the night air and you frown when you feel a vibration in your back pocket. Clumsily, you pull your own cellphone out of your pocket and look down at the screen.

“JBB <3 is calling…” appears on your screen along with a candid photo of Bucky laughing.

You stare at it, and Sam and Bucky stare at you. You don’t do anything—don’t say anything, don’t move—until the call goes to voicemail. Finally you look up at Bucky.

“Why’d it call me?”

“Y/N, you’re my girlfriend,” Bucky finally says.

Your face breaks into a wide grin.

“No shit!”

—

“I wasn’t that drunk!” You insist the following morning.

Sam and Bucky exchange a look before laughing.

“Kid,” Sam says once he’s calmed down enough. “You asked Tin-man if he had a girlfriend and cried when he said yes.”

Your eyes go wide as you turn to Bucky for confirmation.

“You did, Doll,” he says, smiling.

You stare for a moment before shrugging and turning back to your coffee in front of you.

“Y’know what? That’s a totally reasonable reaction,” you say, leaning back into Bucky as he situates himself behind you and plants a loving kiss in your hair.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky x fem!reader #tfatws!bucky x reader #tfatws!bucky x fem!reader #tfatws #tfatws!bucky #marvel #marvel fluff #marvel x you #marvel x y/n

6K notes · View notes

btsvt-bar · 2 months

Note

Fuckboy!Wonwoo going for shy!reader since he assumes they’re a virgin, just to find out reader is an absolute freak and rides him until he passes out

wonwoo bias wrecked me so much after the follow again concerts that this just came to life on it’s own. i wrote the freshman experience based off of how it is on my country and i loved writing this, so i hope you enjoy it too! ♡

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

fuckboy!wonwoo who’s your game design course sunbaenim. he contradicts all paradigms about nerds, because he’s hot as fuck.

fuckboy!wonwoo who spots you on the first day of classes. he sees you walking past him in your tiny skirt and "I ♡ games" tshirt and finds you adorable.

fuckboy!wonwoo who fights with other veterans to keep you as his freshman. he loses the argument to Nayeon, the course’s student’s president, and sulks for the rest of the day.

fuckboy!wonwoo who hits on you at the bar that night. everyone’s whispering about the two of you.

since Nayeon’s done her job and warned you before hand about Wonwoo’s reputation, you turn him down nicely because you hate the attention. of course, it only spurs him on.

fuckboy!wonwoo who tried to befriend you as a way of getting into your pants (well, he’s a fuckboy after all!).

a couple months after, once he realizes you’re actually really funny and outgoing when you feel comfortable enough, he finds himself enjoying the time you two spend together.

fuckboy!wonwoo who becomes obsessed with you. he convinces himself it’ll fade away once he fucks you. but then he finds himself getting so fucking jealous when he hears you calling Seungcheol your “oppa”. he knows Cheol has a thing for you — your innocent, virgin like persona is driving every male student wild. so he feels his blood boiling when you touch his hyung’s bicep as you smile sweetly and bat your eyelashes.

fuckboy!wonwoo who gets really annoyed when his friends mock him, claiming he lost his charms and won’t get to fuck you like he would do to any other girl.

"it’s up to Coups Hyung to pop her cherry." Jeonghan holds back a laugh as Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

Like hell we will! he thinks.

fuckboy!wonwoo who tries to sleep with someone else to get off and forget about you. but it doesn’t work and he gets more frustrated than before.

fuckboy!wonwoo who offers to help you with your class project and goes to your shared dorm room on a Saturday night. you open the door and he holds his breath when he sees your super princess peach cropped shirt.

"what? it’s my favorite game" you state, with a pout in your lips, when he stares for too long.

"oh, nothing. it’s a good one." he babbles, averting his eyes from your chest. your shirt was probably old, since he could see the outline of your nipples through the white fabric. he swallows nervously, trying to shake the image of your pebbled nipples off of his head.

fuckboy!wonwoo who gets distracted by your short sleeping shorts, since they do the bare minimum to cover you up.

"Nonu, are you listening?" you complain as you shake him. his eyes are out of focus when he meets your gaze. "earth to Nonu! what are you thinking about?"

fuckboy!wonwoo who bites his lower lip and stares at you.

"i’m thinking about you, cutie." he flirts. usually, you would blush and avert your eyes. so it’s a shocker for him when your Bambi eyes transform into a siren gaze.

“what about me?" you whisper, inching closer to his face. "is it about the ways you’d like to fuck me?" that’s all it takes for Wonwoo to take off his glasses and crash his lips into yours.

fuckboy!wonwoo who gets really excited and surprised when he finds out you’re not a virgin. in fact, you’re a total freak in bed. he feels a bit fooled since you got everyone believing you’re a pure angel, but he isn’t about to complain.

not when you’re jumping up and down on his dick with your pretty boobs on full display for him.

fuckboy!wonwoo who fucks up into you with all his might, thinking that he could die happy buried in your heat like that.

you’re riding him so good, your hips grinding against his and your hands clawing at his chest. your lips are red and swollen from kissing, your head’s thrown back in pleasure. you let out quiet ah-ah-ahs that enter Wonwoo’s ears and spin down his body directly to his dick.

fuckboy!wonwoo who nearly blows his load when you ask him to choke you.

his big hand presses on your throat with minimum force, but you demand more pressure and he complies.

fuckboy!wonwoo who circles your clit and sucks your nipples to help you cum. and when you do, he follows shortly after, emptying three months worth of blue balls in the condom and nearly passes out.

fuckboy!wonwoo who cuddles you and realizes he’s been tricked.

"i’m not complaining, but i thought you were a virgin."

you laugh, turning around to face him. "and the resident fuckboy gets played." pride bubbles in your chest. Wonwoo smiles at you, his brown eyes still a bit glazed over from his high.

"i liked being played" he admits with a shy smile.

fuckboy!wonwoo who refuses to go back to his own room. thank goodness your roommate is not coming back for the night.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・

m.list ♡

#seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen hard hours #wonwoo hard hours #wonwoo hard thoughts #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #wonwoo drabble #my works #anon request

2K notes · View notes

nereidprinc3ss · 3 months

Text

toaster waffles

in which spencer is woken up by fem!reader and their young daughter after being away on a case

fluff warnings/tags: none really, a bit of suggestiveness between spencer and reader but nothing explicit, their daughter is a genius duh, i love dad!spence so fucking much holy shit a/n: i wrote this in like thirty minutes so good luck! just needed to write dad spencer it just needed to happen idk

“No—baby, we have to let daddy sleep in,” you chide your daughter, jogging to catch her as she races down the hallway on clumsy little legs.

“No! I wanna see daddy!” She yells—and if Spencer wasn’t awake yet, he will be now. You give in, opening the bedroom door for Ada with a fond (exasperated) sigh.

“Daddy! Daddy wake up!”

He blinks sleepily several times, sitting up and grinning at his daughter as she attempts to climb up onto the bed.

“Hi, princess,” he laughs, grunting dramatically as he pulls her up onto his lap. “Oh my gosh, did you get all grown up while I was gone?”

He catches your eye as you stop at the foot of the bed, arms folded and mouthing an amused ‘I’m sorry.’ Spencer smiles and almost imperceptibly shakes his head, eyes sparkling as Ada attempts to use him as playground equipment. No apology necessary.

“I made you breakfast!” she remembers, grabbing onto his shoulders and springing up and down on the bed. His eyes go wide.

“You did? Where is it?”

“Oh no!” she claps her hands to her cheeks and opens her mouth wide, Home Alone style. Spencer laughs. “I forgot it!”

Then she’s wriggling off the bed and running as fast as her little feet will carry her, presumably to the kitchen.

“You like cold toaster waffles, right?” you tease, approaching the bed and filling the now empty seat that is Spencer’s lap. His hands find your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I would go so far as to say I love them. Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. “I missed you. I forgot how hard it is when you’re gone.”

He hums, running his hand over your hair.

“I know. Me too.” Spencer now only consults on cases, and very rarely is he actually obliged to travel with the BAU. It was never easy before, but now that you have a child, it takes more out of everyone. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, lifting your head and meeting his soft gaze. He leans forward and captures your lips in a gentle kiss, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pulling away. “I love you. Thank you for taking care of the progeny while I was away. I know it’s not easy on your own.”

“Eh. She’s alright. She reads to me at bedtime.”

Spencer grins, eyes darting back to your lips. Several quick kisses are pressed there in succession, and it’s not exactly how he wanted to say good morning to you but that will have to wait until later.

“Ewww!”

Ada is at the door again, waffle in hand, making a half-disgust half-delight face before prancing back to the bed and receiving another airlift from Spencer up onto the mattress.

“What do you mean, ew?” he asks in mock offense as her legs swing in the air. “You’re next!”

You watch in unadulterated joy as he peppers little kisses all over her face and she pretends to hate it, squealing with glee.

“Is that for me?” he asks once she’s comfortably sharing his lap with you, pointing to the forgotten waffle. She holds it up, pressing the disk against his lips. Spencer takes a bite, makes an exaggerated yum sound, and kisses her forehead once more. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

“You have to eat all of it so you’ll grow up big and strong.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll do that. Why don’t you leave it on the nightstand and go find a book we can read together?”

“Game of Thrones!”

“No!” he laughs. “That book is way too grownup for you!”

“But I read the first three pages!”

“I know you did. And Auntie Penelope is still in big trouble for that. Go get Lord of the Rings.”

Full of energy despite the early hour, Ada skitters off again to find the book.

“She’s too smart for her own good,” you sigh, listening to her making up a song as she picks through the book shelf in the next room.

“Intelligence is generally more nurture than nature. If we act fast we could probably stunt her IQ to just two or three standard deviations above the average.”

You giggle, straddling him as he slips his hand under your shirt to rub your back. Then you try to school your features into a serious expression.

“Not funny.”

That big, lazy grin might never fade—and you’d be happy to look at it forever.

“You’re right. Not funny at all.”

“Hey,” you remember, grabbing his biceps. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. “I was gonna make you real breakfast. What do you want?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t. I want to. So tell me what you want.”

“Anything other than a toaster waffle.”

You snort, moving to slide off the bed.

“We can probably make that happen.”

“Hey—" he catches your waist, pulling you closer. “Penelope is taking Ada to the park this afternoon. We’re gonna spend some time together, okay?”

After having an entire child together, you still get butterflies when he looks at you like that.

“What if I have plans this afternoon?”

Spencer doesn’t even look mildly concerned—just tilts his head, brushes his thumb over your lips.

“Then I’m asking you to cancel them, pretty girl. I owe you some undivided attention.”

You chew on your lip. It’s embarrassing how easily he can still fluster you.

“Right now I have to go find out why our child is being so quiet.”

He laughs, letting you slip from his grasp for good.

“She probably got into the Stephen King again.”

You pick up the waffle and gesture at him with it emphatically as you walk away.

“This is all your fault.”

“Mm… let’s call it a team effort.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds

1K notes · View notes

lavnderwonu · 3 months

Text

the boy next door | jeon wonwoo

pairing: idol!boyfriend!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: secret relationship, established relationship, smut

summary: sneaking around with your secret boyfriend.

warnings: smut (!!!), little plot lol, wonwoo as your secret boyfriend, softdom! wonwoo, wonwoo is hot (yes that's a warning), mirror sex (kinda?), pet names (baby), praise kink, size kink AHEM, clitoral stimulation, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, reader has to be quiet, hint at another round.

word count: 1.9k

author’s note!: when i tell you this concept has been on my mind for weeks... i'm not lying. the wonwoo brainrot was hitting HARD when i was writing this. i was originally going to make it a secret situationship but im a #1 hater of that whole thing so relationship it is. plus i just think it'd be hot. who wouldn't want wonu as their secret boyfriend? anyway, let me know what you think, i appreciate feedback! 🩷

click here to join my taglist!

Your phone buzzes on your nightstand as you’re in your bathroom, going through your night time routine, just like any other night. As soon as you make it to your phone, it’s stopped ringing. Unlocking it, you see a notification.

Wonwoo

Missed Call

Your boyfriend. Well, only you knew he was your boyfriend, anyway. Although you’d be lying if you never posted any “soft launches” of you two, whether it was an extra iced americano on your counter, or a very obvious mystery man driving while you sat in the passenger seat.

Before you can even call him back, he’s already texting you.

Wonwoo: are you awake? Wonwoo: i saw your story earlier. you looked nice.

You went out earlier in the day to run your usual errands, which usually consisted of shopping of some sort, then wandering around a bookstore. You threw on a cute floral mini dress, and for good measure, you promptly decided to take a picture in your full-body mirror hoping a certain someone would see.

You laugh to yourself, typing out a reply.

you liked it? well you’re too late. i’m in my pajamas now.

It was only 11:30 pm, so maybe it was a tad early for pajamas for some. But for all you know he was probably in sweats playing some game on his phone or reading a book.

Wonwoo: i don’t care, you always look pretty baby Wonwoo: come over here

He lived down the hall from you, with his roommate and best friend, Mingyu. His apartment was easy access, but pretty risky if Mingyu was there, so usually Wonwoo would just come over to yours.

You're about to ask is mingyu there? until he answers the question before you even finish typing.

Wonwoo: mingyu’s gone

You bite your lip, typing a reply. Fuck, you can’t say no.

on my way

You toss your phone on your bed, quite literally, quickly getting yourself ready, you decide to put on your favorite lavender-colored bra and matching panties underneath your pajamas you already had on. Your favorite color; and a different variation of his.

Going down the hall from your apartment, you reach his door, quickly knocking a few times before he answers.

“I thought you were joking when you said you were in pajamas,” Wonwoo jokes, examining you as you walk in. “You were serious.”

“Shut up, it was getting late.” You blush, as you damn near fight the urge to jump him, cause damn. He looks too good, even in a hoodie and sweatpants.

“You look cute,” He pulls you close to him, his fingers sliding underneath your shirt to grip your waist. “Can’t wait to take them off…”

You lean into him, fingers lightly threading through his hair that’s gotten so much longer recently.

“How much time do we have?”

“Hours.” Wonwoo responds, confident. “Mingyu said he was going out with Jungkook, they’ll probably be out half the night drinking.”

His hands slowly slide up your back, sending your heart thrumming in your chest, you’re unable to deny the effect he has on you.

You both know you’d eventually have to go public with your relationship, but for now, you’d just enjoy the adrenaline rush you get everytime you’re alone together.

You make it to his bedroom, in a heated kiss, you back away to safely removing his glasses and placing them on his nightstand.

Kneeling on his bed in front of him, you quickly tug at the hoodie he has on. “Off.” You order him, and he obeys, pulling it over his head.

He tosses to the floor, before kissing you again, his hands slide up your shirt, groping your breasts lightly through your bra, making you softly moan against his lips. He breaks the kiss and his lips softly trail along the corner of your lips, to your jaw, and onward.

You begin working on unbuttoning your silky pajama shirt as Wonwoo trails wet kisses down your neck. His hands take over, effortlessly unbuttoning it. Your eyes glance over to the mirror on the wall, giving you a full view of you kneeling on his bed and him towering over you.

He slips your shirt off your shoulders, and his eyes briefly follow your gaze, realizing what you’re looking at.

“Are you watching yourself in the mirror?” Wonwoo says into your ear, giving you chills.

“Uh-huh.” Your breath shaky as you reply, nodding.

“Turn around.” He suddenly demands, kissing behind your ear before you turn around, your back now facing him.

Wonwoo wraps one arm around your torso, holding you against his sturdy chest. His hand lightly touches your chin, turning you to face the mirror again.

“Keep watching yourself, baby.”

You watch as his free hand slips underneath your pajama shorts, his fingers lightly ghosting over your clothed clit. You gasp as your hips jolt, desperately seeking out more friction.

“Wonwoo…” You gasp, gripping his arm tighter.

His hand slides underneath the elastic of your underwear, applying firm pressure as he circles your clit, before you feel his fingers slide down between your folds and he mutters a breathy fuck against your neck when he feels how wet you are already.

“You’re already dripping for me, baby.” Wonwoo says deeply, voice slightly muffled into your neck. “Couldn’t wait to see me, could you?”

He’s expecting an answer, and it’s impossibly hard now that he’s sliding two fingers inside you, expertly curling his fingers to find that special spot that you often couldn’t reach yourself.

“N-no, I couldn’t… thought about you all day.” You cry, nails digging into his forearm, and he’s seemingly unfazed by it. His fingers pound into your sweet spot, making your head fall back against his shoulder.

“Fuck, look at how pretty you look.” Wonwoo says, glancing at your reflection, your brows furrowed as you focus on the feeling of his fingers inside you.

“I’m so close…” You whine, turning to bury your face in his neck as you inhale the sweet scent of his cologne like you never want to forget it.

“I know, baby. You’re fucking squeezing my fingers.” Wonwoo grunts as your walls clench around his fingers. “Let it go, I got you.”

Your legs shake as you grip onto his forearm for dear life, desperate for something to hold onto. A cry of his name leaves your lips as you cum, your heart racing, panting trying to catch your breath.

“That’s my girl.” Wonwoo turns to kiss your forehead gently, his fingers slip from your dripping center, brushing your clit one last time and the friction is enough to make you wince.

He releases his hold on you, and you turn around to face him, kissing him needily. “Fuck me,” You whisper against his lips. “I need you.”

“So needy…” Wonwoo playfully mocks you, suddenly turning into his unintentionally adorable self, as if he didn’t just pull a powerful orgasm out of you moments ago. “Don’t I at least get to enjoy this cute little set you wore for me?” He pulls off your shirt, even though it was already damn near falling off anyway.

You blush, kissing him again.

“We don’t have time for that.” You chuckle, already feeling somewhat anxious that Mingyu is going to walk into the apartment at any second.

Wonwoo can read you like a book, and he notices right away. “Hey, there’s no rush.” He says gently, as his hands reach behind you to unhook your bra.

You slide it off the rest of the way, then toss it on the floor. “I know, I’m just enjoying this. I don’t want to be interrupted.” You drape your arms over his shoulders as you press your body against him, kissing him fervently. You moan against his lips as you feel his hard cock pressing against you.

You slide your hands down his chest, reaching to loop your fingertips into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Take these off, baby.” You whisper as you kiss his along jaw a few times, before you grope his length through them for emphasis. “Please.”

Wonwoo gently nudges you to fall back on his bed, and you sit up on your elbows, eagerly watching him as he obeys you, taking them off. “Better?” His gaze meets yours as you look him over.

You eagerly nod, lifting your hips for him as he rids you of your pajama shorts you still had on, along with your soaking wet underwear.

“How do you want it, baby?” Wonwoo huskily asks you, removing his underwear. He curses under his breath as he watches you bend your knees and spread your legs apart, allowing him full access to you.

You gasp as you feel him suddenly pull you further down on his bed, quickly followed by a whine as you feel the weight of his cock on your clit. You sit up on your elbows to see him dragging his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

Both of you can only watch, breathing heavily.

“Wonwoo…” You whine his name, gripping the sheets beneath you as the tip of his cock bumps you clit again. You both watch as he lines himself up with your entrance, finally pushing inside you.

“Look at that.” Wonwoo grunts, watching you take every inch, feeling your walls stretch to accommodate him.

“Fuck…” You throw your head back, a soft moan falling from your lips as you feel so full. “You’re too big…”

“You take me so well…look at you.” Wonwoo praises you, as his hands come up to gently stroke your inner thighs, and it’s enough to get you to relax. “You okay?”

You nod, “Yeah, you can move. Please.”

He starts to pound into you at a steady pace, making you grab onto his shoulders for something to hold onto. Your nails dig into his skin as he drives his cock into your sweet spot over and over.

You let out a sob of a moan, and Wonwoo thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

“God, you sound so pretty,” He moans, “Crying for me…”

“I’m not gonna last long.” You whine, your walls already clenching around him.

Your heart nearly stops in your chest when suddenly you hear the front door to the apartment open, then hear Mingyu enter.

You gasp, and Wonwoo quickly shushes you.

“Relax, he’s not going to come in here, he probably thinks I left.” He whispers, all the while he hasn’t stopped fucking you.

“Can you be quiet?”

You can barely find the words to speak, your brain too focused on the feeling of his cock inside you.

“Answer me.”

You frantically nod, and that’s about all you can muster the strength to do. Your walls clench around him and he knows you’re close.

“Shit, I’m gonna come…” You softly moan, as quiet as you can, then you feel his hand cover your mouth, muffling your cries as your walls squeeze his cock hard, but he keeps fucking you through your high.

He keeps going until he’s coming too, groaning into your neck as you feel his cock nearly throbbing as he releases inside of you.

“Fuck…” Wonwoo sighs, as you both are catching your breath. “That wasn’t how that was supposed to happen.” You both smile bashfully at each other.

You gently thread your fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehand.

“That’s okay, we can sneak over to my place… we won’t have to be quiet.”

tags: @dearlyjun @cosmojinyoung

some others i couldn’t tag! 💔

#jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut

2K notes · View notes